#gcvrnment

**Note: Mun’s answer are all to be completely honest. Don’t send url if you don’t want brutal honesty

Indeed! I guess all we can deduce from this is that we are both as mad as the other in some way aha.

It was a danger night, her skin crawling from boredom, from the thoughts that wouldn’t stop - over thinking, examining everything, focusing too much and not enough all at the same time. Analyzing, observing, heart rate speeding. She needed something. She needed anything, anything to quiet the thoughts, the memories, the flashes she had of all that she had gone through in Serbia, the Ukraine and anywhere else she had traveled during the time of her ‘death’. The physical scars she could cope with, they were little to her, just marks on her transport to remind her of what she over come. The mental scars? Those would be what ended her.It was nearly two in the morning when she set out, creeping silently and narrowly avoiding the creaking steps that would have given her away to Mrs. Hudson. The door was opened and closed with the utmost care, locked tightly behind her before she posted her key through the mail slot. She would have the land lady let her in when morning came round and she was more herself. Her normal dealer wasn’t around, but it wasn’t hard to find someone else. The transaction was made and Sherlock slipped away with the drug to find a quiet place to set up for the night. It didn’t take long before she was settled with her back in a corner, belt tight around her arm and the needle poised. A quick familiar prick and she sighed, her heart rate slowing, mind coming to a more manageable pace.She hadn’t expected anyone to follow her, Sherlock never had any trouble with her normal dealer, but this wasn’t him, was it? The man was furious, snarling out about how Sherlock had put his brother away, and how sweet it would be to get his revenge. She faded in and out during the beating, barely even giving a moan. She felt weak, heavy - too heavy for the dose of morphine she had taken. Had he mixed it?Her consciousness didn’t last long, and in the end, she was grateful for that much. He was gone when she woke, probably on the other side of London. A cough brought crimson to her lips, as she tried to move her arms enough to shift into a more comfortable position at the very least. They were as unresponsive as her legs, forcing her to lay there in what she suspected was a slowly growing pool of blood and god knew what else. She always knew it would likely be her drug habit that killed her one day, but Christ, she hadn’t expected it to be like this. The footsteps coming towards her had Sherlock cringing, her body curling in on herself as a rush of anxiety managed to push past the drug cocktail she’d been given. Her eyes refused to focus, but she thought that she might have seen a familiar brolly just in front of her face. It wouldn’t be him, would it?“M-m-Mycroft.” She hacked, her body trembling as a small amount of shame over took her. She felt that her brother looked down on her to some degree already, she couldn’t imagine what he was thinking finding her like this.

tbh my main theory is just to be Dramatic

❝-- Yeeeeah. Guess you got me there.❞