Just A Game [Teenlock AU]

Chapter Twenty-Two: Here For You

~

"I'll see you as soon as possible, okay?" Benjamin says, standing on his doorstep in only a pair of boxer shorts.

Sherlock is stood in front of him, outside the house and fully dressed. He's smiling. With a nod, Sherlock leans forward and presses a kiss to those addictive lips. Benjamin squeezes his free hand before backing up.

Turning, Sherlock waves over his shoulder as he walks down the path. Benjamin closes the door once Sherlock has climbed onto the back on Corey's bike.

When Sherlock's arms are around Corey's middle and feet up, Corey kicks off and begins to drive. He's quiet but he usually is after picking Sherlock up from Benjamin's. Sherlock isn't sure why and he doesn't care, he's always too busy basking in the afterglow of everything to worry about Corey's unusual silence.

Sherlock is left at the door of his house with an obviously forced smile and a kiss on the cheek from Corey. Still not caring, Sherlock unlocks his front door with a grin.

He stretches and hangs up his coat, heading for the stairs when: "Sherlock?"

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock descends the three stairs he'd managed to climb.

"What is it, Mycroft? Failed another diet?" Sherlock laughs to himself as he rounds into the living room.

His laugh and grin fade into a frown when he sees all the people sat around the coffee table. Molly, Irene, Jim and mother.

"What is this? T..." Sherlock trails off, his eyes falling on the envelopes sat on the table.

A violet one. A red one. A black one. A gold one.

Physical. Relationship. Emotional. Support.

Swallowing thickly, Sherlock raises his gaze to Mycroft. He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow.

"What's this about, Mycroft? Why are you using the envelopes?" Sherlock's voice shook as he spoke.

He knew what this was. They'd figured it out. They knew that he had gone back...

Back to the one boy who understood everything about him. The addiction, the odd things he had to do, the patterns, the way of thinking. Benjamin understood him. Why couldn't they see that?

"Sherlock..." Molly starts, standing.

"No." Sherlock shakes his head, looking at them all. "I'm not going back. Y-You can't make me. I'm fine. I'm happy"

"You're using again..." Molly says it softly. Then her eyes water "You're being abused again..."

Sherlock glares, jaw clenching.

"No, I'm not. He hasn't touched me like that once. He loves me."

Jim shots to his feet, eyes fixed on Sherlock. Irene tugs him back down, shaking her head. Chest heaving, Jim nods and turns away from Irene so he's looking at the floor.

"That's how it started before, Sherlock" Jim speaks, not daring to look at his friend. "Him saying he loved you, giving you the drugs. Then next thing you knew... he was beating you, using you..."

Sherlock shakes his head, denying it all.

"No. He understands. He does"

Mycroft sighs, impatiently. Molly glares at him and he falls silent. Sherlock ignores them and his eyes find his mother, whose got her hands in her lap. Her eyes are focused on the table in front of her. She can't even bare to look at him, Sherlock realises.

They couldn't be right... Could they?

Would Benjamin hurt him again?

Sherlock looks down at his hand, the one that carried the early birthday present Benjamin got him. Without a moments hesitation, Sherlock rips off the wrapping paper to reveal a flat purple box. He pulls the lid off, letting it slip out of his fingers and to the floor.

Sat in the box is a small cased Petri dish, something that's likely been coloured with red food dye forms a heart in the centre of the dish. Sherlock holds it up for them to see.

"Look. He loves me. He doesn't want to hurt me. You're wrong, just like Corey"

Molly shakes her head. "No.. Sherlock... This is wrong, you need to stop. Stop the drugs, stop seeing him."

Sherlock looks at them all again.

He meets Irene's eyes and the same sadness he saw when he used to come home beaten and bruised is there. She blinks and a single tear rolls down her cheeks, leaving a trail of mascara in it's wake.

Jim is still looking away, down at the floor, and his hand is clutching the side of the sofa. His tense posture suggests he's angry. So angry.

His brother and Molly are stand there, watching him carefully. Just waiting to see what they'd have to do next.

Mother... Mum. She's just sitting there. Staring at the table. Unable to look at her son because he's not the same anymore. He's different from the boy who stands with her in the kitchen and assesses a made up wall that's supposed to protect him. He's gone back to that boy and even his own mother can't bear to look up and meet his eyes, to show him that she knows she's failed at keeping him safe again because he doesn't listen and he lies and lies to them all.

He's messed up and they know it. He knows it.

Benjamin understands that... Doesn't he?

*

"What do you mean no?!" Benjamin half-shouts half-cries, fist coming down on the table.

He's high. So very high. Soaring, really, up high in the sky with the birds and planes and whatever else his drugged mind can imagine.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "I mean no. You've had enough, I don't plan on being the person to give you the drugs that cause your overdose" The younger boy snorts a laugh. "Besides, I want to have it myself"

Sherlock looks down at the pile of white powder in front of him and he doesn't see it coming. Suddenly, pain explodes on the right side of his head and he falls sideways on the sofa with a hiss of pain.

There's a thump sound as he hits the sofa with force. His temple is throbbing and his chest aches as he unconsciously realises what's happened but can't bring himself to do so consciously with the pain vibrating through his skull.

