+26: My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark - Fall Out Boy 

Requested by @--GeneticMutation-

Warnings: Drug use, mentions of less than great childhoods and mentions of suicide. 

-

 People are idiots. Sherlock learns that from a very young age. 

Not only was this fact strikingly clear in every thing around him, he also had Mycroft teaching him. It was also like training. Sherlock's father used to joke and say that it was a training camp on how to become a cold heart monster. When he later saw the results, he didn't seem to be joking much. 

Still, their parents accepted them for what they are. 

They, for some reason beyond Sherlock, seemed to believe that love would one day break their hard outer shelling. Sherlock thought they were idiots, as did Mycroft. 

Time progress. Sherlock grew. He never once fell in love. He stopped talking to his family for years after Redbread was put down, he ignored them and would only grunt occasionally. He left home in the dead of night when he was nineteen.

No one came looking for him. That wasn't a surprise. 

* 

"Who are you?" snarls a black haired boy, fighting with Sherlock to close the door that Sherlock wanted open. 

"I'm the person that lives here" Sherlock spits back. 

 "Fuck off, I live here now"

"That's illegal!" Sherlock exclaims. 

He's thrown back and he lands on his arse, a squeak of pain leaving him as he glares up at the boy who looked around his age, The boy laughs at him and has the nerve to wink before he closes Sherlock's front door. 

Less than twenty minutes later Sherlock had the police breaking down the door to his flat. There was no sign of the boy except the backdoor being broken as he fled. Sherlock gave his report to the police as they all stood in the living room. 

There were two police officers and only one of needed to question him, taking notes as they did, leaving the other one to wonder around and admire Sherlock's flat. Unfortunately for Sherlock that meant the pile of cocaine he'd left on the dresser was quickly spotted and he was taken into the station where the police did the worse thing they could possibly do... They called his brother. 

 Sherlock hadn't seen his brother in over three years but that didn't stop Mycroft from acting like keeping up his little brother from the police station was a weekly affair. 

"Really,Sherlock? Of all the addictions to pick up, you choose drugs" The eldest of the Holmes siblings sighs as he starts up the car. 

Determined to ignore him, Sherlock doesn't say a word and watches as the word go by out the window. If he ever comes face to face with that black haired boy again, Sherlock vows to punch the git right on the nose. 

Too late, Sherlock had thought of blaming the drugs on the intruder but it didn't  matter now. All that did matter now was how he;s going to get off Mycroft's radar. 

"You couldn't just be sex crazed like normal youths" Mycroft continues, going ignored once again. 

The car comes to a stop at a red light and Sherlock uses this chance. He'd not bother with a seat belt and so he pushes himself towards the door, hand twisting the handle before he throws himself forward and... ends up with his face pressed against the glass of the car window, trapped inside the car still. 

"Ah, the benefits of child lock" Mycroft smirks at his little brother in the rear view mirror before focusing on the road again when the light changed. 

"Where are you taking me?" Sherlock growls, beyond irritated by the fact he'd been outsmarted by child lock.

"Back to that filthy pit you call a home"

"Are you going to tell mother and father where I am?"

Mycroft is quiet for a moment. It doesn't go unnoticed. "Mother and father were in a car crash and are.. no longer with us"

"They're dead?" Sherlock asks with a large grin. 

"Sherlock!" Mycroft scalds. "Don't smile!"

"But I'm happy, dear brother" Sherlock purposely continues to grin at the other man. 

Mycroft sighs again and shakes his head, choosing not to comment any further. 

"So much for a brotherly reunion" Sherlock snorts. 

Eventually, the car pulls up outside Sherlock's house. The child lock is unlocked and Sherlock wastes no time in climbing out of the car and darting inside. He takes immense pleasure in slamming the door in Mycroft's face when he tries to follow himself inside for what was likely to be a chat about drugs and how he's been living for the past three years. 

Laughing to himself, Sherlock ignores the knocking and enters his living room. He was rather lucky to have a house. He only had it because the owner was a friend and was happy to give a rent price that was dirt cheap. 

Sherlock heads straight for his cabinet where he knew there was a bag of cocaine the same size as the one confiscated by the police. 

He was absolutely livid when he opens the cabinet and found a note where the bag should have been. 

I'm stealing this. See you soon, sweetie. -JM x

It didn't take a genius to guess who 'JM' was and Sherlock crushed the note in a single hand, a deadly look on his face. "Definitely murdering that prick"

*

Sherlock did eventually meet the cocaine thief. It was almost a year later when they came face to face again fter that first, brief meeting but Sherlock had not forgotten the boy (man?). Well, to be more specific, he'd not allowed himself to forgive and forget the thief for bringing Mycroft back into his life. 

Sherlock tried and tried but he couldn't get Mycroft to just bugger off and leave him be. His seior justy had to put his big nose in and force Sherlock into rehab for his 'drug issues'. He also just had to go and play saint by paying all of Sherlock's bills when knew knew full well that Sherlock was perfectly capable of paying for the house himself (although, in the end, Sherlock decided to let the idiot use his money and he just brought more drugs). 

All this - being babied by Mycroft - meant that Sherlock certainly didn't stop himself from breaking the thief's nose when he walked into his own home to find the man sitting on his sofa as if he were here for a friendly visit. 

