WARNING: This chapter continas Slash, suggested Femslash and Self Harm - don't like - don't read. Simple as that :) But apart from that, enjoy! :D

Slow Dance...

Social Night was a strange experience for Amelia. Although she was with John, she felt awkward and out of place. There was no denying she looked as beautiful as the rest of the girls, John had told her, and the darkness in Sherlock's eyes screamed that he agreed. Her dress was black and fitted her to every curve, black tights and red stilettos. Even with the five inch gain both John and Sherlock were still taller than her. But something didn't feel right. Maybe it was the vicious looks she was getting from Beatrice and her cronies as she sat next to John, head swaying in time with the music. Maybe it was because the boy sat next to her was the object of her deepest sexual fantasies. She liked John because he was gorgeous, yet kind and considerate. He wasn't a total prick, not yet anyway. But Sherlock? She couldn't get that dream out of her head. His 'touch' burned on her skin whenever she was near him. She remembered vividly the time he'd accidently brushed past her in the corridor when it was packed with hundreds of obnoxious excuses for human existence all in the maroon uniform. The back of his pale hand had brushed hers and the scent of his cologne made her weak at the knees. She'd collapsed against the lockers and sunk a few inches. The bell had rung and corridor cleared and she'd made her way to her lesson. Trembling. And now here he was again, mere inches from her. Yet when she looked at John her heart burned with affection but...when she looked at Sherlock, she ached with physical need, and prayed that he didn't notice. And luckily for her, he didn't. His thoughts were on the man on her other side. The tall, strapping, muscular, tanned boy; who he had made out with in the cupboard. Sherlock could still feel the heat of John's release on his stomach. Sherlock Holmes was not one to blush, but in the darkness of the room, he allowed himself the luxury. Eventually the music was mixed to a slow track. The DJ spoke over the music as Bruno Mars turned all the girls to mush with "Just The Way You Are"

"Now all you guys, grab a girl and enjoy a dance...you never know – you might walk away with a bit more than a phone number..." all the younger girls snickered and received disapproving looks from the teachers. But nevertheless, the dance floor was quickly filled with couples. Amelia watched John walk away to find a hopeful girl – they'd decided to put things on hold whilst the pot stopped boiling. So Amelia was left next to Sherlock. She didn't expect to dance with him, she didn't want to even though in her heart she was lying. But suddenly, Sherlock stood up, held out his hand and took her to the dance floor. The next song came on "Can You Feel The Love Tonight" Amelia nearly vomited. But then she looked at whose arm was wrapped round her waist and whose body was pressed to hers. She melted. His eyes were crystal. His hair was so soft as she gently wound her fingers through it. Sherlock was shocked. Why was he doing this? He didn't like her...did he? After what happened when he'd interrupted her dance lesson, he couldn't think of her in the same way. Her body was perfect; her breasts were...Sherlock stopped his train of thought immediately. He didn't realise that the dance floor had cleared to make room for them. They weren't dancing, they were swaying. But they could both feel it, the pull to kiss. All Amelia could think of was that dream she'd had in the dance studio...it had been so, so vivid. His body, his – she blushed as her mind finished the sentence and provided the image. Suddenly his lips met hers. Sparks flew from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. As the song faded the DJ changed tracks – Jessie J with 'Do It Like A Dude' Amelia's eyes were closed as the kiss continued. Then she realised...the dream she'd had in the dance studio – can't have been a dream. It was all real, so, so real! It must have happend. Her heart did somersaults but her hopes were shattered as Sherlock was wrenched away from her, leaving her kissing thin air for a fraction of a second. John had pulled Sherlock away from her. I could hear their shouting about the music. The first time she'd heard a fight this loud.

"What the fuck are you doing Holmes?"

"What does it look like Watson?" Sherlock's words were acid and Amelia watched in shock as John was melted by the viciousness.

"She's my...my..." he couldn't finish it as Beatrice was right by his arm, fighting his corner and batting her pretty eyelashes.

"She's your what John? She was never anything other than a friend and a cheap ride- to you at any rate." Amelia flared with rage at what she was hearing. She stepped forward and grabbed the front of Sherlock's shirt and brought her flattened right palm across his face. The smack echoed across the hall. Stopping the music and the dancers in their tracks. Students gathered round and we even mangaed to drag the face suckers out of the dark corners. The punters loved a fight;

"I am many things Sherlock Holmes – but the one thing I am not is a possession. Nobody owns me and nobody uses me. And if you think I'm a cheap whore – why did you kiss me?" She turned to John in disgust; "And you John Watson? What do you have to say? Nothing. Because you're too busy hiding behind your utter bitch of an ex-girlfriend. You can't even say to your supposed best friend that four hours ago we were holding hands, and if my memory serves me right – you asked me out. So that makes us a couple right? Or am I, as Sherlock says, a 'cheap ride'?" Before John, Sherlock or Beatrice could say anything Amelia was gone. Her heels clicking on the wooden floor and the sound echoing and fading along with a smattering of applaus as she made her way to the girl's dorms. The Social Night was wrapped up and the boys and girls sent to their respectable rooms. The night ended on a poor note and it was no surprise. John and Sherlock went back to their room in silence. They lay on their beds in the dark until finally John spoke up;

"Listen, Sherlock I'm sorry." Silence. John tried again, but as he took a breath in he was silenced by a pair of soft lips on his. That familiar heady smell of his shampoo, the darkness of his cologne. John instantly relaxed and their arms and legs entwined. After a few moments of frenzied kissing Sherlock murmured in John's ear; "I'm sorry too John. It was never my place. Forgive me?" The boy's voice was rich yet saddened and John kissed him gently; "Of course I do...now...where were we?" John felt Sherlock's erection pulse against his own at the words. Soon Sherlock was under the covers of John's bed and slowly peeling off John's boxers. John groaned and flexed his back as he felt heat, moisture and pressure surround his throbbing member. It only took a few moments and he treasured the climax and his toes curled. And moments later Sherlock appeared above him, licking his lips and smiling wickedly. John, who was stronger, took the opportunity to flip Sherlock over and pin him to the bed. This time he was the one to slink beneath the covers and Sherlock was the one moaning.

