Can't go back

3

Sherlock Holmes turned out to be the most infuriating person I had ever met. You know how he said his worst qualities were playing the violin and not speaking? That was a lie. I wish those were his worst qualities. In the first week he stole three of my jumpers to experiment on. One ended up with something growing on it. I found one shredded at the foot of my bed. The third had yet to turn up. The desk that we were supposed to be sharing was cluttered with petri dishes and experiments, some of which were spilling over and staining my notes. In addition to smoking, several nights I had witnessed him lift up the corner of his mattress and pull out a small box with a needle. Every time he did this I watched him carefully, worried that if one person walked through the door they would send us both back home. My father would be more furious with me than ever. Coming here, wasting his money on schooling, then getting kicked out. Sherlock of course acted like he couldn’t care less if somebody walked in, though he was at least smart enough to keep the door locked.

Still, I put up with him because I had to. Well, technically I didn’t have to. I could have gone and reported him for drugs I suppose, but that wasn’t like me. But I came back from classes one day and lost it. Sherlock had skipped last period again. It wasn’t unusual; he did it quite often in fact. I might have said something the first couple times but by now I had decided it wasn’t worth it. I walked back to my room alone and was surprised to find the door locked. Usually we kept it unlocked unless we were both out of the room or sleeping or something.

"Sherlock?" No response. I started pounding on the door. "Sherlock, open up!" Nothing. I sighed and searched my pockets for the key, finally finding it and unlocking the door. Smoke flooded into the hallway and I started to cough, choking on the thick air.

"Close that damn door!" I plunged myself it the room and slammed the door behind me. The smoke was so thick I could barely see in front of me. I stumbled coughing across the room and threw the window open, desperately needing some fresh air. As the room cleared out I was able to see Sherlock sprawled out on his bed, looking at me calmly as he smoked.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Bored..." he muttered, taking another long drag of the cigarette in his hand and blowing the smoke towards my face. I snatched it from him and put it out on the window sill before throwing it as far from our room as I could.

"Sherlock, you can’t do that in here! You want to smoke, you do it outside!"

"Why?"

"Why?! What if somebody walks in?! You might be okay with getting in trouble and possibly sent home, but I’d be blamed too and I can’t-" I can’t go back. I didn’t say it, but I could tell from Sherlock’s face he knew what I was thinking. Sherlock got off his bed and walked over to me, placing his hand hesitantly on my shoulder as if he wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do. "John, I apologize, I didn’t think..."

I shrugged his hand off my shoulder and turned to pick up my coat from where I dropped it on my way in. "That’s the problem, isn’t it? You never think." I shoved past him for the door. Sherlock’s brows furrowed and his eyes followed me.

"Where are you going?"

"Out." I was tired of it, tired of his shit and his never thinking about anyone else. I needed some space away from him. Away from everyone. Preferably away from my thoughts as well, but that wasn’t going to happen. I stormed out and went around the lake to the woods. I couldn’t get the thoughts of my father out of my head, of everything he did to me. I would not go back to that. I always got the worst of it too. Harry got a little, and when he was really mad my mother, but I was the boy. I was the one he had big expectations for. And when I didn’t meet those expectations...

I stayed out there for a long time, completely skipping dinner. It was getting dark as I headed back and a clock above the commons of building B read just before curfew. There was a good bit of people on the stairs, rushing to get back to their room before curfew. I pushed past them but stopped when I got the room. It was completely silent. Maybe he had left and I could avoid this inevitable conversation for a while. I grabbed my key and unlocked the door. The room still smelled of smoke and I scrunched up my nose at the scent that invaded my nose. Sherlock was standing by the window, violin and bow poised to play but not moving. I knew he heard me enter, stupid git noticed everything, but he didn’t turn around, just stared out the window. I shrugged off my coat and plopped face first on my bed, hoping he would avoid a conversation.

"John?" I supposed that was too much for me to ask.

"Sherlock, I’d really rather not discuss this, so if you don’t mind..."

"I just wanted to say I was sorry," he said quietly. I frowned. That was something I’d never thought I would hear Sherlock say. I rolled over to look at him. He had set his violin down and was standing at the foot of my bed. He looked sad and genuine in what he had said. "I didn’t realize he affected you that much."

"It’s fine. Honest." Really I just didn’t want to think about it anymore. "Just- Just don’t smoke in here again. Yeah?" Sherlock nodded and picked his violin back up and started playing again. I could see as he lost himself in the music, the notes flowing through him. I grew tired as he played and started drifting off, the gentle music lulling me to sleep.