Author's note- I would like to point out that I would like to carry on with this story for quite a while, so don't worry, we may be at the end of one case but I'm going to do more! I got some brilliant ideas from the lovely ShadowPendragon, which I will be including in the story in a few chapters time. But I will tell you more of that when we come to it, as it will be slightly different from the events in the TV show, but I will be using one of their ideas.

Keep reviewing my lovely readers. I love you all.

Oh, and we almost have 10,000 views! Unbelievable. Thank you so much!

Disclaimer- Do you hear the fandom sing?

Singing a song of jumbled mess,

It is the music of Sherlockians who will see their characters wed!

When you finally realise,

I really do own nothing,

You will laugh along at me when these disclaimers end!

(Oh and I do not own the song from which the tune goes to. That is owned from the songwriter of the Les Miserables play, and the song Do you hear the people sing.)

Chapter 25 (Halfway to chapter 50)

John really couldn't express the sheer relief he felt when he realised that Lucy was alive and okay. He had been terrified. The thought of losing someone else he loved would have killed him; he'd seen enough violent deaths and injuries thanks to his time spent in Afghanistan, and he would do anything to make sure that his friends were safe. The drive to the warehouses had been incredibly tense. Lestrade was driving them there faster than he probably should be, not that anyone cared. Mycroft sat in the front, tapping on his phone occasionally, only to find that all of the CCTV around the property had been disabled... again. Sherlock and John, however, had been deadly silent. Both were too scared as to what would happen to Lucy.

"She'll be okay," Greg offered, trying to be optimistic, "I doubt she will walk into this blind."

"She's stupid for going with them," Sherlock huffed.

"Well, moments before she came over to my car and told me not to worry about her," Mycroft added, "So much for not worrying." He paused, "Lucy is certainly... independent."

"I wouldn't say that," John shook his head, "She doesn't like to be independent- but she's so used to being on her own that she doesn't feel as though she can talk to anyone. That's the problem we have."

"She doesn't talk to you two?" Lestrade asked confused.

"Not about the important stuff," John Watson sighed heavily, "You know she self harms, but she refuses to talk about it. Both Sherlock and I told her to come and talk to us if she ever felt the need, but she never mentions it. I just want to help her."

"I noticed something earlier..." Sherlock suddenly said, "I meant to say something yesterday, but I really didn't think I should after everything that happened, and I filed it away for later."

"What is it?" John asked.

"Her neck..." The consulting detective frowned, "There were cuts on her neck."

"What?" John exclaimed wide eyed, "How the hell didn't I notice this?" He looked close to tears.

"Because she hid it well, her hair was covering it most of the time. It was barely visible," Sherlock told him, "They aren't too bad, more scratches than cuts. But I'm worried."

"Sherlock," Mycroft's voice cut in, "She needs help. Professional help if that's how far it's going."

"No." Sherlock immediately said, "She doesn't want professional help. That won't help a single thing. Talking to strangers won't take away all of her pain. No." He looked surprised at his own outburst.

"Well if there's anything we can do," Lestrade said with a sad smile, "Then please, tell us. I like Lucy. She's a lovely kid. If you ever want to go off somewhere and you can't or don't want to take her, then I'm sure I can look after her."

"Babysitting suits you Greg," Mycroft smirked.

"I'm sure we can get Uncle Mycroft to babysit as well and play games," Lestrade shot back with a smile.

"Hilarious." The elder Holmes' brother rolled his eyes.

"Thank you Greg," John said happily, "It means a lot."

"I'm serious," The DI told him, "This isn't one of those offers where you say it just to be nice. I want to help if I can. You two shouldn't have to look after her all on your own." Sherlock smiled gratefully at him.

"I won't mention that I noticed her neck," Sherlock said, "I'd like to see if she would come to one of us first." John nodded in agreement.

