The parking spots were given alphabetically, which really was a terrible way to arrange cars being those with the last name 'Watson' were put as far away from the main doors as possible. When John finally pulled into their spot Harry jumped eagerly out of the door, not waiting to make sure John was alright before swinging her backpack over her shoulder and dashing off to the school to join whatever friends she might have that were walking through the lot. John slowly made his way to the school, walking with pain in every step as he examined the lot for any of his friends, or for any beat up cars that might be lingering about, ones with fresh new dents, ones that smelled like smoke...
"Ah there he is, John the Watson." Greg's voice announced triumphantly, and just like that he appeared at John's side, patting him on the back enthusiastically, to which John just winced.
"Please don't hit me, I'm all beat up, I got in an accident yesterday." John said truthfully, well...the first half of the truth at least.
"You what? Oh my god, John why aren't you in a hospital or something?" Greg wondered worriedly, looking at his friend as if expecting to see blood spewing from his ears or any other sign of physical trauma.
"Because I didn't feel like it." John murmured, scanning the sidewalks as they made their way into the building. Victor's car was absent, as was the boy who presumably arrived in it, and so John had to guess that he was somewhere inside, hidden in the hallways.
"You didn't feel like it? Oh so are you immortal now, you're not going to die because you're just too lazy too?" Greg insisted, sounding a lot like a mother at the moment.
"No of course not, death sounds relatively simple." John assured, to which Greg just shook his head miserably.
"You've always been crazy; however this is something of a new low." He decided finally, and yet what else could he do but disapprove? If John's own mother couldn't stop him from acting so rash then surely his best friend would be hopeless to stop him as well. It was a day of distractions, partially because John had finally convinced himself that he had to be sitting up straight and proper, just to make sure that any broken ribs he might have didn't spear him in the heart should he slouch. Of course he was quite sure that his ribs weren't really broken, or they would hurt just a little bit more than this, and yet there was always that lingering question of what if. The other distraction, quite obviously, was the question of whether or not he would get the chance to see Sherlock today, if the boy was even here, if he was even unharmed. Maybe he was at the hospital, or maybe Victor had taken him somewhere other than the school, maybe he was staying home in shame, there were so many possibilities! John just hoped that he would be here; he simply had to make sure that he was okay, and of course the only possible way to do that is to confront him directly. John waited in impatient agony as the first of his classes crawled by, the class that was not occupied by Sherlock Holmes. Calculous was next, the very class that was stacked with most all of his friends, companions, and the single girlfriend in his life. Sherlock, as well, would be waiting for him when he was there, if all went right. John didn't wait for Greg in the hallway; instead he almost rushed to class, walking as fast as his legs could carry him so as to catch Sherlock before any of the other students showed up. Maybe he would be lucky, maybe the class would be empty but for one... When John walked in he saw that there was indeed that beautiful figure sitting in the back of the room, and a wave of relief washed over him when he saw that Sherlock was, presumably, alive. He looked tired yet very on edge, almost as if he could sense the moment John's eyes passed over him. However instead of keeping his head down as he usually did he immediately looked up, their eyes meeting and in a moment of sudden shock Sherlock's eyes widened and a single syllable passed silently over his lips.
"John!" Mary exclaimed happily, appearing seemingly from nowhere and arriving just in time to interrupt whatever moment he and Sherlock might have been having.
"Mary, hi, yes hello." John murmured, nodding for a moment before glancing back over at Sherlock, who had gone back to staring blankly at his desk. Mary just giggled; maybe she thought his obvious disinterest was a joke? And she went back immediately to talking very enthusiastically about nothing. John dumped his backpack onto his desk and sat down in his seat while Mary draped herself over a seat next to him, her arms falling towards the floor as she leaned over with a flirtatious smile.
"When are you going to take me somewhere? We're going out, remember? Why don't you take me out to dinner or something?" Mary insisted.
"Oh am I supposed to do that? Dinner? What an odd suggestion." John murmured sarcastically, making Mary laugh once more.
