A/N Hey My Lovelies!!!! This one was supposed to be a short, cute fic....I might have gotten slightly carried away....TRIGGER WARNING!!!!This one talks about physical abuse, suicidal impulses, rape, and teen drug use...Good luck babies!!! It is a teenlock fic (John = 17 Sherlock = 15) Enjoy<3
Hey – JW
I need a favor – JW
Sure – SH
No questions? – SH
No questions – JW
What do you need? – SH
A place to crash – JW
My family is out of town for a month – SH
You can stay for as long as you need – SH
Thanks man – JW
Anytime – SH
Sherlock tossed his phone onto his bed and scrambled to straighten up his room before John arrived. This happened occasionally, John would text in the middle of the night, asking if he could crash at Sherlock's. They both knew that Sherlock could guess what happened, but they never talked about it. It was their deal; Sherlock wouldn't deduce John and John wouldn't beat Sherlock up.
Sherlock jumped and fell backwards when a loud tapping sounded at the window. He looked up and shot John a withering glare, fighting against the instinct to laugh along with him as he scrambled to his feet. He pushed the window open, still glaring down at John.
"You are aware that you can use the front door, right?"
"Oh, I'm fully aware. I just like making you jump." John winked and grabbed his bags with his right hand, keeping his left tight against his chest. "It's unlocked?"
"Of course." John nodded and made his way around to the front of the house. Sherlock raced to the bathroom and pulled out his first aid kit, tossing it on the bed. If he had read John's body language correctly, and he always did, the other boy was injured and would need care.
John pushed his way into Sherlock's room, upsetting a stack of books with his bag.
"Mate, you've got to clean in here."
"There is nothing wrong with my room!" He huffed indignantly, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. He couldn't help but smile when John laughed. John reached to shut the door with his left hand, crying out and clutching the wrist back to his chest as soon as he put any pressure on it. Sherlock jumped to his side, grabbing at his bags and leading him to the bed.
"Yeah, you wouldn't happen to know how to set a broken wrist, would you?" John laughed breathlessly, his voice filled with pain.
"Of course, you're an idiot for asking."
"Sure, kick a man when he's down."
"Shut up and sit still."
"Yes sir." John winked at him, pulling a blush along his cheeks. Sherlock shook his head and set about checking John's wrist. It was definitely broken. He excused himself and ran to find something that could act as a splint.
When he returned, John had pulled his shirt off and was peeling a bloodstained bandage off his ribs.
"Jesus. What the fuck-"
"I'm guessing you know how to stitch a wound as well?"
"O-Of course, but John, you should go to the hospital. I can drive you-"
"No!" John looked at him with pleading eyes, and Sherlock's resolve melted. He was helpless against John's eyes. "Please, just, can you do it yourself? If I go to the hospital they will call him." Sherlock nodded, stepping closer to the young man and kneeling in front of him.
