Sherlock stormed into the dorm.
'No, you can't,' he thought, 'You promised you would stop.'
He ran his hands halfway through his hair and held it there, inhaling sharply. They were coming back-- The feelings. The sadness. The anger.
The emptiness.
He just wants it to go away. He wants the pain to end. He rolled up his sleeve to show himself the scars.
Tears welled in his eyes, 'Look what you're doing to yourself. Just stop!'
But he couldn't. The feelings kept coming back.
'Just one more time. Then, I'll never do it again!'
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WARNING: Dark!
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He slipped into the washroom, locking the door behind him. He dug around in a drawer for the blade he used. It was easy to get-- He just unscrewed the blade from a pencil sharpener.
Rolling up the sleeve on his left arm, he inhaled deeply. He hated doing this, but he just couldn't stop himself. It always seemed that the feelings washed away with his blood.
But they always came back.
He pressed the blade to his arm, stalling a moment before dragging it sideways. It left the usual mark-- A red slash.
He repeated this a couple more times, then again on his right arm. He just sat there, drowning in his own tears, when a muffled, worried voice sounded outside the door.
"Sherlock?"
"Just a minute!" He managed to make his voice sound as unfazed as possible. He washed off the cuts under cold water, then rolled down his sleeves to cover them, hoping no blood would stain his white blouse.
When he emerged, he looked relatively normal. He'd spent a quick moment making himself look like he hadn't been crying.
He didn't want to worry John. He was such a delicate soul.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, thanks."
"Who were they?"
"Jim Moriarty was the short one, with his hefty friend Sebastian Moran. We all expect they have a secret relationship."
"And the girl?"
"Irene Adler. She seems okay, no idea how she ended up with them."
"Don't let him get to you--"
"Just...Don't...Mention it, okay? I really don't want to talk about it."
Sherlock headed to his bunk and read his science book again, trying to ignore his roommate's worried look.
"If you ever do feel like talking about it," John pressed, "I'm here."
Sherlock acted like he hadn't heard, but he was surprised. He's been nothing but rude and antisocial towards John, but still his new roommate continues to be nice to him. This has never happened before. All the "friends" he's ever made have ended up hating him. He always knows how to say the wrong thing.
So why is John still here?
Sherlock won't argue. He can't explain it, but there's something about this new boy that drove him crazy. Maybe it was his demeanor-- How he carried himself, how he looked-- Or maybe it was how he acted so kind despite everything Sherlock said to him.
He didn't want to hurt John. He wanted John to stick around, but he doesn't know how to make friends.
Maybe small talk was the key?
"So...What are you studying?" Sherlock began. John looked rather surprised-- He hadn't expected Sherlock to say anything for the next hour at least.
"Uh...Doctor! I'm looking to become a doctor. I've already done some basic first aid training, so I'm pretty good. What about you?"
"Detective. I want to solve crimes in my future."
"Very cool! Are you any good at 'solving' yet?"
"Well, I can tell from the way you stand you hurt your foot, probably getting out of the cab or coming up the front steps. It's not bad or you'd be limping more when you walked," Sherlock then held up John's phone, "You dropped this earlier-- It's old and obviously used. Hand-me-down from a brother, I can tell from the engraving on the back, 'To Harry from Clara'. Obviously he gave it to you because of a failed relationship with said 'Clara' but she didn't break up with him, or he would have kept it no he left her. Judging by the numerous scratches around the plugin, Harry drinks, a lot. The scratches were left by numerous times of attempting to plug in the phone while intoxicated. I've never seen it on a sober man's phone."
"That...Was amazing."
"Really?" Sherlock looked up at John, "That's not what people usually say."
"What do they usually say?"
"Piss off."
They both laughed at this, until John put on a serious face, "But you did get one thing wrong."
"Oh, there's always something...What?"
"Harry is short for Harriet."
"Oh! Your SISTER! Of bloody course no boy would carry this phone..."
John gave him a look, "Give it back."
He handed the phone back to John. He'd done it again! Said something he shouldn't have. Now he's offended John.
Why can't he just get it right?
"It's okay, you know," John began, "I know you didn't mean it in a bad way."
"Thanks, John."
"For what?"
"For caring."