Can't go back

14

This next section will be in parts because it was getting rather long. So have part one. Of... probably 3?

Warning: contains abuse

***

I went back home about two days before school started back up. My dad wasn’t very happy about me leaving in the first place and yelled quite a bit when I got back. Thank god he wasn’t drunk or it would’ve been more than just yelling.

School started up again. Finals came and went, giving me grades that weren’t quite what I wanted but could’ve been a lot worse. Nothing really changed between how Sherlock and I acted with each other compared to when we first became friends except we kissed a fair bit more when we were alone and we shared a bed to sleep. We still joked and chatted like before. He was still my best friend. But he was something more too. We never went farther than we did while we were at Sherlock’s, and even though I thought about it I didn’t mention it. It was more important that he was mine.

When spring came so did the first of the football games. Now would be a good time to explain our screwed up football system. See, we practiced all year but the games didn’t start until spring. I figured this meant they were either really dedicated or really bad. From what I’d seen of the rest of the team while practicing, I assumed it was the latter.

I woke up on the day of our first match of the season early. When I opened my eyes I was a little disappointed to find that Sherlock wasn’t still in my arms. Usually he stayed lying there until I got up and then started moving around, unless he had one of his cases in which case he wouldn’t sleep at all. I sat up and saw Sherlock perched on my unused bed in nothing but my football jersey (which was rather oversized on him) and a pair of boxers, toothbrush poking out of his mouth, fingers steepled under his chin. "Sherlock?"

"Shhh..." He muttered, not opening his eyes.

"What are you doing?" I asked, despite his shushing.

"Thinking," he replied shortly.

"With your toothbrush?" Sherlock opened his eyes and tried to look down at his mouth, frowning when he realized he still had his toothbrush half in his mouth. He tugged it out and looked at it as if he had never seen one before, questioning why it should ever be in his mouth.

"Got distracted..." he murmured, giving his teeth one last scrub before heading into our little bathroom to rinse his mouth. I sat up and stretched a little before reluctantly flinging the blankets off and heading over to my dresser to pull out a pair of jeans and some clean pants. I set them on the nearest bed, figuring I would take a shower when Sherlock came out of the bathroom.

He returned from the bathroom and walked over to the desk, poking at something in a petri dish with the eraser end of a pencil. He looked at it a minute, flipping the pencil around and sucking on the end (which couldn’t have been healthy or tasted good) before writing down a few notes on a scrap of paper. "So, what were you thinking about? Must have been something big to make you zone out like that."

"Hmm?" Sherlock snapped out of his observations to look at me. "Oh, it was nothing, don’t worry about it."

I debated for a bit whether I should press him or not but finally decided against it. Sherlock thought like that often, the only thing out of the ordinary about it was how he had completely forgotten he was brushing his teeth beforehand.

"I’m going to need that jersey back," I said, poking him lightly in the chest. Sherlock frowned, pouting slightly. "Sherlock, I have a match today. Why are you wearing it anyway?"

"I like it. It’s comfy. Reminds me of you."

I rolled my eyes. "You don’t need reminded of me I’m right here. Now take that off so I can go shower." Sherlock pouted some more but eventually pulled it off over his head. I smiled and pecked him lightly on the cheek.