Victor had overreacted, Sherlock was sure of that. He assured him, personally, before he left. But this was the second time he had overreacted, and it was the second time Sherlock was looking at himself in the mirror nervously, trying to pat down his matted bangs with his hand, trying to make it seem like the bruise that was already forming didn't really look like a bruise, that maybe it won't be noticeable. Oh who was he kidding, by tomorrow morning the bruise would turn into a black eye, and no one would ignore such a thing unless he wore sunglasses, which of course would only draw more attention to him. It was a shame, really, that Victor resorted to violence to get his point across, it hadn't been so the first couple of years they were dating, and yet now things were beginning to change. It wasn't like they had grown used to each other or anything like that; no Sherlock was convinced that this wasn't Victor's true nature it was just that Victor was a little bit on edge. It was a tough year for the both of them, and Sherlock's life was wholly out of his hands. Victor liked to be in control of everything, and the situations that escaped his grasp irritated him all the more. Sherlock didn't like to be one of those situations, or at least the catalyst for such events, however he had no choice, he was at the mercy of his mother. Victor would come to grips with that, sooner or later. And yet until he was able to understand that he couldn't control every aspect of Sherlock's life the two of them were struggling to heal the wounds that anger had created, and Sherlock was stuck in front of his bathroom mirror, trying to stare at himself without seeing the mass of black and blue forming. He tried to ignore it, he tried to rationalize it, in fact Sherlock was almost good enough to turn the whole situation back on himself, he was almost able to tell himself that he had deserved such a wound. And yet in his heart he knew that he didn't, in fact he knew very well that there was no justification for such abuse, and yet at the moment he understood that there was nothing he could do about it. Sherlock loved Victor, and should he try to stand up to him he was afraid of how it might go. Maybe Victor would think him to be unsatisfied, maybe he would think he was trying to change him, or their relationship, or maybe he was beginning to branch off to softer boys, ones that Victor would go beat in back allies after Sherlock was done listing their names. Not standing up to him was not the thing to do, however Sherlock knew that whatever damage was being done it had to stop, it had to stop the moment Victor's fist had first met Sherlock's face, after their first big argument. The thing is, it wasn't that big of an argument. It was arguing who they went to Christmas dinner with, and yet it got heated, it turned into the annual my parent is worse off than your parent and the exchange of sob stories. Of course Sherlock won this battle; most of the time, however he had accidently called Victor's father a 'deadbeat' and apparently that was insulting, and so Sherlock had gotten punched. That time he had deserved it. This time, however, well this was purely overreacting, and Victor knew that. He was soft about it, gentle now that he noticed his own cruelty, maybe he was working on it. Victor knew no other kind of love, in fact Sherlock was sure that the only admiration he had ever received was from his first and only boyfriend, for his mother had left when he was very young and his father raised him almost accidently. Victor had learned to fend for himself at a very young age, and he had been hit around plenty of times, that was just how he saw order and rules enforced, by force. He had many scars, scars on his neck and his back from the multiple times he had gotten beer bottles thrown at him, belts whipped at him, and cigarettes snuffed and burned into his own skin. Victor was wounded, and so maybe it was only natural that he inflict his own pain once and a while. And yet Sherlock was gentle, he had always been a soft creature ever since birth, very obviously a romantic and one with an eye for the lovely things in life. His boyfriend was everything he wasn't, and yet for some reason they clicked and they had held in place together for almost three years now. Victor liked to stop by on surprise visits, he liked to show up at Sherlock's house with a bouquet of cheap roses, or some chocolates he had found somewhere, he liked to lay together on top of the blankets and pretend they saw their future projected on the ceiling, he liked to have Sherlock's head on his chest while they both tried to breathe in unison. He could be soft, when he wanted to, and he was most always gentle when he was with Sherlock. Victor was rough around the edges, and yet you just had to know how to get to his soft inner core to appreciate the gentle beauty he had cradled inside. Sherlock loved him, he really did, and yet this...well this had to stop. It was abuse in its very definition, there was no better word to describe it. Victor's temper had to be controlled, or at least he had to realize that Sherlock was fragile, and if he was hit too hard he would shatter, slipping out of Victor's protective hands for good. Come morning Sherlock found that he had barely slept, in fact he mostly tossed around in the blankets, not used to being alone, and watched as the sun from the open curtains began to illuminate his room in such a way that announced morning before his alarm clock. He had gotten used to these sleepless nights, not always from uneasiness but sometimes from joy, there were nights were he couldn't sleep simply because he didn't want to sleep, he wanted to stay up all night and just think...imagine, reminisce. That had happened when Victor had first asked him out, all those years ago, back when they barely knew each other, and back when Victor still went to school. Sherlock couldn't tell how it started, or who had caught the other's eye first, it just so happened that they would occasionally glance at each other in the hallways, almost as if they could sense the mutual attraction. And then Victor, even though he was a year older than Sherlock, ended up being in one of his mandatory core classes, those stupid life coaching classes where they only talk about college and whatnot. Long story short, Victor had failed the year before and had to take it again for the credit, and so they ended up sitting across from each other. Needless to say Victor almost failed again, this time not because he didn't care, but because he was distracted. They had been aware of each other for about a month before they began talking, and took no more than two weeks for Victor to finally ask the question that set their whole lives before them, the question that had begun a three year journey, hand in hand. Of course Sherlock had said yes. And that night he had sat up in bed, staring at the darkened ceiling and wondering where Victor was, if he couldn't sleep, and when they would see each other next. It was a love that couldn't be described, it was love and it was fear, for neither of them had been outed yet, neither of them knew quite where to begin when announcing their sexualities. But it was worth it, of course it was worth it, Sherlock had known back then and he still knew now, his heart belonged to that boy, no matter how rough he was with it.

