"Sherlock!" Sherlock ignored the call and kept walking through the deserted hallway. He heard the running footsteps of familiar feet. Jim caught up to him and Sherlock gave a quick glance at the boy. He placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and panted.
"Sherlock, what's up with you?" Jim wheezed. Sherlock frowned, baring his teeth before grabbing Jim and pushing him up against the wall. Jim looked at him in surprise and let out a shuddering breath.
"What I do is of no concern to you, Moriarty," he growled, pushing Jim further against the wall.
"Sh-Sherlock," he groaned, "P-put me down," Sherlock searched his face and scowled at him.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"No, no…"
"Don't lie to me!" Sherlock snapped. Jim let out a light moan and squirmed slightly under Sherlock's grip. He looked at Sherlock through half-closed eyelids and chuckled.
"I know you are too, Sherlock," he whispered, hot breath drifting around the partially exposed skin on Sherlock's neck. He reached a hand up and stroked Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock screwed his face up in disgust and threw Jim to the floor. Jim pushed himself up to a seated position and wiped away the trickle of blood that dripped from his mouth. He smiled at the crimson blot on the back of his hand.
"Mmm… you're so rough, Sherlock," he groaned as he licked the blood off his hand. Sherlock kicked him in his side and Jim toppled over again.
"You and your new bitch can stay away from me," he spat. Jim chuckled on the floor as he reached out and stroked Sherlock's leg. Sherlock pulled it away and sharply kicked him in the side again, "Don't touch me, you sick fuck!" Sherlock shouted as he walked away. Jim lay on the floor, lovingly circling the area of impact with his fingers and giggling to himself.

John wandered listlessly into the hall, replaying the event that had just taken place over and over in his head. It didn't make sense to him; he couldn't identify a problem in their conversation. He suddenly spotted Jim curled up against the wall and rushed over to him.
"Jesus! Jim, are you alright?" he scanned his body for signs of anything that was broken or bleeding. He found nothing except for the blood coming from his mouth and helped him to his feet.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Jim straightened up his uniform and smiled at John. John gave him an awkward smile in return and helped him towards the nurse's office.
"What happened?" John asked as the nurse finished checking his injuries.
"Nothing, just a few bullies. Nothing I can't handle," John looked at him worryingly. Jim smiled again and patted John on the shoulder, "I'm fine, John, really. Stop fussing. The nurse said I have some bruises on my side and that's it," John sighed at Jim's words, but was still worried that he was so calm about what happened to him, "Now, if you don't mind, we need to be in French right now."
"Right," agreed John, "let's go then."

"Are you sure you're alright?" John asked as they sat down together at lunch. Jim stared distantly as he told John he was as fine as he was an hour ago. John followed his gaze and saw Jim was staring at Sherlock. He waved his hand in front of Jim's face and called to him. Jim snapped back to meet John's gaze and blushed.
"Jim… do you… do you like Sherlock?" John asked as politely as he possibly could.
"What? Oh. No, no, I was just… reminiscing," he trailed, rubbing his side lightly.

Sherlock skipped the last lesson of the day. He tried to get his head around everything but it just felt so clogged. He'd had half the pack of cigarettes throughout the day and finished the other half throughout the past half hour. He sucked on the butt of his last one, trying to find clarity in his mind through the nicotine. It wasn't working.
"Stronger," he mumbled to himself, "I need something stronger," he held his jar tightly against himself as he drowned in the sea of his clogging thoughts.
He gathered himself as he heard other students leaving for the buses and headed that way also. He found the small bus that took him to his street and frowned at the sight of John already on board. John was seated at the front, so Sherlock huddled into the back, the afternoon sun shining everywhere but his corner seat.

As Sherlock entered the manor, he knew there was going to be no-one there. He suspected his brother was at Lestrade's house, his father at the local pub and his mother still missing. It was the perfect opportunity to find what he was looking for.
Of course he had read up on the dangers of using it, and he flicked through this information as he reached into the very back of his father's closet, looking for that dusty shoebox he had seen a few years back. Hallucinations, he thought, that's the only thing that worries me. The rest is fine. It will clear my head, I will be fine. He found the shoebox caked in a layer of dust, unused for seemingly decades. He lifted the dirty lid and found a vial along with several unused needles. He pulled one out and filled it with the liquid from the vial.
Cocaine. It will help me. I don't care about the pain of the needle or any other weird side effects. Just the hallucinations.
He replaced the lid on the box and returned to his room. His gaze shifted between the needle and his arm. When they finally met, he cried out from the pain, but it quickly subsided as he felt the effects of the drug. Everything was so clear. He felt happy, euphoric even. He started to sort through his thought processes when he suddenly heard a familiar sound. He turned to find John sitting on his bed, his golden fur shimmering in the evening sun, his tail wagging happily and his big, blue eyes dancing with happiness. A tear rolled down Sherlock's cheek as he held his dog tightly in his arms.
"John," he whispered, "I thought I'd lost you," John barked happily as he jumped off the bed and ran down the stairs. Sherlock followed after him, smiling for the first time since Christmas. He ran out the door with John and followed him around the street. John ran around him and Sherlock got so dizzy he fell into the snow. John jumped on top of him and licked at his face.
"John! John, stop," he laughed, pushing lightly at the dog. John settled in the snow next to him and Sherlock patted his head.
"I love you, John. Don't ever leave me," he whispered, smiling as his eyelids grew heavy and finally closed.
*~*