Be My Starlight

The Irishman

POV- John

     Mycroft starts dinner, shoving us out of the room rather quickly. Sherlock and I end up back in the sitting room, staring at the telly absentmindedly. We are called back into the kitchen for dinner, taking our food to the table. Even Sherlock manages to eat something, probably his first complete meal in a few weeks. Mycroft tries to make small talk, asking about our day, but mostly ends up talking about what happened yesterday. 

     "We need to do something about father Sherlock. He can't keep doing this to you."

     "Just a few more weeks before I can move out."

     "Still. We need to find you someplace to stay until then. Would you like to move in with me until you can get your own flat?"

     "Could I?"

     "Of course."

     The conversation slowly dies down, casting the room back into silence. Mycroft once again refuses help with the cleaning, I'm beginning to think he has OCD. He walks into the sitting room once he's done, car keys in hand. 

     "John, you need to go home for a night or two. Your mum is still worried sick about you, keeps asking how the two of you are doing."

     "Yeah, sure. I'll be right out, need to gather my things."

    "I'll be in the car."

    Sherlock stands, helping me grab everything and stuff it into my bag. I pull him into a long hug, kissing him before I leave. He sits back on the couch, waving out the window to me. I sink into the seat, face pressed against my hand. Mycroft walks me to the door, wishing us a good night before leaving. 

     "How is Sherlock?"

     "He got hurt pretty bad, we took him to hospital."

     She hugs me again, telling me to get to bed. I walk slowly up the stairs, texting Sherlock when I make it into my room.

     Hey.- JW

     Hello my Hedgehog.- SH

     How're you feeling?- JW

     Like I got the rubbish beat out of me.- SH

     You did.- JW

     I know. Everything bloody hurts.- SH

     Ask Mycroft for some pain meds.- JW

     I'm considering it, arm is throbbing.- SH

     You should.- JW

     Got to go, Mycroft is back. Goodnight Little Hedgehog.- SH

     Night my Little Otter.- JW

     He signs off again, leaving me alone. I plug my phone in and roll over, attempting to go to sleep. Mum walks in a while later, sitting by my side silently. She kisses my forehead and walks back out, shutting the door softly behind her. I wait about ten minutes after she leaves, padding quietly down the hall. The front door opens silently, allowing me to sneak out easily. My bike is still lying in the grass, I pick it up and hop on. I ride around the streets, roaming with no purpose. The air has a bitter chill to it, I regret not taking my heavy coat with me. I find myself riding past Mycroft's flat a few times, close to one. The sitting room lights are on, they must both still be up. I finally ride away, finding myself at the park. Someone is sitting on the bench that Sherlock and I usually hang out at, they wave me over when they notice me. 

     "Do you want anything?"

     I notice the man has a bag next to him, no doubt filled with drugs. His smile is malicious and crazed, but doesn't reach his eyes. 

     "Who... who are you?"

     "He hasn't told you about me?"

     He acts surprised at this, raising his hand to his chest in mocking shock.

     "Who?"

     "Your little friend. The... Holmes boy."

     Now it is my turn to be surprised, Sherlock hasn't said anything about him.

     "Oh. I see he hasn't told you about our little... relationship."

     "What are you talking about?"

     "How about I show you Mr. Watson, come a little closer."

     He reaches out his hand, waving it over the empty space on the bench. I step closer, knowing its not a good idea, but intrigued by the strange Irishman.

     "Don't be afraid of me John, I don't bite."

     He laughs again, dark eyes staring at me uncomfortably. The bench is small enough that we are touching when I sit, further adding to the uncomfortable feeling that is forming. I watch carefully as he pulls something out of his bag, hiding it from my view. He stands, walking out of my line of sight. I flinch when he runs his hand across the back of my shoulders, brushing something against my neck.

     "Would you like to know what we do together John? Sherlock and I, when you fail to help him."

     "I dont know what you are talking about."

     "Oh but you do John."

     I can see him now, a needle in his hand. 

     "You could try it, just this once. See what Sherlock does without you."

     "No. How often?"

     "I'm sure you know that as well."

     He runs the needle across my skin again, laughing at my discomfort. I squirm away from him, pulling away from his hand. 

     "Not yet, perhaps the next time we meet will be a better time John Watson."

     He walks away, deeper into the park. I am left alone and confused on the cold park bench. After what is probably about ten minutes, I decide to bike home. I walk inside silently, going straight back to my room.

     Sherlock, are you still awake?- JW

     I am about to go to sleep when he doesn't answer me, but he texts me as I am turning my cell off.

     What's wrong?- SH

     The Irishman, from the park. He seems to be well acquainted with you.- JW

     Damn it.- SH

     Who is he Sherlock?- JW

     You don't need to know.- SH

     Bloody hell! Of course I need to know, we just met in the park and he seems to know a lot about us.- JW

     Not right now John. Please.- SH

     He signs off, blocking me from any answers I expected of him this morning.