There Is Nothing Wrong With Me

Mission: Surprisingly Possible

"So here's the plan." Greg said impatiently over their lunch table. John was sitting across from him in the long wooden table looking down at his small little meat pie miserably, poking at the peas and looking up in exasperation. The food here was supposed to be better than that a Lauriston, but he was sure that their food might be a little bit unhealthier, a little bit tastier. They were all natural here, which meant it all tasted like dirt. Greg, however, was having no trouble digging into his food, taking a large bite of meat pie while he considered what he was going to bother John about.
"So," he started, struggling to talk over the noise of three hundred of so boys all conversing, "We crawl out the window, like we always do you know?"
"With the bedsheets? You know I hate that." John muttered fearfully, immediately remembering all the other times Greg had insisted on escaping the walls via bedsheet rope. John's muscles always felt so weak, and his fingers always got so sore...
"I think it's fun, it feels kind of like we're escaping prison you know?" Greg said with a little gleam of excitement in his eyes.
"It's not fun, it's terrifying." John debated with a frown. Greg frowned right back.
"It's worth it." he insisted flatly, and John couldn't do anything but hear him out for the rest of his ridiculous plan.
"And after that we just run off to Lauriston, it's not far. And there's that maintenance door that they'll let us in, they're always so happy to see us." Greg said with a smile, obviously thinking back to all the other times they've snuck into those ridiculous dances.
"Are we bringing anyone else? Safety in numbers, you know?" John wondered hopefully.
"Oh ya, what did you think I was doing in calculous?" Greg said with a laugh. John arched his eyebrows accusingly, and Greg just smiled guiltily.
"Shouldn't you do calculus in calculus?" John wondered, and Greg just shrugged, as though he could brush it off as easily as that.
"You know what John, you only live once. You can reteach yourself calculus, but you can never capture the youthful joys of beautiful girls and controversial music." Greg said with a dramatic sigh, and John just rolled his eyes. Sometimes Greg could get very poetic, and when he did John knew that there was simply no arguing. He didn't necessarily like breaking the rules, but it seemed to him that he had no choice but to go along with it.
"Alright, alright. Who's all coming then?" John wondered curiously, dropping his fork in defeat and in turn opening up his chemistry book for a bit of studying, just so that he could look well prepared for class the next period.
"Mike is in, I know that. Um...a couple of other boys, Billy I think, James is studying, the nerd, I honestly can't think of anymore, but the word will spread, and more will come." Greg said with a proud smile.
"You're so proud of yourself." John said with a little laugh, noticing the gleaming in Greg's eyes and the unusually straight posture of his back.
"Well of course I'm proud, it's always nice to be a ring leader of something unorthodox." Greg assured.
"I was the one who told you about it, remember?" John reminded, glancing quickly over a paragraph about something Rutherford did, trying and failing to remember any dates that may be important. He should honestly be studying geography, just in case Mr. Fletcher chose to give them another pop quiz. However John had been so out of it during that class that he didn't even know what to study, something about Eskimos, right? Not India, he was quite sure of that. When the lunch bell rang they all shuffled along miserably to their classes, abandoning the poor excuse for edible food and trading their wooden benches for wooden chairs. Chemistry was very difficult, as usual, the professor kept rambling on and on about different metals and their uses while John tried desperately to take notes. Greg, John noticed, was busying himself more with making some sort of list, probably of people who had told him that they would be attending the dance tonight. It wasn't a long list; however it was probably good of him to make a list, just in case they accidently leave Lauriston without accounting for their entire troupe. Needless to say, Greg was distracted as usual, and for not doing his homework and not paying attention in class, John was quite sure that on the next test he wouldn't get a one hundred percent, maybe a ninety nine. And honestly, for Greg Lestrade, that was a tragedy. Geography was thankfully just more learning, no sneaky pop quizzes or anything like that. This time John paid attention, and found that they were leaning about America's more recent state, Alaska. It was rather interesting to hear of the great resources and animals they had in that tundra, however John's mind was wondering to and from the classroom in his anxiousness to escape the building all together. It was an excited kind of fear, because certainly if they were caught being so rash they could probably get expelled, however breaking the rules and getting away with it was one of the most rewarding feelings in the world, it made John feeling somewhat invisible. They had been sneaking out for a while now, almost every Lauriston dance they had attended since around fourth year; however this one felt like there was something special to it. Maybe because this year they were going to be the oldest there, maybe because the girls from Lauriston would see them not just as older kids but as Gods. John knew that tonight held potential, so excuse him for not caring all that much about Alaska. Dinner time came with an air of excitement; every boy who was prepared to leave the building was quivering with excitement, eating their meals as quickly as they could and trying to keep it down while their stomachs twisted uncontrollably in nervousness. John felt rather apprehensive, but as long as everything went to plan he would certainly be alright. Besides, he could always just blame the whole thing on Greg if they were caught. Mike Stamford came into their room around seven o'clock to get ready, the lot of them grooming their Wisteria uniforms as nicely as they could, combing their hair and passing around cigarettes and cologne. It was an exciting night, and they were discussing just how to ask a girl to dance, how to dance, and how to stop dancing to do what comes next. John tuned the two of them out for a moment while he tied his tie around his neck, brushing off the lint from his black coat (the fancier of the two uniforms, used for special occasions) and tried his best to look prim and proper. Say what you want about a bad boy, but girls swoon over boys in a suit and tie. He surely looked stunning, at least enough to get one of those Lauriston girls on his arm. They all thought of the Wisteria boys as something of a treasure, a boyfriend to show off to your friends, a rich boy, a proper boy, they were rare and precious creatures while in the dark world of a public school.
