TW: Drugs/Alcohol, mentions abuse (I'll put a ~~~ before and after this portion of the chapter so you guys can skip over it if you'd like)
*Sherlock*
John is gone by the time Sherlock wakes up, though the fog on the washroom mirror is enough for him to tell he's already come back from practice and left again, probably for breakfast. Clearly the room assignment switch hadn't gone well, the sentiment clearly shown in the messages from Mycroft and the note John taped up to the door. He makes sure the door is locked, digging through his dresser to find a clean pair of clothes as he dialls Jim's number on his mobile. It rings a few times, but eventually he picks up, voice heavy with sleep.
"Sherly?"
He pauses for a moment, chewing on his lip as he considers hanging up instead of talking.
"It's my last day before classes start for the semester."
"So?"
Jim sounds irritated already, something that isn't quite missed by Sherlock. He's not ready for another fight, not after last night.
"Can I see you again? Today I mean."
"When?"
"Lunch?"
"Sure. Meet me at mine in an hour, don't be late this time or I'm going back to bed."
The threat isn't empty, Jim hanging up the phone before Sherlock can respond, and he rushes to get a shower in and his hair dried before it's time to leave. The walk should only take ten minutes or so, Sherlock allocating closer to twenty just in case something happens. The walk is silent, no one bothering him as he rushes through side streets and alleyways to make it there on time. Jim won't like it if he's late again, and Sherlock shivers at the thought of what happened last time. It's better to keep Jim happy. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it as he nears Jim's street to give him something to do. Six minutes early, too early to knock on the door, and he sits down on the steps leading upto the door to finish smoking. It's over too quickly, leaving him just early enough to knock without irritating Jim again.
"You made it! Come in, I've got lunch ready."
He smiles, pulling Sherlock inside before bolting the door behind them. The house is, if it's possible at this point, colder than outside, and Sherlock shivers as he leaves his shoes by the door.
"How was the walk?"
"Fine. It's bloody cold out though."
Jim nods, setting a plate down for Sherlock before he sits down at his spot. They eat in silence, Jim rinsing their dishes before pulling Sherlock into the sitting room.
"Movie?"
"Sure."
Sherlock perches on the edge of the sofa, grabbing a blanket off the chair before removing his coat. Jim watches him closely, studying the bruises that are darkening across Sherlocks arms from last night. It's not the worst they've been, nothing too difficult for him to cover up, but Sherlock still winces when Jim traces a finger over his arm.
"Let's finish what we started last time, you fell asleep before the good part."
"You've seen it a hundred times though."
"It's my favorite."
Jim nods, chuckling softly as he pulls Sherlocks movie off the coffee table and sticks it into the DVD player. He settles back down on the sofa, holding his arms out for Sherlock as the movie starts. They lie still for the first fifteen or so minutes, Jim shifting to pull something off the end table when Sherlock gets up to grab another blanket.
"What's that?"
"Sit back down, I got you something."
~~~
(Drug use/alcohol in this portion of the chapter, up until the ~~~)
Sherlock does as he's told, sitting beside Jim as he rifles through his pockets for a lighter. The shorter boy takes it from him, mumbling a thanks as he sets his rolling tray back on the end table.
"You said you haven't had a chance to smoke since you moved back into the dorms."
He takes a long draw, eyes closing in contentment as he passes the blunt to Sherlock. He takes it, hands shaking with excitement as he raises it to his lips.
"Do you really have to go to class tomorrow? It's the first day, you know everyone is just going over textbooks and shit right?"
"Mycroft will kill me if my attendance is bad this semester. Besides, if I miss too many days they'll send me home and then I can't see you."
"Whatever. That's so fucked."
Sherlock nods, taking another hit before Jim holds his hand back out. They sit in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, movie nearly forgotten in the background.
"I'm too sober for this shit, I'm grabbing drinks. What do you want?"
"I'm fine with water."
"Don't be a bitch Sherlock, trust me you'll like it."
Sherlock hesitates, shifting uncomfortably as he chews on his lip. The silence stretches until Jim stands, sighing in frustration at Sherlocks lack of attention to the conversation.
"Whatever you think I'd like then."
Jim leaves, passing the blunt back to Sherlock as he makes his way into the kitchen.
"Finish that, if you want more I have more so it's fine."
More silence follows, a smile creeping onto Sherlocks face as he finally starts to feel the buzz he's been craving all week. Jim shoves a drink into his hand, nodding as Sherlock raises it to his lips. It burns, his nose wrinkling as the smell of alcohol, but he keeps drinking until the glass is almost empty.
"See? It's not terrible."
"It's alright."
Jim ignores him, sipping slowly at his drink as he watches Sherlock finish his glass. They finish the movie in silence, Jim in and out of the room to refill their glasses and grab snacks as Sherlock slowly starts to fall asleep.
"Try this one, I think you'll like it."
"I don't want any more right now."
"You said you wanted to hang out with me today. Just go home if you don't actually want to be here."
Sherlock shakes his head, mumbling a quick apology as Jim flops down beside him.
"It isn't as strong as the last one right?"
"It doesn't matter, the more you drink the better it tastes."
He sits up too quickly, head spinning as he screws his eyes shut. Jim hands him another glass, this one smelling stronger than the first, and Sherlock ignores the urge to throw up as he raises the glass to his lips. Three glasses later and he realises Jim is right, the burning becomes less pronounced as he gets used to the taste.
~~~
They end up in Jim's bedroom, shoving a pile of books and clothes off the bed so they have space, and Sherlock lights another cigarette as he leans back against the wall.
"Those will kill you."
"Not any faster than anything else."
Jim nods in agreement, holding a hand out for the lighter as he pulls his own pack from his hoodie pocket.
"When's your first class?"
"Eleven thirty. I fucking hate the professor though, she acts like her class is actually important."
"So skip."
"I can't."
The silence creeps back in, settling over the room as they finish their cigarettes. No one moves for a few minutes afterwards, Jim eventually rolling off the bed to put something in his CD player, and soon the room fills with Nirvana's first album. Sherlock hardly looks up when he climbs back into bed, eyes slipping shut as Jim throws a blanket over them.
