Reasons

Chapter 19: The Spring Semester

Sherlock had not stopped spamming my phone, since Christmas Eve. But seeing his messages didn't make me feel better or want to forgive him, it only made the pain worse. Eventually I blocked his phone number, I did not need a constant reminder of my heartbreak, the anxiety that occurred whenever I remember that my request to switch rooms had been denied, or the looks of pity from my family when I came downstairs with red cheeks and bloodshot eyes. The worst part of it all though, was that I couldn't help but wonder how Sherlock was doing. I was so angry and hurt, but I knew that he was upset as well and had no one he could go to with his feelings. 

When winter break concluded, I returned to campus with a pit in my stomach. I didn't know how I could face him, let alone share a small living space with him. My heart dinged even more when I unlocked the dormitory door and saw our beds that we had decided to push together. I wanted to scream and cry and punch the wall, but instead I gulped and pushed my bed back to my half of the room. I unpacked my small suitcase, and laid on my bed with my earphones in, waiting for him, waiting to see Sherlock. Waiting to make sure he was still engaged, or still closeted or still whatever the hell else Sherlock Holmes was. Once I knew for sure the situation hadn't changed, I would head to the library and stay there for as long as possible. 

But as I waited for my roommate, the door opened and in walked someone I hardly recognized. His eyes were sunken back, his cheekbones even more prevalent than before but covered in unkept subtle and facial hair. There were bruises on his forearms, the backside of his elbow and several other places, and he looked like he had dropped two pant sizes. The purple shirt that I had once love to see him wear, was now baggy and hanging lazily from him.

I pulled out my earphones and gaped up at him, "Sherlock," I said almost silently.

"Ah, John, you're still here? I figured since you wouldn't answer me, and then blocked my phone number, that you probably would have talked to someone about switching rooms as well."

"How do you know I blocked your number?"

"Well when my texts started getting returned I figured you either killed yourself and your phone was disconnected or you blocked me, but you are here, clearly not dead, so it must have been the latter of the two." he said as he starred into the corner of the room blankly. 

"Sorry to disappoint." I said bitterly.

"Obviously I'm glad we arn't both dead. At least you still appear to be functioning as a human being." he set his bag down, closed the door and walked over to his desk chair.

"I miss you." he said as his voice cracked.

I sat up and stared at the back of his head, as he was facing away from me. 

"What do you mean we aren't BOTH dead?"

"Look at me, John. Do I look like I should still be walking around and breathing. Honestly I don't know how I haven't overdosed yet. Probably because my mother keeps flushing my stash so that my father won't find it, again. He found it twice when I first relapsed, that wasn't fun. I was hopeful that I would be able to use in peace here, but considering I'm still living with you, I guess probably not." 

"Where is it?"

He didn't answer.

"Sherlock! Where is it?"

He remained silent, so I walked over and threw his bag down, searching for whatever was doing this to him.