"John are you listening?" Greg wondered irritably, his voice intruding on John's thoughts and making him turn around with some agitation.
"What?" John wondered miserably.
"I asked you to take the sheets off now. We'll tie them together, make the rope, and hide under our simple blankets when they do bed checks." Greg decided, pulling the fitted sheet from his mattress and balling it up so that it formed something of a rope. John nodded, clearing his head and accepting the cigarette from Mike, taking a puff and inhaling deeply before handing it back.
"Open the window, we don't want Mrs. Hudson smelling this when she comes in to make sure we're tucked in." John insisted, going over to his bed and ripping off his sheets for Greg to tie in a great knot. Mike hastily went to open a window, fanning the reeking cigarette smoke out into the night air. Greg had successfully tied the sheets into a long rope, using some sort of fisherman's knot that his grandpa had taught him. John had no reason to doubt Greg's knots, they had supported him so many times before, and he knew from experience that it was quite difficult even to intentionally pull them apart. The idea was that they would tie the one end of the makeshift rope to the bedpost and then hang the other one down. They climbed down the rope and left it swinging there until they were ready to return, hoping that no teacher or housekeeper had come in during the night and found their beds empty. It was a gamble, it really was, but it was worth it, right? When bed checks came around ten o'clock (it was later on weekends), the boys snuggled under their single blanket, laying on bare mattresses fully dressed, and smiled as the house keeper Mrs. Hudson prowled by their door, peering his elderly eyes through the glass to make sure that they were snug. She was one of the only women John knew to be an occupant of Wisteria, other than some of the kitchen ladies. She was ancient and unattractive, and however strict she was she was always much gentler with the boys than any of the male teachers ever could be. She helped nurse them when they were sick, tried her best to aid them with homework if they were struggling, and made sure the boys kept themselves to their fullest potential. However kind she was, however, she would not hesitate to send a boy straight home if he were caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do, and John could only imagine that escaping out the window counted as something worth expulsion in her mind. But he sat very still in his bed, pretending to be gazing off into the darkness while Mrs. Hudson's head blocked the hall light that was trickling in through the small window on the door. When finally her shadow had passed, the hall light extinguished and they were left with nothing but the light of moon. Greg immediately got to his feet, tip toeing towards the door to unlock it, letting Mike and any other boys sneak in through the shadows to climb down the ladder. There were probably other, safer ways of doing this, and John knew that some boys had figured out those methods because there was always a bigger crowd on the lawns then there was on the ladder. They went out one at a time, whispering intensely to each other and shuffling nervously as they watched their friends ease themselves out of the window over a three story drop. Greg went first, the only one truly confident in his knots without prior demonstration, and soon the rest followed, their hands clasped over the bedsheets and their feet shuffling down the stone wall. John was one of the last to go, wringing his hands nervously as he watched more and more boys disappear out of his window pane. This was the worst part, it always was, the initial doubt, the fear of being caught without the correct assumption of the satisfaction of getting away with it. He always stood here, watching as the others made their choice, and weighted the options. If he stayed he would miss out on all the fun, but then again he might guarantee his own future if the rest were caught. However if he went he would have fun, immeasurable fun, and perhaps meet the girl of his dreams. Every time he stood here debating he always decided on crawling out that window with the rest of them, and just like then, he made that decision as well. There's no use living if you're not living at all. So he crawled up onto the window, reminding himself not to look down at the figures of the boys below, and he grasped the makeshift rope carefully, turning himself on the ledge so that he could face the wall, and slowly he started his way down. The moonlight illuminated his struggling muscles, his feet sliding against the old stone walls, his fingers clenching so intensely at the stiff bedsheets that he was worried his knuckles might tear through his skin. It felt as though gravity increased whenever he knew it could be the death of him, he felt his stomach trying to plummet to the ground, a very unpleasant feeling not unlike going down a large roller coaster. A drop would kill him, and his muscles weakened at the thought of fear and failure, but before he knew it he was right at the ground, with Greg and the other boys poking at his feet in amusement as he struggled to lower himself the final couple of feet. Finally John's dress shoes hit solid ground, the cold, freshly cut grass clinging to his ankles as he watched the rest of the boys descend down the wall. It was a spectacular feeling indeed; his adrenaline was pumping as he watched the rest of the escapees make the same perilous decent that he had. It proved not to be an issue, everyone made it to the ground safely, and with a quick glance of reassurance, they all smiled to each other and ran off into the night in the direction of Lauriston.

