Running Away

Sherlock felt sad about Mycroft. He was glad that he's gone, but Mycroft was the only one who ever understood Sherlock. Sometimes, for whatever reason, Sherlock felt so guilty that he thinks about going back and apologising to his parents for being a stubborn child and running away. It was times like this when he would wake up in a dark alley, broken, damaged, and hurting so badly that he wanted it all to end.

He felt so numb, the darkness inside of himself making its way to his skin, tingling, begging its way out. He couldn't stand it. He had to quell the numbness. The emptiness, darkness, the feeling of feeling noting so strongly that it feels like his insides were literally replaced with nothing. So dark; so empty; and it couldn't stop.

In a dark alley, with no recollection of where he was, he would reach his arm out to search for a glass shard. He would roll up his sleeve, and while he loathed the dirty blade, he would drag it across his forearm, slowly, while he bled out the numbness.

Now, as he stood on the stage, once again, he thought back to his last Christmas with his family.

"Why are you out of your room?" His father's voice was calm, but his face was angry.

With a quiet voice, Sherlock said, "I've been in there for five days, and I am hungry."

His father shook his head. "Well whose fault is that? If you weren't such a freakish brat, I wouldn't have to punish you; you make me do this to you." He punched Sherlock in the face, then took a breath. "But now you're out of your room, and you need punishment. Mycroft!"

Mycroft walked into the room and stared at Sherlock with clear disgust on his face. "Yes father?" he asked pleasantly.

"Take Sherlock to his room and administer his punishment." Mycroft nodded and took the hand of his little brother to lead him to his room, passing one of the maids on the way.

Once there, Mycroft didn't wait; he struck Sherlock across the face.

"Ah!" Sherlock yelped. Without hesitation, Mycroft punched him once in the face, and kicked him twice in the stomach, in quick succession. Sherlock was now on the ground, groaning in pain.

"My… Please don't," he whispered.

"I am sorry, little brother. You must behave yourself, and then father will not punish you,"

Sherlock whimpered as his broth beat him.

After the beating, Sherlock found a razor. He experimentally slid the dull edge of it across his palm, reveling in the cold feeling of it. He spun it around so that the sharp edge was facing his wrist. He held it a few inches above his arm, holding it in the air before he lowered the cold metal square and deliberately sliced his skin. He let out a shaky breath and dropped the razor, mesmerized by the blood that beaded up on the line he drew.

Sherlock bent down to retrieve the razor; standing up and running it under the tap water. He slid it against his wrist again and again. It was almost his way of proving to himself that he could feel, contrary to popular belief; even if it was just pain he was proving he could feel. And the pain of being left alone. He looked over at the clock as it chimed 12 o'clock.

"Happy Christmas to me." he murmured, cutting one last line across his wrist.

Again, the strumming of the bass woke him from his thoughts. He started to sing.

I'm thinking to myself
That I've done something wrong
That I've crossed the line
Have you found out this time
What led you to believe
It's only you and me
Do you see it in my eyes
Have you found out this time

You see right through me
Cause you're running away
You keep turning your back on me
I tried so hard
But you're running away
Please don't turn your back on me

I'm drinking by myself
And oh, I'm going down
But will you pick me up
Will you leave me on the ground
I led you to believe
It's only you and me
I can see it in your eyes
That you found out this time

You see right through me
Cause you're running away
You keep turning your back on me
I tried so hard
But you're running away
Please don't turn your back on me

Don't just turn and walk away
I can learn from my mistakes
Don't throw everything away

You see right through me
Cause you're running away
You keep turning your back on me
I tried so hard
But you're running away
But you're running away

You see right through me
Cause you're running away
You keep turning your back on me
I tried so hard
But you're running away
Please don't turn your back on me

As Sherlock finished the song, he thought to himself, only one more song.