John POV: It was no secret that the Holmes' visit to the Watson household didn't exactly go as desired. Mrs. Watson was still mortified about what she had said to Sherlock, and in the past couple of days John couldn't stop hearing the end of it, her desire to send an apology card, her excuses and her rationalization for her own actions. By the end the week John was almost expecting some sort of presentation on Freudian slips, however she failed to present one and so finally they were able to hear the end of it. Mrs. Watson was obviously rather troubled to see the state to which the Holmes household had degraded, they had always been such a nice, well to do family however it would seem that with the death of Mr. Holmes things had taken a turn for the worst. Now of course John didn't mention all that Sherlock had said about being the one carrying the family (which of course could be easily deduced by seeing the mother's degradation), he was afraid that if he admitted to his mother the true state of the Holmes household, whatever that may be and whatever was hidden from them, would be too much for her to handle. Now of course Mrs. Watson wasn't much of a charitable person, however after Mr. Holmes's death she had felt the need to make the life across the street as comfortable as possible. In fact, John was surprised she wasn't making them some sort of pie or cake as a follow up to the dinner. It hadn't changed things, as she had been hoping; in fact John was quite sure that it had made the gap between the once inseparable families even wider. Now instead of the vague hope that there may be some life worth living across the street, the Watsons were reassured that all had been lost. There most likely wouldn't be another dinner, and so the families would drift once more, and whatever conversation John and Sherlock had managed to have would drift off into the wind, and not a word would be spoken for another eight years, or longer. School turned out to be no different either, it wasn't like some tiny conversation would have stirred the two of them to be better friends, however it did draw to John's attention just how many classes he was in with Sherlock. There were four classes a day, and Sherlock occupied two of them, math (in which he was a genius) and history (in which he was a genius as well). Now of course John didn't say a word, however it was just a tad bit pleasing to know that somewhere in the back of the room there may just be a pair of green eyes fixed on the back of his head.

"So, when are you going to ask her out?" was the question of the day, this time generated by the ever pressing Greg Lestrade, John's best friend and the most urgent supporter of this new relationship that may be blooming between he and Mary. Of course Greg's interest was purely selfish, for he knew that Mary's best friend, the ever attractive and seemingly available Molly Hooper, was a girl he had his eye on for a while. He followed the same thought process of the rest of the suitors on either side, that one relationship could bloom into many.
"Greg I already told you, I don't know." John admitted in a huff, unlocking his locker just to stare inside blankly, wondering what he had even opened it for.
"Well like, hurry up? She likes you, we both know that, and you like her, we both know that, and you know what happens when two people like each other?" Greg asked sarcastically. John frowned, shaking his head and closing his locker with a snap.
"No Greg, I don't, please explain it to me." John grumbled.
"They go out, have an excellent time, get married, and then their best man, who will probably be me, and their maid of honor, who will probably be Molly, get to hook up after the wedding and the whole process just keeps going." Greg explained in a long drone as they made their way to their next class, calculous. Now this was the mother of all math classes, the pain of John's existence and the strain on his GPA. It was difficult and it made him want to die, however he had the honor of having Greg accompany him throughout the whole thing so in the end it wasn't all that bad. And of course there was one more presence that made his effort a little bit more enjoyable.
"Well I'll keep that in mind. Or maybe you could take all this into your own hands, and ask Molly out before I ask Mary out. You're obviously the more eager of the two of us." John murmured, shifting his large textbook in his arms before continuing on.
