Without a second to lose, Sherlock ran into his room, grabbed his readily packed bag, changed into his trainers and 'peck smuggler'- a tight sports bra- and ran. He paused for a brief moment to look at Kai's bed. Oh, how he had thought about doing things to Kai on that bed…
He turned out of the University and started through the winding sub-urban roads of Oxford. He stilled for a moment and stood admiring the magnificence of the University. He had never looked at the almost thousand year old institute. It was exactly seven o'clock. The sun had started to set, but as it was turning into spring, it was lingering around the horizon. The windows were illuminated and the light crept out onto the architecture of the building. When the cold bit Sherlock's legs, he suddenly remembered he was supposed to be running.
He ran, on autopilot, as he always does. He let his mind follow suit as well. As he rushed down the roads, feet pounding in time with his his steady heartbeat, a dull ache worked its way across his ribs. Yet he was oblivious to it; the adrenaline thawing through the pain. He turned left off the main road and down an alleyway. He knew where he was and slid to a stop. Sherlock was outside his dealers'. He crouched down and began searching through his bag for some cash. He figured getting high would help him forget about Kai, at least for the night.
How he wished to just see those eyes again. That nose, those ears, those lips. They were almost real in his mind's eye. He convinced himself that they would be even more realistic if he could just smoke something.
"'Ello stranger," Sherlock's stomach turned. Oh no. He looked at the feet standing over him. Those shoes. Sherlock lifted his head slowly. He remained on the floor, but prepared to run.
"Oh- no, no, no. This won't do Sherrrrrlooock," the man said, extending his words excruciatingly. "You knoow this is my territory," he kept erratically changing pitch mid sentence, causing Sherlock's insides to curl.
"Ji- How do you know about that?" Sherlock demanded. His stomach dropped to his feet at the thought of that man knowing his real name. He thought he could stay under his radar.
"You sound surprised," the man sounded almost disappointed. "You know I will always control you." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Sherlock's eyes avoided the smile that crept onto the man's face, he was a sucker for that smile. The way it grew from the corners and beamed to his eyes. The man's eyes were always full of fire. It was the type of smile that could make you melt and know that something bad will happen at the same time. Sherlock loved the danger. Although now he grew scared. He got up to bolt it. The man standing over Sherlock pushed him back to the floor with gloved hands. He blew three swift kicks to Sherlock's chest and abdomen. He coughed up blood. Sherlock could hear the man bouncing on his feet. He jumped repeatedly from one foot to the other like a child jumping rope.
A hand reached out to him.
"Piss off," Sherlock spat on the ground, there was blood. He rejected the hand in disgust and stood up. The man met Sherlock's eyes and stared him down even though he was shorter than the matted haired boy.
"You know I'm so changeable, Sherlock. So. Don't. Annoy. Me."
Sherlock later found himself in the nearest coffee shop at exactly seven fifty seven. His laptop was left on a table by the window alone as he ordered a double espresso. The man in front of the line reeked of HUGO for men and it began to sting Sherlock's nostrils.
"Can I use police force discount here?" The man asked the barista. After agreeing huffily they took a twenty percent discount off and served him a double espresso. Sherlock read the ID in the few seconds it was out; John Watson. John had short, combed hair and it was obvious he cared about his appearance. This you could tell by the way his shirt was tucked in neatly and shoes were newly polished. John seemed to notice Sherlock was ordering the same double espresso as him, and playfully sung "snap" in Sherlock's face, seemingly delighted. What an immature man, Sherlock groaned to himself.
He sat back down at his table and started to tap away at his latest essay, a study on how antibiotics alter in molecular structure to painkillers. Mr Watson sat, purposely, opposite Sherlock and kept making desperate pleas to make eye contact. After twenty seven minutes of being stared at, Sherlock looked up and huffed.
"Can I help you?"
"I don't know, can you?" John winked. After a lengthy pause, John made his way slowly to Sherlock and sat backwards on the chair directly opposite him. "I appeared to have lost my number, can I have yours?" Sherlock spat his espresso back into the cup. The cheek of this man! "Come on! That was a good line!" John protested the man's feeble laugh. Sherlock was shocked that he was laughing.
"It was awful," Sherlock said jovially.
"Anyway, what's wrong mate? Who died?" he ventured. Sherlock visibly recoiled. Immediately John realized his mistake. "Oh shit. Man, I'm so sorry I didn't know!"
With that, he decided it was time to leave. He said thanks to the man for cheering him up and considered giving his number after that cheesy pick-up line.
He shoved his keys, pen and memory stick into his pocket and was surprised to find a small scrap of paper buried at the bottom of it. He nodded to John and then promptly left the shop.
Sherlock's mind wandered to the discovered note.
"Nice to see you earlier. You know I am the only person who will accept you, Sherlock. I will love you no matter what. I will love you in spite of you being transgender. You KNOW I am the only person who will ever love you...
"You know where I am."
- Jim Moriarty xo'