Needless to say, they were all relieved when it turned out that Lucy had very cleverly faked her own death to fool Moriarty. No-one expected that one coming. But it was a brilliant plan she had. And Sherlock was, of course, actually rather impressed (which takes a lot.)

On the way home they were all rather quiet. But the silence was broken after a few minutes by Lucy:

"I am really sorry you know." The teenager said quietly, "It was reckless of me to just go with them, but I knew that I had a good shot at this, and the opportunity was perfect."

"Lucy, it's okay," John told her, "There really is no more need to apologise." She nodded once, but fell silent again until they got back to Baker Street. Lestrade, Mycroft and John all noted the four- barely visible- scratches on her neck with sadness. John could see that they had bled just slightly, but they weren't deep at all. He was just glad that she was alive.

At Baker Street, Mycroft and Lestrade stayed for half an hour while they all had a cup of well deserved tea. The conversation about the case thrived, and Lucy found herself giving consent to John so that he could write up the case on his blog- something he was excited about doing. Mycroft and Lestrade left just as night had fallen; both seemed to be greatly relieved that things were back to normal now.

Without prompt, Lucy went and got changed and showered, ready for bed. She had been fairly quiet all evening, which was very worrying to Sherlock and John. Neither knew whether or not she was going to cut- as Sherlock knew she hadn't the other night- so in reality he was kind of anticipating it sooner or later.

"Do you think she will be okay?" John finally asked while Lucy was in the shower.

"I don't know." Sherlock replied. "She hasn't self harmed in the past couple of days, but that probably means that all of those emotions are building up, which won't be good." He shrugged.

When Lucy came through, Sherlock noted happily that she still hadn't cut. Not that he could stop her if she did. But it was nice to know that she hadn't hurt herself recently. It was around nine at that point, and the young girl looked rather exhausted.

"Are you going to bed now?" John asked.

"Yeah," she replied.

"Hey, are you okay?" John questioned, "You've been very quiet all evening."

"Just been thinking about things, that's all," Lucy brushed it aside. "I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Positive." Lucy smiled, although it didn't quite reach her eyes. With a cautious step, she walked over to the ex-army doctor. The teenager opened her arms and wrapped John in a tight, warm hug. With surprise, he returned it, resting his head on top of hers.

"Thank you for everything John," she murmured to him so that only he could hear.

"No problem Lucy," he whispered. Letting go of him she stepped back a little. Sherlock looked at her, half wondering why she was hesitating when suddenly she spoke up nervously:

"Can you stay with me tonight?" Her voice was small and very quiet, and he could see the amount of courage it took for her to even think about asking let alone actually asking him. However she quickly backtracked, scared of being rejected, "Of course, it's absolutely fine if you don't want to. Just say so, I don't mind, I shouldn't need anyone to be with me. I shouldn't be putting you out. I'm sorry."

"Lucy, it's fine," Sherlock interrupted her babbling, "I don't mind staying with you- you know that. I'm more than happy to. You won't 'put me out' as you worded it. So yes, I will stay with you."

Lucy said goodnight to John as she headed off to her room. Sherlock stayed back for a moment to talk to John.

"I'm glad she's asked you to sleep with her," John told him, "I'm glad she trusts you. And this means that she won't do anything tonight."

"Exactly," Sherlock muttered, "She trusts you as well John, but I think she feels more comfortable with me staying with her. I don't know why. But she is." With a smile, Sherlock went off, getting changed into a grey t-shirt and pyjama trousers before walking next door to Lucy's bedroom- shutting the door behind him to find her already snuggled beneath the covers.

"Budge over," Sherlock muttered as he hung his dressing gown up on the back of the door in case he wanted to wear it in the morning. Lucy shifted over and was rather surprised when she felt Sherlock get under the covers.

"You're getting under the blanket?" Lucy seemed confused.

"Yes, is that a problem? I thought it would be more comfortable." Upon seeing her frown, Sherlock sighed slightly and quickly backtracked, "Oh great, have I gotten it wrong? Am I not supposed to do that? I thought it would be okay. Sorry." Sherlock looked apologetic as he made a move to get out.