Amelia however, was not having such an interesting night. She'd been dumped by the guy who a few moments earlier she'd praised for 'not being a prick' and she'd been kissed and dumped by his best friend. Sherlock's lips lingered on hers. The feeling burnt. She was moist between her legs, and ached to touch herself, satisfy her need. But she pushed it to the back of her mind. Right now she had more serious things to worry about. In the form of black haired Beatrice who was now storming up the stairs screaming profanities and calling her every name under the sun. She walked in and strutted over to her, grabbed her hair and pushed her head flat to her bed. Amelia was sat cross legged and she felt the muscles in her back scream as they were pushed beyond their ballet limits. She whimpered in pain which only earned her a kick on the ribs from Louisa, one of Beatrice's followers.

"That freak Sherlock was right Amelia. You are a dirty little whore. John was never yours and he will never be yours. He is mine and always will be. You keep your disgusting slutty hands off him. Or Louisa and I will make your life living hell. Do you understand me?" Amelia nodded and was kicked again. "Yes Beatrice, I am a dirty little whore and I will keep my disgusting slutty hands off of John Watson." Her voice was mocking as if she respected her to repeat this. But Amelia decided she'd rather lower her morals than lower her life expectancy. So she repeated it; "Yes Beatrice, I am a dirty little whore and I will keep my disgusting slutty hands off of John Watson." And she pulled her head back up, slapped her and pushed her back so she was laying flat. Then her, Louise, Janice and Pauline left. Amelia knew where they were going. To the roof to have a smoke. How she craved the nicotine kick. But instead she grabbed her towel and her razor and made her way to the bathroom. They had an hour till lights out and the house mentors were in a meeting – discussing tonight's events. Amelia cursed as she realised it would be order marks all round for her in the morning. She stepped into one the cubicles and stripped. She turned the shower on and stepped under the freezing cold stream of water. All feelings of arousal vanished and were replaced with biting cold and pain. It was no worse than what she was used to, but there was definite crack in one of her ribs. Breathing was never this hard. Soon the water began to heat up and the blistering head provided her with the opportunity to relax. Hot skin was the best, pliable and the nerves were at their most sensitive. She picked up her razor and threw it forcefully at the tiled floor. It shattered and the blades fell out. Suddenly a quiet voice spoke up; "Y'know – cutting yourself never works. Trust me, I've tried." Amelia froze and quickly picked up the pieces of shattered plastic and razor blades. They were dangerously sharp and she couldn't help it. Amelia ignored the voice. And drew it straight across her upper thigh. The skin split and blood spilled out, coating her leg in seconds. Then the water washed it away, turning the white drain pink for a moment. She did this three times more. And waited till the worst of the bleeding had stopped. She turned the shower off and wrapped herself in her towel. She stepped out of the cubicle to be met a new face. The girl was small and slender with dark purple hair. Her features were slim, her eyes were dark brown. She was...beautiful. The shorter girl stepped forward and took Amelia's hand holding the towel. As she pulled it away Amelia's towel dropped and the girl sat back down on the benches opposite the showers facing her. Amelia gasped and covered her body with her hands. She flushed and tried to bend for her towel. But the strange girl stopped her. Her smile was warm and her eyes trusting and Amelia relaxed a little and straightened up again, still covering her breasts. However, the girl reached into her bag and pulled out a bandage and a bottle of antiseptic.

"My name is Rowena. And your name is Amelia. I don't want to sound like I'm stalking you, but you look so sad all the time. I've got a spare bed in my room, would you like to change rooms? Those bruises are from Beatrice and Louisa – I know because I used to get them. You see I'm open about my sexuality and they thought that I'd try and jump them in the middle of the night. So they'd tie me to my bed and beat me up during the weekends. It never bothered me, because like you – I had my cutting to retreat to..." She continued to tell her story as she dressed Amelia's leg. By the end tears were falling in great rivulets from Amelia's eyes. This girl was like her, her scars were thick and white. Deep like hers. Then the girl stood up and looked up at Amelia. The girl stood on her tiptoes and kissed Amelia deeply on the lips. Then she left. Her last words were "I'm in room 13 – lucky for some" and she gave Amelia a cheeky wink. Amelia ran back to her room, her heart racing. She grabbed her stuff, shoving it in her suitcase. The bitches weren't back from their fag yet and Amelia thanked the Gods. Within minutes she was outside room number 13 and her stuff was thrown inside and she was pulled in and the girl – Rowena kissed Amelia again. And Amelia had to admit – she melted. Maybe that slow dance with Sherlock wasn't a bad thing. As her beloved Grandmother said to her before she died "As one door closes, another door opens."

Authors Note: So...what happens next? Maybe they all go gay and live happily ever after? Nah - that'd be WAY to boring ;) Keep R&R guys - you know you want to! :P Thank you to my best friend Rowena for giving me the inspiration for Amelia's new room mate ^^