Pick Your Poison {Mystrade}

No More Pain

Mycroft stumbled into school the next day, half drunk, half hungover. He was disappointed, as the physical pain hadn't lasted long. When he saw Lestrade in the halls, he glared. It was unbelievable that someone who claimed to love him would say such horrible, disgusting things to him.

He walked up to Lestrade and got in his face. Mycroft's breath reeked of alcohol. "Get rid of your internalised externalised homophobia." He hissed, poking his love interest in the chest. Lestrade's eyes were wide with confusion as he stared down at Mycroft, who was hunched over.

"Oh, Mycroft, you look terrible." Lestrade began to reach a hand over to caress Mycroft's face, but the drunk boy violently pushed it away.

"Don't pretend to love me!" Mycroft yelled, causing Lestrade to jump. "Don't pretend to care about me and then hurl insults at me when your friends are around!" Hot tears had begun to stream down his face, and his throat felt sore. "Don't pretend like you didn't ruin my life! I'm like this because of you, Gregory! You!" Mycroft collapsed onto his knees in a sobbing ball of anger and hatred.

All Lestrade did was stand and watch. He had a painfully neutral expression on his face, although it almost seemed he was disgusted with Mycroft's actions. Mycroft heard new footsteps approach them. He couldn't see anything, his face was buried in his hands.

"Oh, so now you're a drunk, a drama queen, and a queer! Triple threat!" A harsh feminine voice said. The rubber toe of a Chuck Taylor sneaker hit Mycroft's side with a terrifying force. He wheezed, regretting ever coming to school that day.

Another shoe hit him, only it was a wedge heel. This hurt even more than the sneaker. He groaned as it pounded him in the back. There were going to be bruises. Every time he tried to get up and escape, they pushed him back down and continued to kick him.

"Fuckin' faggot. You queer fairy bitch." A masculine voice said. Not Lestrade's, thankfully. Mycroft thought it was Anderson, but he couldn't tell through the ringing in his ears. The feminine voice must've Sally then.

Now, instead of tears of anger, they were tears of pain. Mycroft didn't want physical pain anymore. He didn't want emotional pain, or mental pain, or whatever other kind of pain there was. He didn't want pain at all. All he wanted was to be happy and to forget the horrid things people had done. The only way to do that, he thought, was to kill himself.

Suddenly, a shrill beep rang through the halls, signifying the start of the day. The beating ceased, and he was left alone, bloodied and broken on the hallway floor. Mycroft stood slowly, trying to minimise the pain as much as he could. He wasn't going to class today. Mycroft was going home.