"No, no it's fine." Lucy said, grabbing his arm gently so that he stayed under the covers, "It just surprised me to be honest, it's not what people normally do. But if it will make you more comfortable and warmer then it's fine with me. I shouldn't expect you to sleep uncomfortably on top of the bed."

"Oh, good," Sherlock seemed a little more relieved, now knowing he hadn't completely messed up. He tried his best, he really did; but he still wasn't good at all on the social rights and wrongs, not that Lucy minded.

They were quiet for a moment as they got themselves comfortable. And Lucy was glad of having someone near her; it calmed her, made her more relaxed and happy. They ended up so they were both lying down, although no doubt Sherlock wouldn't get to sleep and he would sit up; but he had his arm wrapped around the girl's shoulder and Lucy was turned in towards him slightly. The consulting detective looked at her young face, and upon seeing her frowning, with her eyebrows furrowed, he said:

"What's on your mind?"

"Well actually..." she paused, wanting to ask a question but feeling ridiculous for asking it, "It's kind of stupid but... I was wondering what you and John would have done if I had died." She twisted to look up at his pale face, his sharp blue-green-grey eyes observing her gently.

"What would John and I have done if we found you dead today?" He repeated, she nodded and added:

"Or on the rooftop."

"Well," he immediately said, "If I watched you kill yourself on the rooftop of St Bart's then I would never have forgiven myself- and neither would John. We would feel as though we didn't do enough to save you and look after you, and that would play heavily –especially on John's- mind. I don't think he would be able to recover quite so quickly. We would always wonder if we could have done something different that would have prevented the worst, and I don't think John would have been able to move on any time soon." His deep voice trailed off, pausing for a breath, "And the same goes for in the warehouse. If we found you dead then we would blame ourselves just as much. I know John would be absolutely devastated."

"Wait," Lucy said, "You say a lot about how John would feel... but how would you feel Sherlock?"

"You're asking this because you think you aren't important." He stated, quickly deducing her reasons, "You think that we don't care much and that we wouldn't care if you died because we've only known you for about a week." Lucy looked down, tears in her eyes, and Sherlock said softly: "Lucy, you may have only been here a week, but it feels like a lifetime. You are my friend. A very good friend. John cares about you... I... care about you, and believe me when I say that I find it difficult to admit that sort of thing. But, I don't honestly know what I would do if you were to have died. I don't want to think about that possibility. If John died... I don't know how I'd cope. I don't want to think about either of my friends in that position." He gave her a small smile, unsure of himself. Lucy smiled back, and rather than saying anything, she wrapped her arms around his body in a hug- which he returned after a second. The teenager gave him a smile.

"Thank you." She murmured, "You're right, I do think that neither of you would care much if I died. But I suppose that's because I realised that my parents didn't give a shit whether or not I died if it was for their own benefit." She looked down, suddenly seeming troubled as she scratched at her arm slightly. Sherlock shifted and placed a tentative kiss on top of her head.

"Get some sleep." He said gently. Lucy swiftly fell asleep as the soothing, deep, lull of his voice drifted off.

No stop! Lucy's heart leapt in terror as Moriarty continued to torment her while her parents just stood and watched on the roof of St Bart's hospital. Please no, she found herself sobbing. The tears streaming down her face as she felt her hand rise until the cool gun was pressed to the temple of her head. Worthless. Freak. Emo. Pathetic. Unloved. Unwanted. Over and over again. Repeating the same words. Her wrists were bleeding the vibrant colour of red, and she felt herself go dizzy. Worthless. Freak. Emo. Pathetic. Unloved. Unwanted.

She felt her finger pull the trigger.

