A/N Hey My Lovelies....Seriously pushing the TRIGGER WARNING IN THIS CHAPTER!!!! Teen drug use, rape, and suicidal impulses talked heavily about in this chapter....I warned you...I'm so sorry....It will get better soon, I promise...Good Luck Babies....Enjoy <3

"You didn't save me, Mr. Watson, you condemned me." Sherlock fled the supply closet, hurrying from the school. He ran through the back alleys and into the forest on the outskirts of the town. He had found an abandoned shack out there a few years ago, using it for moments like these when he needed to get away.

He stumbled into the shack, falling to his knees and clawing at the floorboards. He hated himself for doing this. He hated that he needed this. He hated that he needed Victor.

He found the little leather satchel Victor had given him, tugging the zip open too roughly and sending his needles flying. He scrambled to catch them, grabbing for the tiny baggie that held what he needed.

He was almost out, only enough left for a single hit. Sherlock felt his chest tighten with panic and he scrambled to check his phone. Victor was between classes right now, he could call, apologize for what happened with John, beg Victor's forgiveness. He tossed his phone away and wrapped his arms around his waist, bending forward and resting his head on the cold floor.

He fought the panic in his chest, his body already starting to lapse into withdrawal even though he shot up the night before.

He grabbed his phone and dialed Victor. It rang through to voicemail and Sherlock sobbed.

"V-Victor, please. Don't be mad at me please. I promise I didn't know he would fight. P-Please, I-I need- I-I need some Victor. Please call me." Sherlock could feel his body shaking violently and he sobbed again, not bothering to hide his panic from Victor. "I-I love you." He hung up the phone and sobbed violently.

He composed himself and readied his needle, pushing the point through his skin and compressing the plunger, dropping his head back as his veins were flooded with the poison.

His mind finally slowed to a blissful crawl and he let his body fall to the floor, sighing as he drifted through the haze of his heroin induced state.

He came back to himself a few hours later, twitchy and breathing just slightly too fast. His phone buzzed and he grabbed for it. It was a message from Victor.

Playground – V

12:00 – V

Be ready to beg – V

Sherlock felt a pulse of fear and relief course through his veins. Midnight could not come soon enough, and yet, something told the boy it would come far too soon.

By the time eleven thirty came around, Sherlock was already desperate for another hit. He had made it home just in time to avoid questions from Mummy, and made a conscious effort to avoid John, knowing the older boy probably had questions.

John Watson had kept surprising him, first standing up to Mycroft in the walkway, then nearly breaking his wrist when Sherlock had provoked him. The panic attack in the kitchen had seemed out of character, but then John had looked as though he would kill Victor when he was propositioned. The boy was confusing and thrilling and everything Sherlock wished he could be.

Sherlock swung his legs off his bed, grabbing his coat and sneaking out of the house, so excited about seeing Victor he missed John following silently behind him.

When Sherlock arrived at the park, he was nearly five minutes early, and practically twitching as his body demanded more drugs. He waited for Victor, bouncing his knee and chewing on his fingers. His phone rang and he fought desperately to get it out of his pocket.

Mr. Watson said you left school early today? – M

What did he do? – M

Sherlock growled in frustration and threw his phone away. He didn't want to talk to his useless big brother right now. He needed Victor.

"You had better have a damned good reason for today." Sherlock jolted and stumbled off the picnic bench, spinning around to face Victor. He saw the rage in his eyes and timidly stepped closer.

"V-Victor I-"

"I told you that you picking someone was a bad idea. You aren't smart enough to pick someone." Sherlock flinched at the harsh words, and waited for the praise that always followed.

None came.

"I-I'm so sorry Victor. Please, you- you have to believe me. I honestly thought-"

"That's why you don't think!" Sherlock whimpered as Victor slapped him roughly, causing him to spin away. He felt rough hands pushing him down onto the picnic bench and tearing at his trousers.

Fear lanced through him as he realized what was about to happen and he squirmed, trying to escape. This had happened once before, he had made Victor mad when Mycroft found out about them.

"N-No! Victor Please!"

"You damned near got me arrested today you little shit. Take it like the whore you are." Sherlock kept fighting, begging for Victor to stop.

He was barely able to restrain the scream of agony that Victor ripped from his throat.

John felt a wave of nausea when he realized what was happening to Sherlock. Memories of pain and terror, followed by the weeks of agony and shame, flooded his mind and made tears fall down his cheeks.

He broke when he heard Sherlock cry out in agony. He clapped his hand over his mouth and sobbed violently. He wanted to help, but his mind had him frozen in place. He pulled out his cell and forced himself to look as he snapped a few pictures of what was happening.

He tried harder to block out the sounds, he couldn't listen to Sherlock begging and Victor's harsh grunts and foul words anymore.

When Victor finished, he zipped up his trousers and let Sherlock fall to the ground. The older man reached into his pockets and pulled something out, dropping it on Sherlock's body before walking away.

Once he was gone, John was about to leave his hiding spot and race for Sherlock, when four more figures appeared, sprinting for Sherlock. They attacked the boy, kicking and punching his already broken form. John jumped up, grabbing a thick stick and racing for the group.

He beat them off, vaguely recognizing a couple of them from the school. Once they were gone, he dropped his weapon and knelt next to Sherlock, pulling out his phone.

"Sherlock? Hang in there, I'm calling an ambulance-" A cold, weak hand gripped his wrist and he looked down. Sherlock looked up at him, terror in his eyes as he shook his head.

"N-No. Mycroft." John set his jaw but nodded, hunting for Sherlock's phone and dialing the boy's brother.

"Sherlock?"

"Mycroft, it's John Watson."

"What's happened?"

"I-It's Sherlock. Victor, he-"

"Say no more. Gregory and I will be there in ten minutes. Keep him alive, and do not let him take anything." The line disconnected before John could give the address, but judging by Mycroft's reaction, this wasn't the first time this had happened.

He heard Sherlock groaning and glanced down in time to see the boy about to swallow a handful of pills. He swatted them out of his hand and gripped Sherlock's coat, hauling him close and forcing his jaw open to make sure there were no pills.

"Stop!" Sherlock fought him, crying and scratching. "Let me go!"

"No. Mycroft is on his way-"

"Just leave me alone! Let me die!" John felt his heart shatter as he pulled the beaten boy tight against his chest. "I just want to die." Sherlock sobbed into John's chest, pulling tears from John's own eyes and he tried to comfort the boy. "Please let me die."

John felt the beginnings of the same rage he felt the night his parents died and prayed Mycroft and Greg would arrive soon.

He had something he had to do.