"Yes of course you're supposed to do that." Mary reminded him. John nodded, looking at her as if he was really trying to be attentive; however his concentration was on the other side of the room completely. When the teacher arrived and got everyone in line nothing changed, John sat next to Greg and a couple other of his friends while Sherlock sat alone. John couldn't tell if the boy was hurt or not, his face was unblemished of course and yet the only real wound John sported on his face was on his forehead, from when he had fallen over in front of his house in a completely Victorless atmosphere. It wasn't incredibly noticeable, and so he decided that it be left unbandaged just so as not to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. Sherlock didn't look at him, not once. John suffered through the class for as long as he could, and yet it was not going to be very easy to shake off his posy that now flocked to him as soon as the bell rang. Mary and her friends giggled and made their way over to the back of the room, where the boys and their respective companions waited, while Sherlock walked swiftly out of the room, almost as if he expected John to do exactly what he was intending on doing.
"What about a party this Saturday, wouldn't that be cool?" Greg was suggesting, looking at John for approval while he began to walk from the group, trying to go unnoticed.
"John, where are you going?" Mary asked with a frown, looking almost as if she was intending to follow.
"I'm just...I'm fine." John assured, waving her away before waddling as fast as he could after Sherlock, wherever he may have gone. It was a bit of a search, a lost cause of course, as there were so many different directions Sherlock may have tried to escape to. John didn't know why he would try to avoid him, it wasn't like any conversation in the safety of their school would ever hurt, however whatever attempts Sherlock would make of getting away from John were going to prove to be futile....somehow. John needed to find him, and if that meant walking all over the school while lunch was in session then so be it. Thankfully it wasn't too difficult to find Sherlock, for as the flow of students all rushed out of the math hallway there was only one head making his way back in, against the crowd, just tall enough to be noticeable.
"Sherlock!" John called desperately, wading through as fast as he could; trying to make sure he survived the journey. Thankfully the kids that were passing respected him, or at least they knew him well enough to avoid him, and so his path was cleared. Sherlock had begun to walk faster, and yet he couldn't out match John, not even when John should be hospitalized.
"Sherlock." John hissed, grabbing at the boy's arm so as to stop him, despite the traffic of students that was trying to move past. Sherlock wrenched his arm from John's grasp however he didn't run; obviously he could see that there was no avoiding this conversation, whatever it may be.
"John just get away from me, you can't..." Sherlock insisted, however with a groan of indifference John grabbed his arm once more and dragged him off into the doorway of a deserted classroom, just hidden enough so that they couldn't be spotted by any passersby.
"I'm done with the tiptoeing Sherlock, done." John growled, pushing Sherlock carefully against the brick wall behind him, nestled in the shadows. The poor boy looked terrified, beyond terrified, and yet obviously he knew that there was no stopping this now.
"You should be in the hospital. I thought he killed you." Sherlock whispered, holding himself against the wall, the very farthest he could get himself away from John. It was almost as if he thought Victor might be able to sense their interaction, as if he could smell it...
"I'm alive." John said obviously. "Are you alright?"
"Don't worry about me." Sherlock snapped, looking determined despite the obvious fear.
"Are you alright?" John repeated, not so easily going to be brushed aside like this. Sherlock sighed heavily, however he eventually nodded.
"I'm fine." He assured in a breath. John nodded in agreement, taking a step back for a moment before rocking on his heels, suddenly finding this situation just a little bit awkward.
"What are we going to do about this Sherlock?" John wondered, looking up at the boy cautiously, worriedly.
"Well nothing, of course. You'll follow the rules, you'll stay away. I'm not sure what you don't get about a minimum safe distance; I thought you might have learned yesterday." Sherlock snapped, suddenly sounding all together indifferent to this entire situation, almost as if he was preparing himself to defense his abusive boyfriend.
"The only thing I learned yesterday was that whatever there is between you, it's not love." John growled.
"Of course it's love." Sherlock insisted, his face growing red as he suddenly began to get angry.
"He shouldn't hurt you, he can't..."
"He loves me beyond anything in the world, he's protecting me." Sherlock insisted before John could even finish his sentence.
"Are you saying he didn't hurt you? Did you get out of this completely unscathed?" John wondered in a glare. Sherlock sighed heavily, leaning against the wall and watching the empty hallway for a moment.
"He's got a temper, now we both know that." Sherlock murmured. "But it's your fault we were even in this situation in the first place, if it wasn't for you this never would have happened!"
"It would've, Sherlock, of course it would've. Maybe not with me, maybe not yesterday, but it would have happened. Sherlock he's violent, you can't be with him." John insisted flatly.
