You spin me right round

Chapter three

Sherlock opened the eyes. Did he fall asleep? How much time? Why? Where was he now? He hadn't to make too complicated deductions to guess he was at a hospital, the last place he wanted to be in. How did he arrive there? A wave of panic grew fast inside of him, making him tense up and sit up rapidly on the couch he was laid on some seconds ago. He groaned loudly, his whole rib cage burning, bringing him a pain barely bearable. However he just decided to ignore it, ignore his weakness that was dangerously "eating" him from the inside and, determinate to prove he could walk any problems and so just leave this horrible building, he slowly got up, a hand against the cold wall of the bedroom. Coldness. That was why he hated hospitals so much.

All memories he had about them were bad, without any exception, so bad that he would firm he was feeling worse after he went there. Also, he just became more careful with everything, hoping none accident would ever happen to him. As he grew up, he noticed it hadn't changed. And now, he would deny every sickness he could be infected with.

He took one deep breath or two, feeling he was about to break down.

-C'mon..., he growled in his deep voice.

He tried to make a step, one single step but his knees were unstable and he soon fell, his body hitting violently the ground, as cold as the walls.

-Fuck! He yelled, closing his eyes tightly as tears threatened to flow on his pale cheeks.

Why was even alive?! Why couldn't he die in a dark and dirty street, like it was planned? Just rot, eaten by maggots and other insects that would be nice enough to help him to disappear without any trace... That was simple, for God's Sakes! So why?

His body was shaking by sobs and despair. Nothing was going right. He just wanted to die...

Weirdly, he felt he had no strength, like he was empty. Like life had left his body. But he was there. He couldn't stand up, his face crushed against the ground, his knuckles becoming white because he was clenching his fists with rage and anger. All of this was the fault of this blue haired guy who bit him. How the hell did it make him be alive again? That wasn't logical. Sherlock didn't understand... He didn't know...and he didn't like not knowing.

-Sir? What happened?

Sherlock groaned once again, louder than before. It wasn't a human sound at all. He didn't even dare to look up at the man who was certainly watching him, pity inside his eyes. He didn't want to see it. He didn't like it. That was a sentiment, such a stupid and useless one.

-I heard something and... Whatever.

The brunette felt hands on his arms and immediately pushed them away, growling noisily, trying to get on his feet.

-Don't make any effort, I am..

-Shut up and go away, I can do that myself!

Sherlock stood up for a few seconds, seconds while his gaze met the one of the man that just came to annoy him, like everybody was doing in this bloody world. He recognized him right away, though it wasn't the same to see him in the daylight. He had to admit, his eyes were beautiful; blue, like his, but they were darker, and that was what the brunette liked in them. But these seconds had been long enough, and the sociopath told himself he would never stared at them again. That was for the best. He was already weak, he didn't need anything else to break him down, more than now.

The blond sighed deeply, thing that irritated Sherlock highly. There was such a tension, he could feel it but he didn't care at all; why would he make a good and fun atmosphere for a guy like that? Well...if he could even make someone be comfortable in his presence, thing he hardly doubted.