Hi all! Just a little one shot that didn't turn out quite like I'd hoped. I heard the song "Colors" by Halsey and just immediately thought of young Sherlock. Fast forward to me listening to the whole album, and this is the result. There are lyrics from various songs fro Halsey's album "Badlands" mixed into this story. The songs are listed in order at the end. Hope you like it!
I met him at a college party. He obviously didn't really care to be there, but the jitteriness of him told me all I needed to know - he was here for a fix. Now, normally, I would roll my eyes and condemn him as another hopeless junkie. But I couldn't. This was Sherlock Holmes. The single most intelligent guy on campus, and also a bit of a hottie, to both genders. But his scathing remarks usually stopped people dead in their pursuit of him.
So, I watched him. Watched as the rugby captain and his friends bullied him. Watched as he slipped into the shadows with someone, only to reappear a moment later, tucking something into his pocket. And I watched as he tried to make his exit, only to be blocked by a gaggle of drunk girls who pawed at him shamelessly. I decided enough was enough. It was time for me to meet this 'genius'.
"Hey Sherlock. Want a drink?" I ask. I can see as well as feel him scan me, sizing up my intentions. He nods ever so slightly and with that we break free from the group of girls. We hardly get ten feet when he starts talking.
"Amanda Wilson. Top ten in your engineering class. Impressive," he said. I'm a bit shocked he knows my name, let alone my grades. I force a smile.
"Thank you," is my modest reply. He studies me a moment longer, like he's trying to decide something. Uncomfortable with the silence, I blurt out, "You really shouldn't do drugs."
I go red with embarrassment. I hadn't meant to say that out loud. He looks at me, bemused for a moment before shrugging.
"It helps," is his simple reply. I can't come up with an argument to that. I close my slightly agape mouth, looking away. A new song starts playing and a cheer runs through those on the dance floor. A couple groups of people start singing along rather loudly.
'Survival of the richest.
The city's ours until the fall.
They're Monaco and Hamptons bound,
But we don't feel like outsiders at all.'
I turn back, but Sherlock has disappeared. I sigh, slightly disappointed but not surprised. I decide it's time to go.
XXXXXXXXXX
The next time I saw him, it's after a class. I'm walking around the campus, and see him smoking a cigarette on the edge of the field. It's pouring with rain, and I sigh. I walk over to him.
"What are you doing? You'll catch a cold," I say sharply. He looks up at me.
"Good,' he replies shortly. I shake my head.
"Do you have a death wish?" I ask, frustrated. There is a flash of something dangerous.
'I'm the violence in the pouring rain.
I'm a hurricane.'
I bite my lips, looking away.
"At least take an umbrella," I say, handing him mine. He looks surprised.
"You need it," was his simple reply. I shrug. "I'm just headed back to my dorm. I'll manage." He nods, giving me a slight smile as he takes another drag of his cigarette. I wait for him to say something, but he doesn't. He just stands there.
XXXXXXXXXX
It's when I'm in study hall I next see him. I'm sat at a table, desperately trying to wrap my head around the information. It just doesn't make sense. I groan in frustration, ready to give up and resign myself to failing this next test when he walks over.
"Trouble?" He asked, pulling up a chair. I sigh.
"Yes. But I doubt you'd understand." He hums.
"Try me." I shrugged. What could possibly go wrong? I explain my problem, and he nods, pulling the textbook closer and reading. He the proceeded to lecture me.
"This is ridiculously simple. A child could figure this out," he says cuttingly. I recoil a bit, hurt.
"Well, I can't seem to get it. So are you calling me stupid?" I reply angrily. He shrugs.
"You need to look at it this way," he said, showing me. I was a bit shocked, to be honest. He was actually helping.
'Don't get cut on my edges,
I'm the king of everything and oh, My tongue is a weapon.'
Later, I asked, "why are you helping me?" He just smiled and stood.
"I'm going out. Wanna come? I freeze. I know what this means. We're likely to end up at a party with drugs and probably alcohol. Some part of my rational brain screams for me to turn it down and get back to studying. But I was young and stupid. And though I didn't know it, developing a crush. I nod.