Sherlock POV: Sherlock's hands trembled as he struggled to tie his tie into a respectable knot around his neck. He hated ties, he always had, however it seemed that after so many years he should have become accustomed to having a portable noose around his collar at all times. His outfits looked empty without one, or at least his formal outfits did. There wasn't much difference between his formal outfits and his normal ones; it was just the absence of lint and the presence of a tie that could get him into this pathetic school dance without looking too casual. Sherlock finally got that accursed tie tight around his throat, and he paused, his fingers still shaking as he lowered them down to the dresser, pressing his palms against the wood in an attempt to still them. He looked paler, he was getting paler every day of course, but now, looking in this mirror while wearing such dark colors, he looked about as white as a vampire. What a waste of a night, what a pathetic excuse to get him to socialize! A dance, a school dance, what were they five? School dances were anything but that, they were an excuse to wear scandalous clothing and pull your peers into darkened corners, they were make out fests, that was all, and that was yet another reason Sherlock really shouldn't be attending. What was he going to do at a party like this; he had no friends, no acquaintances! No one would even go near him, they stood about ten feet away, as if he had some sort of invisible restraining order to the rest of the world that kept them at bay whenever he was around. That miserable public school was the death of him, he knew it would be, and yet adults never listened to children, did they? They were never able to just hear another person out, especially when they already deemed him as a lost boy, a mentally confused boy, who would degrade himself to such a level that he had to be medicated for it! It wasn't his fault, God! Nothing was his fault, and yet here he was, paying the consequences! Sherlock opened his drawer carefully, pulling out the little case of syringes and medicine. He placed it gently on the dresser and eased the drawer shut again, staring at the little zippered case with such hatred. It was poison, it was killing him slowly and yet his parents, the doctors, they all said it would help him. They all insisted that it would change him, for the better that is. And yet nothing was getting better. He was growing shakier, paler, and more depressed by the hour. No. He wasn't going to submit himself to this poison tonight; if they were going to make him go to a pathetic school dance he might as well allow himself to have some fun. So maybe he didn't know anyone there, he could use that to his advantage because they wouldn't know him either. They wouldn't be on the lookout for the school's outcast in a darkened gymnasium; surely they wouldn't suspect him of even attending. A pair of lips was just a pair of lips, in the darkness it didn't matter who they belonged to... Maybe this dance would be a good thing after all. So Sherlock unzipped the case, bringing out that disgusting syringe, filling it to the amount they would have expected to inject tonight, and went over to his bathroom, squirting it all down the drain of the sink. Sherlock breathed heavily, letting the glass syringe fall onto the countertop and running the sink for a moment, trying to wash any remnants down the daring where it belonged. So maybe he could live another day. Sherlock leaned against the countertops, pressing his clammy forehead against the mirror and breathing heavily, shaking slightly, and reconsidering what he had just done. Sherlock knew that if they found out he wasn't taking his medicine he could be imprisoned, they had made that quite clear when he had first been caught, however it was only too tempting to take advantage of the adults' absence and live a little bit. That was what these dances were for, right? Living? Then what made him any different than the rest of them? What subjected him to slowly killing himself? Well, that was obvious, and that was what had gotten him in this mess in the first place.