"Oh and you're the expert now, are you? Well as soon as you, with the master's degree in love, decide that we should break up it's just time to leave him, those two years of happiness mean nothing as soon as Dr. Watson starts to decide that maybe he wants to stick his horrible nose in other people's business!" Sherlock growled.
"I'm trying to help!" John defended.
"Well you're not! You're making it worse, John, you're making him worse." Sherlock insisted.
"It's his nature Sherlock, it's not me." John assured in a growl.
"Just stay away, that's all I need." Sherlock pleaded.
"I would never hurt you." John promised, taking a step forward and immediately regretting his words as soon as Sherlock backed even farther into the wall, lifting his neck so that the back of his head could rest securely on the wall, the farthest he could possibly get from John in this tiny doorway. He was terrified.
"And so why do you keep coming back?" Sherlock whispered, his green eyes without their sparkle, his breath without a purpose. John slunk back, shaking his head and taking a breath, wondering why he even bothered, obviously Sherlock didn't want to be saved.
"I don't know." John admitted finally. "I don't know."
"I'm not seven anymore John, I can take care of myself. I can live without your direction." Sherlock insisted. John nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets and resisting whatever temptation he might have to take a step forward.
"Sherlock I do care for you, whatever you might think you just need to know that I want you to be as safe and as happy as you..."
"I know." Sherlock assured, long before John could even finish his sentence. "And that's why you need to stay away. If I need you I'll be the one to find you. Until then your presence is just a catalyst." John hummed in agreement, taking another step back as if to assure Sherlock that he was allowed to go, and very slowly the boy eased himself off of the wall, straightening his coat and holding his head high.
"Goodbye John." Sherlock muttered as he walked into the hallway, glancing one final time at the boy who would wait for him for a thousand years, unable to realize that it may just have been a thousand years that had already passed. Maybe this was the moment when John would will himself to stop caring, just so that he didn't have to be let down like this once more. Maybe Sherlock wasn't in need of saving after all, simply because he would not allow himself to be rescued. 

 Sherlock POV: John Watson might think that he was a miracle worker, that by his interfering all of Sherlock's problems would just disappear. Well, maybe in a way he was right, however he had it backwards. When he didn't interfere, most all of Sherlock's problems went away. The days after the 'accident' were most likely one of the scariest of Sherlock's' life, simply because he wasn't quite sure when Victor's anger would manifest. He was angry over a great many things, all of which pinnacled on John Watson. There were times when he was talking very seriously about killing John, and those were the times where Sherlock shrunk back the most, for he was afraid of the violence that was beginning to show its true colors in the soul of his boyfriend. The incident the other day had caused Victor to lose the interview with the auto body shop down the road, and of course that may have been excusable if Victor had called to explain himself, or at least to announce that he wouldn't be able to make it due to unforeseen circumstances. Of course he hadn't been thinking about the job, and so he had most likely left his interviewer waiting all night for a man who would never show, and surely no shop would want such a person working for them, one that never showed to their interview. Not only that, but now Victor was worried he was going to lose Sherlock as well, telling him over and over again how much he loved him, almost as if he thought that Sherlock might have forgotten. If Sherlock remembered correctly it was this love's ferociousness that was the reason for all of this violence; however he dared not point that out. He took Victor's affection seriously; he appreciated it, simply because it was much preferable to whatever the alternative was. He learned that Victor was quite dormant when he was happy, when he got what he wanted. And so Sherlock learned in the weeks to follow that whatever Victor wanted, Victor got. There was no such thing as no. It was shaping more and more into an unhealthy relationship, that was becoming quite evident. They soon spent most every night together, sometimes just talking; other times...not talking... and every night Sherlock would find himself falling asleep on the chest of the man who was beginning to scare him more and more. He would find his eyes open long after Victor's had closed, worried that he might wake and come up with another elaborate collusion that Sherlock may have with a man he would never look twice at. He was worried more for John's well-being than for his own, for it would seem that whatever hatred Victor stored in his heart was all aimed at that poor boy across the street, and so Sherlock was beginning to wonder just who was protecting who. It was becoming increasingly obvious now that they were apart that there was something difference about this gap, the eight years had felt so drastically different than these couple of months, Sherlock was now beginning to feel as if something was missing, even though he had barely gained any sort of companionship when