"Yeah. I need to blow off some steam," I say, like it's no big deal. He smirks, and I feel a pinch of regret before it disappears. He takes me to this back ally place, a club of some sort. I feel ridiculously out of place, but I see a few familiar faces. Sherlock obviously sensed that I needed to loosen up, so he ordered me a drink.
"Here," he said, putting it in my hands. I raise an eyebrow.
"What's in it?" I ask suspiciously.
"Something to make you relax a bit. Trust me, it's harmless," he replied, so calm and cool that I believe him. He almost seems to be snubbing it, so it can't be that bad. Over the next hour, I polish off two of the mysterious concoctions, and I definitely feel my inhibitions lowered. I'm dancing and he's smirking and we're having fun. He takes me back to my dorm afterwards. I thank him for the night out.
"Any time you'd like to join me, I don't mind," he smirked, obviously a little high on something. I smile brightly.
XXXXXXXX
Over the next few months, we go out a number of times. I get more adventurous each time, trying new things, but mostly sticking to 'enhanced' alcohol. I discovered Sherlock doesn't do a drug, but several. He seemed to enjoy cocaine the most, which troubled me. But I couldn't talk him out of it. We got to know each other better. Well, I got to know him better. He seemed to know everything about me. A few times, he invited me back to his room. No roommate, obviously. How he'd managed it, I still have no idea. As the months passed, we spent time there too, him shooting up and me drinking shots or whatever was around. I never got wasted, but I liked the buzz.
'Do you feel like a young god?
You know the two of us are just young gods.'
As I got to know him, Sherlock seemed more and more human. And the more I read between the lines, the more I realized how sad he was. He puffed on a cigarette one night, the smoke curling into the air before escaping out the open window. We had been talking about our futures, and I asked him what his dream was. He paused, looking out the window.
"I don't have a dream," he said plainly. I blink.
"There must have something you'd like to do. Or be. Or see." Another pause, and I can see the sad look in his eyes.
"I would like to find happiness, so I could die knowing it," he replied.
'Everything is grey,
His hair, his smoke, his dreams,
And now he's so devoid of colour He don't know what it means.
And he's blue.'
My heart aches and I put my hand over his.
"You will. I know it," I say reassuringly. He looks at me, a bit shocked, then at our hands. I pull mine away. "Sorry."
XXXXXXXX
I knock on his door one day. When there's no answer, I call out for him. I know he doesn't have class, and he should still be here. I try the handle and find it unlock. I shrug, going in. I had left my sweater here day before last, and I needed it. I go looking for it, finding it on the floor of the living room. I go to use the bathroom, but scream at what I find in there.
It's not the sink full of what looks like blood, or the decaying sheep's head in the tub that makes me do so. I fall to the floor, vigorously shaking the unconscious body of Sherlock Holmes, a needle still sticking out of his arm. I call the emergency services, doing all I can remember from my first aid class. I silently pray to any deity that might be listening for me to have gotten there soon enough.
It's only when I look around that I notice the bottle of pills that have rolled under the sink. I pull them out, knowing the medics will need to know what they are. My heart breaks for the young man in my arms. I can't decide which is worse - a purposeful overdose or an accidental one. Either way, I'm terrified for him.
'Everything is blue,
His pills, his hands, his jeans.
And now I'm covered in the colours,
Pulled apart at the seams. And it's blue'
It's only hours later, outside a room in the local hospital, that I get any answers. A doctor comes to tell me he's stable, that they caught it in time. I breath a sigh of relief. When he's conscious, I go in. Told by the doctor it was safe, I walk in and hit him upside the head.
"What the hell were you thinking?!" I shout. He pulls away, I can see it, emotionally.
"It was an accident," he says calmly.
"It's not some bloody accident! You took the pills!" I argue. He looks remarkably undisturbed by my shouting.
"Yes, but I miscalculated the dosage," he said simply. I sigh, trying to dispel the thoughts of what could have happened racing through my head.
