A/N- Hello! As I am a lazy person that does not like to come up with prompts, I take head cannon submissions I like and write down a story for them! I do not own the main plot of this story; it comes from bbcsherlockheadcannon on tumblr, #1460. I just helped add the back story; enjoy!

The whispers were following him. They slithered down the hall, poking and prodding at the tall figure. Sherlock flipped up his coat collar, as if it would stop the hissed words. It had no effect. He finally resigned himself to the comments and strode through New Scotland Yard with his eyes glued firmly ahead. If the so-called 'police force' wanted to descend into a group of gossiping schoolgirls, let them.

The object of all the comments was his neck. The night before Sherlock had been in pursuit of a criminal. Intent on staying on the man's heels, he did not notice until too late that he had been led into an alley and a trap. The man turned and attacked Sherlock. In the scuffle Sherlock managed to knock the knife away, but the next thing he knew his back was to the pavement. The bigger man wrapped his hands around Sherlock's neck and squeezed, attempting to strangle the younger boy. Sherlock had wriggled like a fish, eyes flashing as he lost air. He swung his fists wildly and connected to flesh. What he hit, he did not know, but the other man's grip loosened and Sherlock pushed him away.

Quick as an eel he fled the alleyway and took off across London. By the time he had made it back to his dingy flat; cold, miserable, and without catching the criminal; bruise marks were starting to appear on his neck. He eyed them in mirror. They would be noticeable, but he had been lucky. He had his life and his injured pride. He promised himself would not fall for a trap like that again. That he had in the first place was stupid, stupid, stupid! Sherlock growled and flopped in a chair, closing his eyes and entering his mind palace. He had information to add.

Safe in his flat, the bruises had not mattered. Now, the police force and employees were trying to deduce what had left the marks. Sherlock was still new around the station and people had yet to learn his habits. Rumors abounded and although DI Lestrade did his best to keep his team quiet, theories were still made about the 19-year-old boy that suddenly appeared on cases. Even Lestrade did not know that Sherlock chased criminals, and the teenager intended to keep it that way. To Lestrade, Sherlock was merely a consultant with an extraordinary eye for detail. Sherlock was brought in, as he was today, to look at photos of the crime scenes and see if any deductions could be made. Sherlock begged to be taken to the actual sites time and again, but Lestrade was firm: he was a civilian.

"Rough night?" Lestrade's voice broke through Sherlock's musings.

"Hmm?"

Lestrade grinned and bumped Sherlock's arm. The younger man tried not to flinch at the contact. "Looks like you picked up someone who likes to play rough." Sherlock stared blankly at the gray haired man until he elaborated. "The hickies. On your neck."

Sherlock frowned. "They are not hickies, they-" He broke off. He could not tell the DI that he had been chasing criminals; he would lose what little trust he had managed to gain.

Lestrade did not seem to notice Sherlock's hesitation. He simply laughed and chuckled. "We wondered about you, you know. About your 'type', I mean. Good to know you got some action. Come on, I'll show you the photos."

Sherlock retreated as far into his coat as he could, resigning himself to the fact that soon all of Scotland Yard would know of his 'amorous activities'. As soon as he left he promised himself that he would go buy a scarf. He did not want to deal with any more lines of inquiry like this again and a scarf was a simple way to hide the bruises. It suddenly occurred to him that, despite walking through a police station with a neck full of throttle marks, not a single person had recognized the pattern for what it actually was. His lips thinned. People only saw what they expected to see. Still, perhaps that was useful…

He focused on the pictures that Lestrade had set out-such a simple case, really-but part of his mind was still spinning away, finding the nearest store to buy a scarf. He would have to be more careful now to hide his activities from the DI. Still, Sherlock was not about to give up chasing criminals or helping Scotland Yard, as both were leading to a career of the Work. Sherlock's lips turned up at the thought before he wiped the emotion away. Ah…the Work.