they had talked for those short couple of weeks. It almost felt as though he was expecting something, as if the climax of whatever love story they were playing out was soon yet to come, and it scared him. He could see now, something he was blind to for how many years, he could see that there was a love in John's heart, stored away for none to realize but one who knew what they were looking for. John may not even know. However there was some truth to Victor's suspicions, John did indeed harbor affections that were budding into something of romantic longing, Sherlock could see it in his eyes, he could feel it in his touch, in his proximity. John wanted to be closer with him, he felt the eyes on the back of his head, he felt the tugging of a heart that sat across the room, it was impossible to cut ties completely, not after they had gotten so close so fast, it was impossible not to stare. And Sherlock, well he doubted everything he thought he knew about love. He was doubting the one boy who had stolen his heart and kept it for so long, he was beginning to wonder if what he had with Victor even was love, or was it just fear, beginning to manifest itself now while Sherlock had the opportunity to break away? He knew that it would be different when Victor graduated, and if Sherlock graduated as well, when they were both out of their parents' house there would be something of a necessary codependency. Should they both begin their new lives together there would be no escape, Sherlock couldn't simply walk away from the life Victor had made for the both of them, he would have nowhere to go. AS absent as his mother was now she would be even more invisible once she thought she didn't need to care for him anymore, there would be no welcoming arms waiting behind him should he stumble in the real world, Victor was the guiding hand that he needed to clutch, and as soon as he took his first steps from the nest, well, he couldn't just wander alone. He needed someone, someone with money, with potential. There would be something of a binding contract, if that contract didn't come earlier than graduation. Engagement had felt like such a foreign concept before, and yet now he was beginning to realize that it may just be a possibility. Victor would soon be looking for an excuse to keep Sherlock on his leash; he would be looking for something more binding than just commitment and promises. A ring that would display his ownership, a sign for the rest of the world to back off, and to know their place, it would be ever so tempting to the boy who most likely he thought he was losing control to the one thing he felt like he needed to have a firm grasp on. Could Sherlock do it? Could he live out the rest of his days with the boy whose sole purpose in life was to create his own world, so desperate to cling to the things he believed he's earned, so insistent on defending what he thought was rightfully his? There was no doubt there was an issue in their relationship, there always has been, purely with Victor's over dominating composure. Sherlock had always been looked down on by him, he was never seen as an equal but as a dependent, Victor understood that Sherlock relied on him for life and for love, and he for that he was beginning to see Sherlock not as a human but as a prize, as his property. That's why he was so defensive these days, he thought he had a right to be, he was feeling threatened. Would Sherlock ever be able to accept a ring, knowing that he may just live his life in fear? And yet who would he run to, there seemed to be only one other person alive that noticed the same violence that harbored its potential where he lay, John Watson, who would defend him and lose the battle. Victor was stronger, more daring, and more importantly he had nothing to lose other than Sherlock. Should he lose Sherlock to that man no crime, no jail time, no morality would ever stop him from taking a tire iron and beating John's skull in. another apprehension would be that John would see his running to him as a romantic gesture, even if he didn't see it now he was in love with Sherlock, and should Sherlock come to him for help he would automatically assume that he was entitled to whatever change he may have to claim Sherlock officially as his own. His love was Mary was falsified, it was irrelevant, the moment he found Sherlock on his doorstep he would be willing to drop everything he's ever had; Sherlock knew that to be true. And yet could he bring himself to love him, after so many years of loving Victor, could Sherlock really just convert to another boy? Could he will his heart away from the same man he had been so in love with for so long, even in the midst of violence? Or could he just stand for himself, tell Victor that he didn't need him, tell him that he didn't want him, and move on? Would Victor hurt him when he finally realized that he wasn't in complete control any longer? Would he decide that if he couldn't have Sherlock, no one could? Might he dare wet his hands with the blood of his beloved? It was hard for Sherlock to shut his eyes, trying to loll himself to sleep with the ever familiar melody of Victor's breaths, slowly being rocked by his chest as his lungs inflated and deflated, the lungs that were already starting to wither with tobacco. This couldn't continue, and yet it had to, unless Sherlock was suddenly brave enough to bring about the change he needed to see in the world. And it was coming, Sherlock could just feel it, something was coming.