Sherlock clutches his head, hoping the action could somehow rid him of the pain.

A shadow looms over his face and Sherlock glances up, still holding the side of his head, to see Benjamin clenching his fists and glaring down. His black hair has flopped over his forehead and the dark circles under his eyes just seem to intensify that glare.

Seeing those clench fists, everything clicks into place for Sherlock and his eyes widen.

Did Benjamin... hit him?

"I'm having it" Benjamin growls.

He hit him for some cocaine?! The pile is barely two lines.. That's why Sherlock's skin is prickled with pain?

Sherlock frowns. This wasn't like Benjamin at all.

He's often all smiles and kisses and full of love for Sherlock. He'd always been different with Sherlock. Everyone else was treated like crap but not Sherlock. Sherlock was special. Or so he thought...

"Ben-"

"Shut up!" Benjamin snarls the words, bringing his hand down on Sherlock's face.

Clutching his nose, Sherlock groans in pain. Then, for a reason Sherlock doesn't even know or understand, the boy he thought he knew and understood began raining hits down on him like rain hitting the windshield. Knuckles dig into his face, ribs and arms. Benjamin didn't hold back and Sherlock could feel his skin stinging, the bruises forming and staining his skin.

Obviously, his skin was only red now. The bruises would come later. So many bruises on his usually flawless skin (minus those track marks, of course)

"Benjamin! Stop!" Calls a familiar voice, from the general direction of the door.

Blinking open his eyes, Sherlock sees a blonde angel heading towards them before his body gives out and everything goes black.

Hours later, Sherlock wakes up to the feeling of someone gently pressing a cold flannel to his face - on his cheekbone to be more exact. Sherlock winces and opens his eyes, ignoring the pain throbbing all over.

God, everything hurts. He feels like he's bleeding from every square inch of skin and from all the tissue inside him. Fuck. He'd never hurt this much. How long was Benjamin hitting him?!

Ignoring it didn't work out so well, apparently.

Sherlock turns his attention to the person tending his wounds.

Corey's sitting beside him on the sofa, he's the one with the flannel. He gives Sherlock a small smile and continues to hold the flannel to the wound on his cheek.

"Hello, sleeping beauty" Corey smirks playfully.

Sherlock has to smile too. That's Corey all over. Ever smiling and joking.

"Hi.. Ugh. Can I have some water?" Sherlock mumbles, wincing at the plan in his head.

Corey nods and stands, heading towards the kitchen. That's when Sherlock realises that Benjamin is standing in the doorway. Corey sends him a meaningful look before shoving past him into the kitchen to get Sherlock's water.

Benjamin swallows and looks at Sherlock, eyes watering.

"I.. I'm so sorry..."

Sherlock just nods before forcing himself to sit up. It hurt like hell and more than one curse passed his lips as he did. Benjamin just stares at him, a small frown in his lips.

Looking at the table, Sherlock notes that his pile of white powder had disappeared.

*

No.. Sherlock realises. He doesn't understand. All Benjamin understands is the addiction. How did Sherlock not realise? How did he forget the pain? That pain.

When Sherlock looks down at the Petri dish, he doesn't see love. He sees a way to keep a costumer and a way for Benjamin to get a leg over whenever he wants. He's turned Sherlock into an obedient puppy again. Someone who follows him and comes when he calls and will do anything for him because he makes him feel special.

Sherlock's done it again.

He's fallen into the trap and let love, the chemical defect, affect him. He didn't listen to his big brother, again.

"Shit..." Sherlock breathes the word, chest moving rapidly.

He's endanger of crying. He knows he is.

Looking up sharply, Sherlock shoves the Petri dish into Mycroft's hands. "Get rid of it. Now."

Mycroft blinks, seeming surprised.

"Mycroft, please."

His brother nods and Sherlock continues to breath heavily. He holds his hands in front of him - his shaking hands - and he stares and stares at them. He can't focus. He doesn't even know what emotions are running through him right now.

He needs... What does he need?

A friend, Sherlock. You need a friend.

Sherlock's head snaps up and his eyes fix on Jim.

A friend.

His friend.

His friend Jim who had always been there for him even when Sherlock did his best to push him away. Dear, Jim...

"Jim" Sherlock gasps the name.

Within a second, Jim is standing in front of Sherlock and wrapping his arms around Sherlock. Sherlock presses himself close, his face pushed into Jim's neck as he takes in gulps of air and desperately tries to calm himself down. The smell of Jim's aftershave wafts around him and that helps a lot. It's something familiar, something that reminds him of his strong friendship with this Irish boy. 

Hushing him and rocking them back and forth like he used to, Jim rubs Sherlock's back and turns his head to press a kiss to Sherlock's temple.

When had Sherlock become the broken boy he used to be? Did they bring him back.. when they brought all this up? Was this pain their fault?

Oh, God, Jim thinks, we're hurting him. But even Jim knew that in time, Benjamin would end up hurting him so much more.

Eventually Sherlock calms, but he doesn't unbury his face from Jim's chest and Jim just knows his not imagining the wetness seeping through his top.

Jim finds himself closing his eyes, holding Sherlock closer (somehow) and making a promise to himself that he'd work with everyone to make this better again without sending Sherlock away.

He never ever wanted to send Sherlock away again.