#weed usage

Warnings: 18+, minors do not interact with, weed mentions, I'm a stoner myself so it's kind of my Pov in a way, Benedict just has me by the throat.

Ever since John moved out to raise Rosie you responded to a new flat mate ad Sherlock had put out. After finally moving into John’s old room fully, you sat on the bed and decided to pull out your secret stash of weed you brought with you. Hoping the skilled detective wouldn’t smell it, you sat by the window discreetly and decided to smoke. Getting lost in your creeping high, someone decided to knock on your door. Startled back to reality you hid your weed stash under your pillow and answered the door nervously. Shocked, but not surprised, you were face to face with said detective. You felt singled out as he stared down at you. Your cheeks flushed because no one had told you that the famous detective was very attractive. As he stared at you, probably deducing that you were high right now in front of him. He gave a sniff to the air, momentarily taking his gorgeous eyes off of you, you stepped back a bit and avoided eye contact just encase your eyes were droopy and red.

“Where is it?” he asked, breaking the awkward silence. “Where is what?” you stupidly asked. You knew exactly what he was asking but you didn't want to admit it. “You know exactly what I'm talking about. The weed….” he hissed. For a second you panicked thinking he was mad at you for having the paraphernalia on you but then you remembered the rumor about his ‘habits’. “You could smell it even if I had the window open?” you remarked stupidly. He squinted at you and stepped into your room. He took a few seconds looking around the room deducing where you could’ve hidden it. He easily narrowed it down to under your pillow. “Amateur….” he muttered out loud.

You shut the door and lightly kicked your feet on the ground like a little kid in trouble for breaking mom’s favorite vase. He turned around and looked at you and reached his hand out expecting you to hand him the lighter still in your hand. Not thinking clearly as you hand it over to him before you realise what you are doing. “You’re tossing it aren’t you?” you ask. “God no….that’d be a waste. What strand is it? Birthday Cake?” he asked as he guessed. “An indica hybrid of Birthday Cake, yes…” you responded sitting on the edge of your bed and pulling your stash out from under your pillow like he had guessed. Damn this man is smart. “I’m assuming you came to confiscate this?” you asked looking at the almost ashed weed in the glass pipe bowl you were just smoking not even 20 minutes ago from. He chuckled and shook his head.

“Why waste perfectly ... .no, scratch that… mildly perfect weed?” he said. “Outta everything that I heard you do, I wouldn’t have guessed that you smoke weed?” you said surprised when he grabbed a chair and sat across from you. He crossed his one leg over the other and just stared at you, just waiting. You handed your bowl over to him slowly and watched. “I thought you don’t do this sorta thing?” you asked. “I won’t tell Mrs. Hudson about this, as long as you don’t tell her I’m doing this right now. I suppose this is one way to get ‘high’. It’s boring and dull. But I’ll take what I can get.” he said, putting the bowl up to his lips and lighting the green that was in it. He took a few long puffs before finally admitting defeat and the coughing fit that followed managed to put a smile on your face. “Sorry, I meant to say: Medical grade Hybrid Indica Birthday Cake strand. Very potent.” you lazily giggled taking the lighter and bowl from him as he still was coughing up his lungs. You went and grabbed him a glass of water. “Drink. It’ll help the coughing stop.” Your eyes widened upon seeing just how red his eyes were. You then chuckled loudly. “The Infamous Sherlock Holmes can’t take medical grade weed?” you joked.

He sneared at you after taking a sip of water. “What rumors have you heard? If it’s about my ‘drug habit’, I don’t have one, it’s a lie. Never believe a word the press says unless it involves a case. Speaking of which, don’t tell John about this either.” he said, reaching back for the bowl and lighter again. You just nodded, not being able to form words due to brain fog. After about an hour of passing the bowl back and forth and refilling it 4 times the both of you were completely gone past outer space. Giggling and ranting on about nothing and everything at once is where you both found yourselves. You can’t remember when he did it but somehow the both of you were lying in your bed next to each other. Suddenly a yawn took you by surprise and he followed suit with his own. 

weed usage cw but what if lil robbie simmons had the power to put pete in the ground with a single sentence lmfaoooo

i think about their younger years so much i know simmons smoked despite the fact people thought weed was mega-addictive and it was classed as a schedule 1 drug in the 70s.

the kid with the most issues he's ever met telling him to go to therapy is the funniest shit he's heard all week. he doesn't knock the idea of real therapy it's just hilarious coming from PETER !! 😂 (coming from a house where his birth parents did a ton of drugs it makes him feel prickly seeing the neighborhood goody-goody turn to weed but that's a story for another post!)

Husband: You would get the munchies and forget they were weed and then you would be all like laying there wondering how and why you met god and shit

My artistic interpretation of this event...

Another fun fact: it can, however worsen symptoms in people who already have it/are predisposed to it

Another another fun fact: prolonged weed use in those who already have symptoms/ are predisposed to psychosis can lead to them becoming schizophrenic.

And that’s the story of how going to college and falling into a group of stoner queers caused me to become a full schizophrenic.

I quit, finally, after three years of heavy use, about a year and a half ago. I haven’t had to up my dosage of antipsychotic medication since, which is all well and good, because I’m already on the highest dose of a pretty strong antipsychotic drug. But if I ever miss a dose? Things get ugly fast.

All this, and yet I am not against weed usage. Even recreational. I only regret my experience because of what happened after, and if I was not predisposed to psychosis I’d honestly still be using. There’s nothing quite like being outrageously high. I miss it, but I cannot continue to sacrifice my literal sanity.

I also don’t drink that much anymore, I’m trying to set an example for my thusband, who is predisposed to alcoholism. I tried cigarettes, I missed the feeling of inhaling smoke, but they weren’t for me. I even quit coffee for a month or two, to prove to my doctor that my high heart rate was not, in fact, due to the copious amounts of caffeine I had been consuming daily since 10th grade. I’m back to drinking coffee now, as I went to the doctor after not drinking it for months and lo and behold, a resting heart rate (while sitting) of 132.