All my life

Aged 15

Contains sexual contact and homophobia.

His fifteenth year passed uneventfully. He stopped cutting, overdosing, James and the drugs keeping him alive.

Just.

He should have known it wouldn't last.

Sherlock came off his high about fifty minutes after he injected the heroin into his system. The blissful feeling seeped out of his body and the headache started, pounding against his skull and he moaned, turning over, and pushing his head deeper into James' lap.

'Watch it, Sherlock. Don't want to get JJ excited.' Sherlock could hear the laughter in James' voice but decided to ignore it, stretching his limbs like a cat and sitting up. 'What time is it?' he mumbled, rubbing his eyes and messing his curls, knowing how much James hated that. As he expected the older boy hissed and pulled Sherlock back down, running his hands through the ebony locks. 'About half past four.'

Sherlock closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling on his scalp. 'I need to go home. They'll-they'll know I'm doing something if I don't go.' He tried to sit up but was instantly stopped by hands on his shoulders and lips hovering just above his ear.

'No.' James purred, his Irish accent winding through Sherlock's head, shutting random doors in his mind palace. 'Stay with me.'

Sherlock relented, as usual, relaxing into the other boy and shutting his eyes again. 'Do we have any more?'

James sighed good-humouredly. 'Your little drug habit is ruining me, darling.'

Sherlock opened his eyes, staring at his friend with big, blue eyes. 'Please?'

'You're lucky you're so irresistible.' James said, raising one hand and shouting for the man in charge of the crack den. 'Simon?'

Simon stomped over, not even attempting to mask his disgust at the two boys, one still high, the other smiling. 'What?'

'Another. Pronto.' James smiled that smile, his snake-smile, as his eyes flashed cold and dark.

Simon was back with another syringe in seconds. Sherlock reached for the needle but James intercepted it, taking it in his left hand and murmuring, 'I'll do it. I like to see the look on your face as it enters your bloodstream. So helpless, Sherlock. You need me, don't you?'

Sherlock mewled, trying to grab the syringe, but James held it just out of reach, so swallowing what little pride he had the younger boy whispered, 'I need you, James, I need you so.'

He felt it go in, and he felt the liquid enter his bloodstream, swirling in mass before getting caught in the current of the bloodstream and Sherlock moaned as the euphoric feeling spread throughout his body, tickling his toes, soothing his rushing brain.

He needed James, his doped mind whispered. He needed James to supply him with drugs, for one, feed his addiction. He needed James to look after him, to stop him from overdosing, to help him home at night.

But he needed James on a more personal level. James protected him. James cared for him. James would sit with him every day, he would tell Sherlock's parents he was tutoring him, would whisper into his ear, telling him that he was beautiful, special, a genius. James had shown him that all the two of them needed was each other. As long as they were together, it didn't matter what anyone else thought. They could take on the world.

And win.

Sherlock stopped his thoughts, shutting his eyes, concentrating on the lazy pulls of James' fingers through his hair, the other hand gently stroking his cheek. Sherlock had never been one for physical contact but he liked it when James played with his hair or gently trailed his fingers along his face, or arms, or torso. Never anything else. Sherlock didn't want to do any of that, probably never, although he had never bought it up with James. Sherlock wasn't really sure what their relationship status was. Friends? Friends with benefits?