Operate
Okay, so here we get back to Sherlock. Right now he is in uni, age 17, struggling with being so young and whatnots. I want to note a disclaimer that I forgot. These songs are NOT mine, they belong to Three Days Grace; I suggest you look up each song associated with each chapter. Also, Sherlock Holmes and his companions do not belong to me either. They are respectfully owned by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Steven Moffat/Mark Gatiss. Thank you for letting me borrow them. Anyway, onwards!
Sherlock sat in his dorm room that he shared with Sebastian. He stared across the room to the bed parallel to his own. It was a mess; dirty clothes that Sherlock was sure had been there since at least a week ago, along with some new filth atop the dark blue duvet; food crumbs, cigarette ash, dirty needles, and, oh gross, a used condom.
How does he sleep in that? Sherlock thought. While Sebastian's side was disgusting, Sherlock's side was meticulously clean. His books were neatly stacked from biggest on bottom and smallest on top, and pushed into the corner of his desk. His desk was always clean and cleared, except when he was doing work of an experiment. All off his supplies were carefully locked up in a box under his bed. Seb could get violent when high or drunk; best to keep him away from potential weapons. Sherlock's sheets were tucked into the sides of his bed, his pillow set neatly on his white quilt. Sherlock had all the standard issue uni supplies. His side was so un-personalised; it could likely be used as a picture for the school brochure.
Needless to say, he couldn't stand being in such close quarters to Sebastian. He'd requested a transfer, but was denied. What was worse was Sebastian found out.
Seb had walked into the room, rage clear in his eyes and had gone calmly to Sherlock, where he was in the middle of an experiment, and swept Sherlock's experiment off his desk, and while Sherlock was standing up and turning to ask what the hell he was doing, Sebastian slammed his fist right into Sherlock's jaw.
"You little bitch; you thought you could leave me? Who else is going to give you what you need? No-one, because you don't have any friends anyway." It was at that point when he stopped talking and started kicking. He kicked Sherlock's ribs and Sherlock had thought it was broken. All the while, Sebastian was saying all sorts of terrible things; that Sherlock was worthless, ugly, nobody loved him. Sherlock had not cried. He simply accepted those facts. The next kick to his face had almost made him black out, and the next one did.
When he woke up, he had found himself alone on the floor, where Seb had left him. Sherlock prodded his ribs and was relieved to find that they were not broken, merely bruised.
Small mercies, he thought bitterly.
His head was pounding and he needed a hit. Life was too stressful for him to try and think about. He got up slowly, looked at his bed where a small baggie of white power lay on his pillow.
Sherlock stood up carefully, and reached under his bed for his tools; along with his science tools were three syringes. Two were disposable, wrapped in a sanitary plastic case, and the other was glass. He picked out a disposable one, and went about making his 7% solution.
An hour later, Sherlock was lying on his bed looking at the ceiling, cataloging each and every crack and imperfection, and he was finally, gloriously high.
This was why he stayed with Seb. This feeling was simply indescribable. Sherlock got up and grabbed some sheets of paper and a pen. Journaling; that was what normal people did, right? He began to write down everything he thought of Seb. The list was disjointed, with no apparent topic, but it focused on everything he hated about Seb. He looked at his list.
He grabbed another sheet of paper and started writing words in a more orginised manner.
I hate everything about you
Why do I stay? Love you?
Sherlock thought back to when Seb said that he loved him. Lying awake and high, feeling great. But when Sherlock thought about it, he realised that Seb never really loved him. At least not his mind. Sure, Seb liked his body well enough, but he didn't really even know Sherlock.
Every time we lie awake
After every hit we take
Every night spent awake Roommate kept awake by the screams we make-every silent scream we make
↨(switch)All the emotions Every feeling that I get
But I still don't miss you yet
Sherlock rubbed the heels of his hands into eyes. The high was wearing off; how long had it been? He looked at his watch and was surprised to find more than an hour had passed. He hadn't slept in… well it had been a long time. Sherlock laid back in his bed, closing his eyes for a moment, planning to wake up in just a few minutes, but within minutes, he was asleep.