Can't go back

8

I didn’t see Sherlock again until he returned to the room late that night. He walked in just before curfew with a slam of the door, forcing me to look up.

"Hey, where’ve you been?" I asked worried. My first reaction after not seeing him for so long was that he had gotten beat-up again. It had happened a couple more times after that first one. Each time Sherlock would stumble back late, bruised and battered and still refusing to tell me who did it. But a closer look revealed Sherlock (thankfully) unharmed.

"Are you and Mary going out now?" he asked, voice emotionless, completely ignoring my question.

"Sorry?"

"Well you’ve obviously kissed her, so it’s only logical that you would start dating now. However, society dictates I ask you before assuming such things."

"Yes, we're dating. Why?" Sherlock didn’t reply, instead walking over to the edge of the bed.

"Love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional clouds perception. I would never date for fear of clouding my judgment."

He pulled the corner up and removed the box from underneath, setting the box on his bed.

"Sherlock?" I asked as he opened it, rather concerned. It had been a rather long time since Sherlock felt he needed the needle, and the sight of it automatically sent warnings off in my head. Pulling out now couldn’t be good. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, John," he said, not looking at me as he filled the needle.

"You’re sure?" I asked, unconvinced.

"I said I was fine." I didn’t say anything more as it broke the skin. I really didn’t want to press my luck, and it was just a once in a while thing.

***

The next night he pulled it out again. And the next night. Still I said nothing. The third and fourth night I tried talking to him about it, but without success. The fifth night I hid it, but it took barely five minutes for Sherlock to find it. It resulted in quite a bit of yelling from Sherlock.

By the sixth night I had had enough. While Sherlock was out doing god knows what, I pulled out the box and stuffed it in my backpack. I walked down the hall a couple rooms and knocked on the door. After a moment Greg answered.

"John? What’s up?"

"Greg, hey. Can I er-" I gestured inside and moved to let me in. Greg sat down on his bed and I sat across from him, unable to make eye contact.

"So, what’s up?"

"It’s umm-" I coughed and cleared my throat nervously, uncomfortable talking to him about this. "It’s about Sherlock."

Greg raised an eyebrow and leaned forward curiously. "I’m listening."

"You’ve got to swear not to tell anyone about this. I want to help him, not get him into trouble, and-"

"John." He said a little loudly, cutting off my ramble. "Just tell me what he did."

I nodded and pulled the box from my bag, handing it to Greg. He looked confused as he took it but once he opened it a surprised expression fell on his face. "Has Sherlock been-?"

I nodded in response. "Yes. More so recently. He had stopped for a while but a couple days again started up again. I tried talking to him but..."

Greg looked from the needle to me. "John, this is serious. We need to tell somebody, get him some help."

"Please, just let me deal with this. If he hasn’t agreed to try to give it up in... In a week you can get him help. But for now just please- just trust me."

Greg shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with my suggestion, but finally with a sigh he nodded. "Fine. And until then?"

"Just keep this box away from Sherlock. Anywhere I hide it he’s sure to find it."

***

Sherlock wasn’t in our room when I returned, so I decided instead of waiting for him to return and yell at me to go to Mary’s. I dropped my now empty bag in my room and headed to her room, glad to find her there. I sat myself next to Mary on the bed. We talked and laughed and kissed a little before realizing it was diner time. I grabbed Mary’s hand and threaded my fingers through hers. Hand in hand we walked down to eat. Mary offered to let me sit with her, and though I didn’t know most of her friends all that well, I agreed. After eating and a lot of conversation that I pretended to listen to but didn’t participate in, I went back up to my room.

The second I opened the door Sherlock whirled on me. "What have you done with it?" Sherlock had completely torn the room apart, blankets thrown across the room, papers scattered everywhere, experiments haphazardly overturned as if a tornado had gone through on its way to pick up Dorothy.

"What the... What the hell have you done to our room?!"

Sherlock turned away from his search to look at me, ignoring my question. "Where is it? What have you done with it?"

"Sherlock, it’s not here," I answered after a moment, still surveying the damage done to our room.

"John, you don’t understand, I need..."

"I don’t want you being stupid and overdosing!" I shouted. I knew you were supposed to be supportive and caring with these types of things, but with Sherlock never listening and shouting at me that was really hard to do.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "Don’t be stupid, I’m more than careful with the amount I use."

"It’s not just that! There are other affects, and besides that you’re addicted! Sherlock, I’m trying to help you here."

Sherlock brushed past me toward the door. "I don’t need your help."

I grabbed his wrist and turned him around. "Look, I’m your friend, I’m just trying to-"

"I don’t have 'friends' John," He snarled. I started to get furious. I was only trying to help him. I had only been trying to help him all year so far. I had patched him up multiple times now. Hell, I had saved his life! And now here he was, emotionless as the day I met him, saying I was nothing!

"Fine! Fine, go! No, of course you don’t have friends. Gee, stupid me. Ya know, maybe if you didn’t keep pushing people away! You’re just-" I cut off, searching for the best way to hurt him. "You’re just a freak!"

"SHUT UP!" Sherlock grabbed my wrists and slammed me against the wall, my head banging sharply off the thick drywall. "You don’t know what you’re talking about! Just SHUT UP!"

"Make me!" I yelled back, trying to shove him away from me. My head was slammed against the wall again, but I did my best to ignore the pain. "You’re just a freak, you’ve always been a freak! I don’t know why I thought-"

"I said shut up!" Sherlock growled over my words. His lips smashed against mine as if to make me, devouring my mouth in an instant. I think I would’ve drawn back in surprise if I hadn’t been pressed against the wall with nowhere to go. As it was I froze wide-eyed, unable to move as his mouth moved roughly against me, teeth grazing my lips.

Sherlock pulled away from me, seemingly surprised at himself, a what-have-I-done look on his face. "Sherlock-" I started, but before I could say more he left, the door slamming roughly behind him. I sat down on my bed and stared after him, still dazed, trying to figure out everything that happened. Realistically I knew I should find Sherlock. I needed to talk to him, to let him know everything was okay. That I didn’t really mean the things I said. But I couldn’t seem to propel myself to move from where I was sitting.