Sherlock's fist collied with his nose, smirking at the way the smug look on his face dropped and the bone made an echoing, sickening crack. 

Groaning, the man falls to his knees. His hands cover his nose, attempting to stop the blood flow. 

"What the hell? I'm just sitting here and you hit me?!" He asks, Irish accent coming out that Sherlock hadn't noticed a year ago. 

"You broke in. Stole my coke. Got me arrested. Brought my brother to London. And you come back, break in again, and you expect me not to hit you?" Sherlock gives a sarcastic laugh, pulling his leg back and preparing to kick the man while he was down. 

Quickly, the other waves his hand and shouts. "Wait! Wait!" 

Sherlock does, raising an eyebrow. 

The man rummages through his pocket, moving his bloodied hands away from his nose that was just trickling now. He pulls out a bag and shows it to Sherlock. Sherlock smirks, snatching up the bag of beautiful white powder. 

Two hours later, Sherlock and Jim (so he says he's called) are as high as a pair of kites.

"You didn't have to hit me" Jim says, staring up at the ceiling as he takes a drag from a cigarette - one he'd, annoyingly, stole from Sherlock's pack. 

"I did" Sherlock corrects, smoking his own fag. "You ruined my life"

Jim snorts "Bit dramatic" 

"It's really not. Thanks to you, my stupid brother now knows where I live... on the plus side, I did find out that my parents died" Sherlock chuckles to himself. 

Jim hums, not fazed by the happiness that radiated from Sherlock as he spoke about his late parents. 

"I was adopted when I was three. My mother killed herself when I was six months old" 

That gives Sherlock a pause. "I'm sorry?" He says, unsure.

Jim glances at Sherlock, brows knitted together in confusion. "Why? It's not your fault that she slit her wrists" 

Sherlock shrugs. "That what people tell me when they hear about my parents."

"People are stupid"

Sherlock hums in agreement but doesn't comment further, just enjoying the rest of his high. 

When Sherlock wakes up the next morning, uncomfortably slumped against the sofa and his cheek stinging from being pressed into zip of the pillow, Jim was gone. In his place, sat on the table, was another note for Sherlock but other than that, there was no trace he'd ever been there. 

'See you soon, sweetheart. -JM x' 

*

Jim's visits to the house increased steadily. Sherlock didn't see him for about five months after they got high together, then Jim showed up again randomly with a bag of weed. After that only two months passed before he turned up again, this time with a bag of cocaine. A month passed, another visit. Three weeks. Then down to two. Soon, Jim was coming around almost once every week. Sometimes he'd bring drugs and sometimes he didn't. 

They discussed all sorts during the time they spent together; their lives, their past, the future, parents, friends (both had none), family death, The usual. 

Sherlock felt it was almost like.. like they were friend. 

Sherlock wasn't sure what label to put on their relationship. Not that it mattered, ayway. He was having fun and that's all that mattered. (With Mycrodt paying his bills, he only had to work to earn the money he spends on drugs)

Jim didn't work and he was homeless too but Sherlock never asked how he brought drugs. They both knew he was homeless and didn't see any reason to point out how that limits most people. Sherlock had, however, made it clear that his sofa and guest room was always there for Jim to use if he wished to do so but unless he'd passed out after drinking and smoking, Jim didn't stay overnight. 

He often leaves note when he leaves the house after Sherlock's fallen asleep. The 'sweetheart' or 'darling' always in the otes made Sherlock smile a little when he woke up. 

Mycroft visits - and by visits Sherlock means he let himself in when Sherlock was out and refused to keave when Sherlock got home - to tell Sherlock that he should 'leave the stray on the street'. Naturally, Sherlock doesn't listen to brother. 

In fact, after half year passes, Sherlock asks Jim if he wants to move in. Jim hesitates before he nods, agreeing. To celebrate, they go out and buy two bags of cocaine. 

*

They've been living together for four months now. Mycroft had threatened to stop paying the bills when Jim moved in but after Sherlock didn't response in anyway besides a small grunt and shrug, he gave up with threats and continued to 'look after' Sherlock. 

Jim, Sherlock found, was a very easy person to live with. He cleaned up after himself, wasn't too loud, nor was he creepily quiet. He didn't hide things, he was the definition of blunt. And, best of all, he liked drugs just as much as Sherlock.

He was perfect, really. 

And maybe Sherlock did like Jim a bit more than he should but it didn't matter, they were both comfortable with each other and Sherlock didn't feel nervous at all when he told Jim how he felt. 

"I think I fancy you, you know" Sherlock said casually over breakfast. 

Jim pauses in lifting the spoonful of cornflaskes to his mouth and raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah" Sherlock nods. 

That was the end of it. They went on as normal and neither of them acted any different. 

Two days later, while they're stung out of cocaine, Jim crawls into Sherlock lap and kisses him. It wasn't a sweet, innocent kiss. Jim wasn't gentle, either. He shoves his tongue into Sherlock's mouth and snogs him until they had no choice but to pull away for air. 

After, Sherlock starts giggling. Jim smiles before he rolls off of him and starts to prepare another line.