I keep imagining Sherlock remembering John comparing to him a drug, and trying to tell himself it’s nothing, but then thinking, John, do you have ANY IDEA HOW GOOD DRUGS FEEL?
he doesn’t
John really does.
He had all sorts of lovely drugs when he was shot. Drugs that dulled the pain. Drugs that stopped the nightmares. Drugs that made him feel that getting shot wasn’t so bad. That life outside of the military would be okay
It was when he stopped taking the drugs (was forced to stop) that life became hard and dull and nearly not worth living.
When he compares Sherlock to drugs he knows *exactly* what he’s saying.
I’m in a writing group with around 40 people and one of the common reasons people don’t post their work is because “no one ever comments on it, so no one is reading it” which blows because their work is amazing and instead it’s sitting in storage.
