[It's 5:35 AM and I just finished writing this. At 4:55 AM I finished the book that inspired me to write this. It's called cracked by K. M. Walton; it's beautifully tragic and amazingly written and a little triggering so please read with caution if you are triggered by suicide in any form.

I really hope this goes well as it's not a drabble but an actual fic I wrote for Sherlock; even though it's for Teen!Lock and all that and therefore slightly AU.

Please read and review, I had the idea of doing multiple chapters and I have a few more planned out but please tell me if you'd like to read more.

Thank you~]

When John Watson was wheeled into the cold room, the blinds of the window were drawn open, and the kind voice of their nurse cooed to him.

"John this is your roommate Sherlock." She introduced them, though the raven haired teen merely sat on his bed and looked out the window. Irene helped John into his bed and told him if he needed anything to just press for a nurse and she'd come.

When she was gone, the soft padding of her shoes to another room, Sherlock spoke.

"The marks on your neck haven't faded yet, and you look too tired to even be functioning. Sleep."

The next morning at 'Group,' how Greg described it (everyone called him Lestrade even though he insisted to be called Greg or Gregory,) John was introduced, wheeled in by Irene. Everyone was eventually introduced. It was mostly their names John new at first, but as days, weeks and even a month or two passed he knew everyone. Mostly.

Jim, a flamboyant looking boy with short black hair and dark eyes jumped from his school building; explained by a cast on his left leg filled with doodles.

Sebastian had been found by his parents with a gun to his head, calmed by his mother but taken here anyway. The blond was next to Jim and it looked like he wasn't moving.

Molly was a mousy looking girl with her long hair tied very neatly had tried to drown herself multiple times, each unsuccessful.

And then there was Sherlock.

Sherlock rarely spoke to him, even though they were roommates. All John knew that his name and that he was very, very smart. Despite his intelligence however, he didn't realize the severity of his words sometimes; which led to Molly running out sobbing during Group one day and Sherlock spending the rest of the day in Solitary. He came back after dinner, sitting alone in the common room while everyone made idle conversation.

John had become friends with Molly, they quietly smiled at one another and spoke to each other while Sebastian and Jim all but cuddled together on the couch. He learned that Sebastian was the one doodling on Jim's cast, intricate designs of tigers and smoke with the one or two sharpies he was allowed to have.

It was in John's second month in the ward when Mary came. She was plain but breath taking. Slightly chubby, the honey haired girl was his age and he learned her story the day she came to group.

"M-My father," she began gently, looking a little tense but Lestrade simply smiled at her. "You're fine, Mary."

So she continued.

John learned a lot about Mary; her mother wasn't around much, and in turn her father looked upon her to do everything. Cook, clean, work; if he wasn't satisfied he'd beat or rape her. Sometimes both. One night she had enough and tried to hang herself and that resonated with John.

When Mary had joined the circle of friends, it seemed that Sherlock eventually began moving closer to them. He would listen to conversations about things the others liked, their own stories, and things of the outside world.

John and Sherlock began to bond in the quiet of the room; through the simple fact Sherlock wanted his jell-o.

"For what?"

"An experiment."

It turned out the experiment was to see if he could make the jell-o land perfectly into the blouse of their nurse.

They giggled at the shocked face of Irene Adler when the desert not only landed in the front of her blouse, but it seemed to slide into her bra by the sound she made, followed by a shriek as she went to the nurses' station. But it was only in their room when Sherlock would smile at John; they'd whisper to each other after lights out and bond a bit by bit before breakfast.

The third month John was there, he finally had the courage to tell his story.

His mother and father had only wanted John because his sister Harriet wasn't what they wanted. Their 'golden girl' was not only a trouble making alcoholic but she was also a lesbian. So they decided to have another child, a boy. But it turned out it didn't matter if he got perfect grades, excelled in sports if he was a 'bloody faggot like his sister.' By the time Harriet was old enough to leave she had already ran off with some girl name Clarice and John was left for the torment of his parents.

He tried to hang himself on Christmas Eve.

John hadn't realized he was crying until he felt the hand squeezing his. Sherlock was there, looking directly at him with eyes like he'd never seen before. So intense and filled with an indescribable color. The other boy said nothing as John wiped his own tears, still holding his hand till group was over, and even after that.

The two stayed after group, Lestrade telling the nurses while John cried and Sherlock simply listened. It was a half hour before dinner when John finally felt calm enough to speak. He wasn't able to look at the other boy, eyes on the floor. "I feel so alone sometimes."

Not even after a beat, Sherlock spoke.

"You are never alone. Not anymore."

And Sherlock told his story.

A family too busy to give him any attention, praised when he did well, scolded when he had done wrong. His father would beat him if he got a B or lower in any test and worse if the grade fell any lower. Sherlock would take drugs while his family was away; it would calm his mind and make everything slow down so he could think without everything blowing past him. One night he had taken too much and overdosed. None of his family knew about his addiction (a lie) and his mother screamed that she loved her children enough to know and that he was just sad and needed help. So he came here.

It was in this room that John could look at Sherlock and finally smile.

It was there that they shared their first kiss.