"No John, this is your burden, and it's not much of a burden at all. I heard that she rejected that quarterback, Sebastian Moran, because of you." Greg pointed out with an eager smile.
"That's because everyone knows he only asked her out on a dare." John insisted.
"No he did not." Greg defended, looking almost shocked. John just rolled his eyes, for a smart kid Greg was not the least bit observant.
"Well why else would he have asked her out? He's gay." John pointed out with a careless shrug, bringing a bit of color back to his cheeks.
"He is not gay." Greg insisted with a bit of a conflicted tone. "He plays football, how could he be?"
"Um have you ever seen him and Jim? And have you ever seen him do anything with the football boys except beat them up for fun?" John asked with a laugh, remembering the one time he saw Jim try to kiss Sebastian through his helmet, in turn bumping his face on the facemask. John couldn't laugh because they would both have come and beat the senses out of him, however it was very funny at the time. Maybe Greg had been too focused with watching Molly and the rest of the cheerleaders waving around their pompoms in miniskirts to notice.
"I don't spend much time watching them, no. I may not know what's happening in the world of the gays, however I am quite intent on watching your relationship bloom." Greg insisted, poking John in the shoulder and making John slap him in the side with his textbook. John rolled his eyes, pulling open the door to calculous class and making his way inside. Immediately he noticed Sherlock, who was hunched over his papers a little bit, as though trying to hide his face from anyone (probably John) who would look over at him. Maybe he was still ashamed from a couple of nights before, as if he had done something wrong while at the Watson household. John had the temptation to smile at him, however since Sherlock's head was down he decided that he best just leave him be. Greg paid no notice to Sherlock, marching over to his seat and glancing eagerly at the blonde girl who sat near the front, tapping her pink fingernails against her textbook and giggling with her pack of girls. Obviously they were trying to make it seem like they didn't know John had just entered the room.
"They're looking at you." Greg warned.
"Yes, and they're probably telling her the same thing." John agreed, pretending not to notice the girls in the front while he took his seat in the back, on the other side of the hunched form that was evidently Sherlock Holmes.
"Want me to call her over?" Greg wondered eagerly, noticing that sitting among the pack of girls was his own lovely lady. John just shook his head, sliding into his seat and staring blankly at the whiteboard in front of him.
"She'll come over on her own." John assured with a shrug. And, just as he had predicted, Mary and a couple of her friends (to Greg's disappointment Molly stayed behind, trying to explain some math equations to her puzzled friend) began to head over to John's desk.
"Hey John!" Mary exclaimed with a smile, flipping her golden hair over her shoulder and pulling out a chair from the desks in front of John's. Instead of sitting on the chair, however, she perched on the desk and used the chair as something of a footrest, leaning over so that her hair fell all about her smiling face. John smiled back, feeling as though he was supposed to take a moment and look at her before he said hello back.
"Hi Mary, long time no see." John muttered with a smile. Greg groaned next to him, as if he knew that was the most horrible response to any sort of female interaction, however it made Mary laugh and so John decided that was probably an adequate thing to say.
"It's only been since yesterday, you walked me out to my car, remember?" Mary asked with a laugh.
"Well of course I hadn't forgotten, but you know, that's kind of a long while. It felt like a long time." John admitted with a small smile. Greg nodded in approval, sitting back and craning his neck to see past Molly's band of nomadic friends to Molly Hooper, and where she sat stagnant.
"Are you saying time crawls without me?" Mary asked teasingly. John just cracked a half a smile, shrugging innocently.
"Nah, I just mean that it's been like...twenty or so hours." John insisted, looking up at Mary with a proud, sarcastic little smile. This made all the girls laugh, and he felt quite accomplished with himself. Even Greg seemed pleased, which was not a small feat with the man who considered himself the flirting king. Now of course if he really was the flirting king he would have gotten himself a date or two, however he was insisting on staying single, just in case Molly suddenly decided she loved him. It was an impossible wish, however it was a great excuse to make up for the fact that no girl would want to come within five yards of his horrible odor. The class was called to attention and the girls retreated back, leaving John to glance quickly over at Sherlock, who was wearing some sort of bunchy gray hoodie with the hood pulled up, which was most certainly against his usual fashion sense. It was rather odd, seeing him looking so normal and so casual, it almost made John worry. In all of his years he had never seen Sherlock looking anything less than a Victorian gentleman, why the sudden change in wardrobe? Of course John wasn't able to dwell on it very long, for almost as soon as he noticed something was amiss the class had begun, and he began frantically searching his backpack for the homework he may or may not have done.