"Why do you need drugs Sherlock? Answer me that." There's a small pause before he responds.
"They make me happy. They let me think, let me quiet the voices of the world," he said quietly. I hurt at those words. It's so obvious this man needs help, but he won't take it. I lay in bed that night, unable to stop thinking about what he said.
'You're only happy when your sorry head is filled with dope.
I hope you make it to the day you're twenty eight years old.
You're dripping like a saturated sunrise.
You're spilling like an overflowing sink.
You're ripped at every edge but you're a masterpiece.
And now I'm tearing through the pages and the ink.'
I'm not sure I've ever forgiven him for that day. And I know I'll never forget it.
XXXXXXXX
It was months later that we hung out again. He had been sent to counselling and put under strict observation. I had grown a little since then. After the overdose, I realized I had fallen for him. I had no intention of acting on these feeling, but nonetheless, they were stirred up again when he sat with me at lunch one day.
"Feeling better?" I ask, forcing a smile. He shrugged.
"Better, I suppose," he answered. "I was wondering if you'd like to come over later." I think it through. He obviously sees my hesitation. "No drugs, no other people. I just...I need some intelligent conversation as a distraction. Or I might tear my own hair out," he said with his usual dramatic flair. I chuckle.
"Alright. As long as there's no drugs." He nods.
"Promise."
'All we do is think about the feelings that we hide.
All we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign.
Sick and full of pride.'
Later we're sat in his dorm, chatting. Nothing's really happening, we've had a few drinks, nothing to heavy.
"Why did you do it Sherlock?" I ask as there's a silence. He stares at his hands a while, obviously deep in thought.
"I'm done," he said quietly. "I want it to be over." I lean forward, touching his hand.
"Why? What could be so bad you'd overdose?" I ask softly, no sense of judgement in my tone. He sighed.
"Because I'm done. Didn't you hear me?" I sigh.
"I'm sorry Sherlock. Can I help?"
"No. No one can help." I stroke his hand sympathetically. Several moments pass in silence.
"Let me try. Please?"
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The weeks pass, and I slowly try to work my way in to help him. It's not easy, and there's not always something I can do, but I try to be there for him. I try to be a safe place. We're sat in his dorm one night, and we're actually having a nice conversation. I don't remember what I said that made him genuinely laugh, but I know the feeling that spread through me at that laugh.
'Your laugh echoes down the hallway,
Carves into my hollow chest, spreads over the emptiness,
It's bliss,
It's so simple but we can't stay, Over analyze again. Would it really kill you if we kissed?'
The warmth filled me and I smiled so big and bright. He noticed and asked, and I told him the truth. That I was happy. He gave me his half smile.
"Do you like experimenting?" Sherlock asked me as our conversation progressed. I shrug.
"I suppose I like to explore, yes," I reply, before an idea pops into my head. "How about you?" He snorted.
"Of course I do. You know that."
"Suppose so. But do you like experimenting with everything?" I ask. He frowns.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, do you only do scientific research or do you like experimenting with relationships and bodily response as well?" There's a very long pause as he considers this thoroughly.
"I don't know. I've never tried it," he finally answers, and I can tell from his body language he's being honest. I nod slowly.
"Might I convince you to try one?" Another long pause before the answer comes.
"What did you have in mind?"
'Everybody wants to know If we fucked on the bathroom sink. How your hands felt in my hair. If we were high on amphetamines.'
It didn't go passed that one night. And it didn't go farther than making out. But it was enough for me. He quickly distanced himself from me as rumours started around campus. He didn't even acknowledge me anymore. But I'll never forget him. I'll never forget his ice blue eyes that were filled with the weight of the world. And I'll never forget the heart that ached inside him. He may have been smart, but all he wanted was to be cared for.
Well? What did you think? Love it? Hate it with a fiery passion like me? Leave a review and tell me! Thanks for reading!
~ Song list ~
(in order)
New Americana
Hurricane
Young Gods
Colours
Drive
Strange Love