WARNING: POSSIBLE TRIGGER; RATED T FOR MINOR SELF HARM.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. He is property of the BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I do hope they won't mind if I borrow him for a while.

Good, now that we've got that out of the way, let's get on with the story!


You've been preparing for this moment for so long, and it's finally here. You are going to meet your idol.

It's dark out, but you can clearly see him kneeling on a street corner. He's alone. He's using a small magnifying glass to examine a dark stain on the pavement. Blood? Probably. Someone's been murdered. He wouldn't be out unless something awful has happened…

You take a deep breath to calm your nerves. He's only a person,you tell yourself. What's the worst that could happen?

You're close enough to see his blue scarf and you have to physically cover your mouth so as to not let out a squeal.That's the scarf! You can see his scarf. In person!

Calm down. It's only a scarf, you tell yourself. No need to freak out.

You have this planned to the nth degree. You find your courage. You walk over to him. You take another breath. You clear your throat gently in an attempt to gain his attention. He doesn't hear you. He's muttering something to himself about probabilities and bleach.

You tap him on the shoulder.

"Mr. Holmes, sir?" you tentatively ask.

He turns around suddenly and looks at you, an eyebrow raised. He glances at you quickly and then returns to his work.

"I—I just wanted to say that you're brilliant and I really admire you. I'm probably your biggest fan ever! I was just wondering if—"

"Wrong."

One word.

You look at him, shocked. You had gone over every possible outcome you could imagine but you had not anticipated this.

One word.

He spoke one word and all your hopes and dreams came crashing down. He shouldn't have that kind of power. But… youwere the one who gave it to him. You know you shouldn't have put your faith in him, but that didn't stop you, did it? It's all your fault and you know it.

You manage to choke out two words, "I'm sorry?" You feel yourself beginning to cry. No! That's the last thing you need right now. You need to stay strong. You're just overreacting. Again. You always ruin everything. He only spoke one word – no need to have a panic attack. Just calm down.

He stands up and looks at you intensely.

"You're wrong," He says simply.

"W—what?"

"You think you aren't, but you are."

"Huh?" You are thoroughly confused. "What did I say? Why am I wrong?"

"You think you're not worth it. You think you don't matter. You think you aren't beautiful. But you're wrong. You are, you do, and you are."

You're dumbfounded. "How—how did you…?"

"Thick jumper with long sleeves covering your arms all the way to your wrists." He's deducing you. You've seen him do it on the news before, but it's different in person. On the telly he's clinical – just the facts. But in person, he almost seems… kind. "It's the middle of July – you're not wearing it because you're cold. It's not in style, so it clearly isn't a fashion statement. So you feel like you need to cover your arms. Hiding something?"

"Umm…"

"Of course you are." He reaches out to take your arms in his hands. You flinch and pull back. He gives you a reassuring look and you let him take them. He slides the sleeves up towards your elbow, revealing countless scars of varying age, size, and intensity. He leans forward and whispers in your ear, "You don't need to do this anymore. Please stop."

"What? But I… I can't," you tell him, choking back sobs.

"Yes you can. I believe in you. You are strong enough to do anything. You are strong. Do you believe me?"

You shake your head.

"Why not?"

"Because I always mess up everything! I can't do it. I can't do anything right." Why are you even telling him this? You should just leave. You should leave right now. But you stay.

"That's just not true. You know it's not true."

Tears pour down your face. You can feel everyone in the world judging you even though you know he's the only one who can see you. But he can see you! He's watching you sob like a baby! You can't even look at him anymore. You ruin everything!

"But it is! No one cares about me. No one would care if I dropped off the face of the earth tonight!"

"I would."

You slowly raise your head and up to look at him, dumbfounded once again.

"Why?"

"Because you do matter. If to no one else, at least to me."

"But why? Why would you care?"

"Someone has to, don't they?" He smiles that smile that is just so Sherlock.

And through your tears you can't help but smile too.

"I know you're not going to change the way you think in one night, I just hope that I've helped you live through another day."

You nod your head and whisper, "Thanks; you did."

"Don't let me down now, okay?"

"I won't, Mr. Holmes."

"Please, call me Sherlock."

Your smile gets bigger and you let out a little chuckle that you didn't even know you had in you.

"I won't, Sherlock."

"If you ever feel like you're going to hurt yourself again… or even if you just need someone to talk to please give me a call. As I'm sure you know – the number's on the website." He smiles, winks, and walks away.

And for the first time in a very long time you feel free. You know it might not stay that way, but at least for now, you know that you don't have to hurt yourself. Someone does care about you. You do matter. You are important. And you are so beautiful.


A/N: Hello gorgeous reader! I really hope you enjoyed my imagine. I've been on Becca (urltima)'s tumblr a lot lately. Her blog and all the anons who come to her for advice inspired me to write this fic. I hope this might help someone in the future ^_^

~Naomi