Sherlock stood in the back alley of a club, a lit cigarette in one hand. Every once in a while he'd bring the fag to his lip, take a long, deep drag and then send smoke out into the air like a dragon from a fairytale. The dark-haired teen was waiting, waiting for a dealer with good cocaine, waiting for a client who would offer enough for an hour, waiting for anything. The back door to the club swung open and filled the dark alley with bright light and music, Sherlock stood and waited to see who would come out.
A drunken John Watson stumbled out of the club, propped up by his best mate, Mike Stamford, who was surprisingly still somewhat sober. "Come on Mikeeey, I wasn't finished, I nearly pulled there, just let me go back in for five more minutes." John called out, tripping over his words. Sherlock rolled his eyes and took a drag from the cigarette, blowing smoke rings into the night, the drunk ones were always fun. Though Sherlock was the type to let his clients or dealer approach him, everyone in night time circle knew his name. Sherlock Holmes was just another creature of the night, an enigma to which none could solve.
John shook his head, trying to clear the low buzzing ringing in his ears, it took him a while but he finally made out the outline of a tall form before him. "Oi! Mate, don't I know you from somewhere?" John asked trying to remember what was so familiar about the dark figure before him. It took Sherlock a moment before he realized who the drunk was, he was John Hamish Watson, they went to university together. John was captain of the rugby team and was majoring in medical sciences. "I… no…" Sherlock managed to say. He was already harassed enough at the university, if word got out he was a whoring junkie he'd never hear the end of it.
John narrowed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the voice, "No, I'm sure I do, yeah, you're that…" Mike interrupted him, pulling John away, by his jacket. "Come on John, leave the man alone. I'm sure he has enough problems, given his job and all." John looked at Mike quizzically, to which Mike just mouthed 'prostitute' and proceeded to pull John away, stumbling slightly.
John turned around a final time, facing Sherlock he leaned in to say "See you around…" he dropped his voice to a whisper "Sherlock Holmes".
"See ya…" Sherlock choked out, his stomach knotting up as he saw his whole life go up in flames. John and Mike were two of the biggest gossipers around and if John knew Sherlock would bet anything that Mike Stamford would be the first person he told. By tomorrow morning the whole of campus would know what he did at night, it wouldn't be a secret anymore. The girls would mock him and the guys would beat him up, though some of them might approach him for a quick, no strings attached fuck, the thought sickened Sherlock.
John stumbled along up the road, he glanced back, giving Sherlock one last pitying look, he had known the boy had issues but he'd never thought for one second that he'd turn to prostitution. He was about to go and apologize but then Mike spotted the girl he was hitting on early leaving the club and all thoughts of Sherlock Holmes left his head.
Sherlock dropped his cigarette, watching John go, and stubbed it out with the toe of his boot. Just then another man approached him, offering both cocaine and money and all Sherlock could do was agree. As the man roughly grabbed him by the waist, pulling him further into the dark alley, Sherlock turned his head back to John. If, no when, this got out his life wouldn't be worth living, not that it already was but still.
John walked into class, his backpack sling over his shoulder. He sat down in his seat, turning around to talk to Mike, all thoughts of the night before were lodged at the back of his mind, all thoughts of Sherlock were virtually forgotten, lost in a jumble of exam worries, rugby matches and pretty girls.
Sherlock was the last to show up to class, sitting as far back in the lecture hall as he could, far away from the other students. Every morning Sherlock waned to forget the previous night, but now he wanted to more than ever, to erase all memory of John, of how he discovered his dirty little secret, from his mind. But he couldn't, for once in his life Sherlock cursed his ability, his never-forgetting memory and his sharp mind.
After just 15 minutes of class, John's attention had left the professor and instead fell upon the hushed chatter of a group of girls in front of him. It took John a while, what with his still hungover mind, but he recognized one of the voices, it belonged to the girl he nearly pulled last night, the one Mike had dragged him away. He shook his head in an attempt to sharpen the blurred memory. There was something else, or rather someone else, nagging on his mind. Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, the boy he'd caught selling himself on the streets, the boy who usually sat almost directly behind him and who John could've sworn watched him daily out the corner of his eye. John turned around, hoping to catch Sherlock's attention, however he noticed the younger man had sat himself as far away and to the right of the room as could be possible.
John frowned, Sherlock wasn't avoiding him deliberately was he? Sherlock was known around campus for not caring what people thought about him and for well, being arrogant. But today Sherlock just looked terrified, maybe last night had really got to him.
Never in his life had Sherlock prayed, but right now that was all he was doing, it seemed the minutes were barely ticking, as if time itself had stopped, and Sherlock willed the lecture to be over. He'd felt John's gaze the moment the older boy clamped eyes on him and Sherlock could feel himself tensing up. Finally, after what Sherlock would swear had been years, a bell rung out through the lecture hall, signalling the end of class. Sherlock bolted, shoving his books and pens in his bag and making a dash for the door. He didn't care how stupid or manic he looks as he rushed away; he just needed to be clear of John Watson, the less contact he had with the man the more he would forget about Sherlock and his night-time habits.
It was hard not to notice John Watson, handsome, charming and captain of the rugby team, so it was eminent that he left Sherlock alone, a few words here and there about his little night-time job and Sherlock's life would be over. How would he be able to stay at a school where everyone knew what he did, how he got his money, or rather how he got he got his money that he then spent almost all of on cocaine. The rest went on what little food he would actually eat, usually a tin of soup or just some toast, Sherlock rather felt that the consumption of food was pointless and had no effect other than to slow down his mind.
Sherlock hear John calling after him, jogging to try and keep up with him, but it was no use, Sherlock had reached his next class, running hastily inside, by the time John had caught up with him. With a sigh John walked off to his own class, he'd have to catch Sherlock later.
As he grabbed a seat Sherlock shut his eyes, trying to focus, why couldn't John Watson leave him alone, did he have to torment Sherlock? He knew he would have to face John soon but he promised himself it wouldn't be today.
John was puzzled; Sherlock had all but sprinted away from him, but why? John got that even the emotionless Sherlock Holmes would be prone to embarrassment one time or another, but to run away? That didn't seem the younger man's style. Surely Sherlock wasn't intimidated by John, he knew he was popular, you weren't captain of the rugby team without earning some respect among fellow students, but John regarded himself as a decent guy, so he chatted a few girls up and got drunk every now and then, he wasn't like the other populars, who went around fucking anyone and getting smashed whenever they could. John sighed again, running his hand through his hair, he really should be paying attention, and he'd already missed one lecture by worrying about the younger man. With a glance towards the clock John resolved that he would leave Sherlock before the next two classes but that he would try to talk to him in the last class of the day, sociology, one of the few lessons John actually enjoyed.