20

                                    

                                          
-Y/N's POV- 
                          
I get to Sage's house and I'm immediately hit with the stench of sweat and weed. 
                          
"Oh my God Y/N! Girls come meet Y/N!" Sage stumbles over with two other girls.
                          
"Y/N this is Kayla," she points to a tall, blonde haired girl who's wearing a short tight red dress, "and Alexandra." She finally points to a tall black girl who's wearing a short white dress. They both smile and say hi. I'm actually wearing more appropriate clothes for the party, an extremely short black long sleeved dress and I've curled my long brown hair. I actually look good for once. 
                          
"Omg you have to come play a game with us."
                          
"I might just go get a drink but I'll come over when I've got one."
                          
I make my way over to the bar in her house and get 3 shots, the burning liquid running down my throat. 
I make my way over to the three girls who are talking to some boys. 
                          
"Hey, you ready to play?" Alexandra slurs. 
                          
"Yeah of course." 
                          
We all sit in a circle in the living room and the rules are explained to us all. We have to pass a piece  of paper around with our mouths and if we drop it we have to kiss the person next to us. I'm sat next to two girls, both extremely pretty and they greet me with a warm smile. It gets around the circle multiple times before Alexandra drops it. The boy next to her kisses her immediately, showing how desperate he is. She pushes him off and looks at him with such a disgusted face I don't think I've ever seen before. He immediately lunges towards her and within seconds a couple of boys are pulling him off and pushing him outside. Everyone just carries on whilst me and Sage go and get some drinks.
                          
A couple of hours later, some drugs and alcohol have been welcomed into my body and I'm making my way upstairs. It's 3am so even though I'm drunk and high I make sure I'm quiet not to disturb anyone and get caught. I successfully do so and throw myself down on my sofa. I'm bored now and the worst thing, apart from going outside, is being alone with my thoughts. I should probably try and add some final details to my art piece, yes, that's what I'm going to do. 
I set everything up on my desk even, though there's not a lot of room since it's messy, and start to add the tedious small brushstrokes and dots. Everything is going well until a gunshot from downstairs makes me jump and I make a really thin but long line of dark brown across the painting. What the fuck. I actually can't be bothered. This is what happens when I even try and attempt to do something remotely productive. I know it isn't really my fault since it was the loud noise that scared me but I just shouldn't have even jumped. I'm actually so stupid. I grab a pair scissors and start stabbing and slashing into the canvas, taking all of my anger out on it. All of the built up stress and aggression is shown by the little remains of the painting, the rest just laying on the desk all torn and scrunched up. I throw the canvas on the floor and go out of the house, to the park.
                          
-Sherlock's POV- 
                          
"Bored!" 
"Sherlock, stop shooting the wall, Mrs. Hudson doesn't find it appealing and neither do I. Not to mention that Y/N is probably trying to sleep," John exclaims. 
                          
"I'm bored! I haven't had a case all day, my mind is like a car going full speed all the time. I can't just not be bored John."
                          
We both hear a shout from upstairs and banging until a final sound of something dropping on the floor from Y/N's apartment. 
                          
"Well, one of your reasons is false, she's awake."
                          
"Or maybe you work her up."
                          
"No John, why would there be consistent banging if she only just woke up and also why would she be going outside?"
                          
"I don't know, maybe go and see what she was banging about at. I'm going to bed, goodnight." 
                          
"Alright John." 
                          
I make my way up to her flat and let myself in. It's rather messy but it looks as though she's tried to keep it to a certain level of unclean. Probably because us knowing about her mental health issues has made it a bit better, I'm not sure though. However, the drug abuse has stopped recently I'm almost certain of it and the other addictions have been driven to a halt. I open her bedroom door and look to see what she was making such a noise with. I see her painting, well what's left of it, on the floor and pieces of it scattered across the desk. She probably just got frustrated with it and gave up with it which is a shame because it was quite magnificent. I look over to see that her phone is still here and also that it's 11pm and extremely cold outside, not the most perfect conditions to be going out in. She's taken her coat though so it's not as though she's going anywhere to stay. She'll probably be back soon because of the harsh weather outside and the pitch black streets will most likely creep her out. As I turn towards the door, something catches my eye. A notebook. Since it's the only one she has on her table she uses it quite often and has it there if she needs it at anytime so it's accessible. It could be just a notebook full of random ideas and things, but it could also be a diary of some sort which she writes down her feelings into. A sort of vent book I suppose. I move the cover and see the only word written on the first page: "Mycroft". At first I'm confused until I remember the conversation they had about her writing down what substances she'd taken and all the details about them. I look in through the contents and to say that I'm shocked is an understatement. If she keeps taking this amount at this rate then she will most certainly die of an overdose at one point. The last thing recorded was two days ago on her birthday. I forgot to check her room. 
                          
I look in the drawer which I previously found the stash of drugs but there wasn't anything. I check all of her drawers and every cabinet and container but still find nothing. After 10 minutes of searching I hear quiet footsteps coming up the stairs. I go and sit on the Sofa, acting casual as she opens the door. 
                          
-Y/N's POV-
                          
"Sherlock?" Why is he in my fucking living room. I was fine just a minute ago, I'd taken the last couple of pills which were in my back pocket and finally felt like all of the pressure had been taken from me. 
                          
"You're back! I was just waiting up here to make sure that you were alright. Do tell me, what was the banging coming from your room earlier?"
                          
"I was just finishing my painting."
                          
"I did see. It's quite a shame that you destroyed your artwork, it was beautiful."
                          
"Yeah well I made a mistake."
                          
"Mistakes can be fixed."
                          
"Not that one."
                          
"How so?" he peers into my eyes and I just sigh and look to the ground. 
                          
"Look, Sherlock, in really tired can you leave. I just want to go to bed."
                          
"Of course," he says as he's made his way to the door and I've made my way to the kitchen. 
                          
"Oh and Y/N," I glance back to look at him, "Don't forget to record it for Mycroft." 
                          
I just stand there, shocked and confused. He didn't get mad and shout at me, that's a first.