Lucy awoke with a gasp and a whimper, feeling trails of salty tears cascade down her pale cheeks. Her hands shook slightly as she glanced over to where Sherlock was breathing slowly and evenly, for once he was sleeping. Being extremely careful, she shifted and almost silently wriggled out of the bed, glancing at her flatmate to check he was asleep. She wasn't sure how much more she could take of these nightmares.

Her arms itched. And she felt the urgency to cut dramatically rise. The urges were getting worse. She needed to feel the burn, the pain, the blood running down her arms. She needed the relief! To ease the emotional pain. She sobbed. But how could she do anything with Sherlock right near her? Of course she could go into the bathroom. But she felt as though she would be letting him down. Lucy stood there, scratching at her arms, unsure what to do as the tears kept coming.

Eventually making up her mind, she walked carefully over to the sleeping man on the bed.

"Sherlock?" She felt the anxiety rise, "Sherlock?" Lucy said his name as she touched his arm.

"What, what?" He mumbled sleepily, giving a slight grunt as he opened his eyes. Apparently he was quite a light sleeper as she barely even whispered his name and he still heard her. Upon seeing her tear-streaked face by his side he immediately sat bolt upright with a frown. "What's wrong?" He asked, unsure what to do. Lucy hesitated, looking at him, scared to admit her weakness.

"I just..." She tried to speak, "Oh I don't know!" She looked so frustrated with herself as she struggled to find the words to describe what was wrong. Sherlock gave her time until she said: "I had a really bad nightmare... and I..." She unconsciously scratched her arm. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. But I need to... cut so badly. Sherlock the urge is so bad." The troubled teenager sobbed. Sherlock Holmes took hold of her hands.

"It's okay Lucy," He reassured her, "Do you want to talk about the nightmare?"

"No, I can't..." She wiped her eyes although the tears wouldn't stop, "I just need to cut or something... I don't know! Please, can you leave for a moment?" Lucy knew she shouldn't ask him that, as he would know why she wanted him gone, but she just didn't know what else to do.

"I'm not leaving you in this state Lucy," he said gently, "If you don't want to talk about it then that's fine. Come on, come with me." He took her hand as he stood up and led her out of the bedroom into the living room. Sherlock noted that it was four o'clock in the morning- which meant that he had roughly three hours sleep; not that he was bothered. He sat her down in the comfy sofa as he quickly set about making tea for them both.

When he returned a minute later with the two steaming mugs of sweet tea, he was saddened to see her digging her nails into her skin on her hands. It was obvious that she rarely- if ever- ignored the urges, so it must have been tough for her. Passing her the drink, he sat down next to her, almost spilling his own drink in the process as he lumped down.

"Before you said that I had no idea what it is like," Sherlock started, "But I know what it's like to have an addiction myself. I said how you remind me of who I once was, and that wasn't a lie. I see a lot of myself in you somehow. Whether it's the intelligence or reckless actions I'm not sure, but, when I was younger I would do anything to keep away the boredom." He paused, as he watched her facial expressions, he could see that she was listening intently so he carried on. "For a while I used drugs. Cocaine mostly. Nothing bad, but I was still addicted. I found the urges getting harder and harder to resist. I ended up using more and more and it was a mistake. I almost killed myself once." He glanced over at her, worried that she would be disgusted. But he saw nothing but worry and loving in her kind, gentle eyes so he continued, "After that, I started to use less and less until I eventually managed to stop with some difficulty. I needed the drugs for brainpower. It staved off the boredom. It gave me something to do without my mind rotting. But then... for a few months at least... I too self harmed." He saw her shocked look and smiled at her. "I broke the blade out of a razor once. I was... very angry with myself." Sherlock seemed uncomfortable talking about all of this, talking about emotions, but he could quite easily see that it was helping Lucy so he kept talking. "I regret the first cut obviously. But I needed something. I needed to feel that release. And I didn't know what else to do. For those few months I would do it almost daily. But that was years ago." She had placed a hand on his as they both sipped their tea. "I have scars from it too." He added, holding out his sleeveless arm. "John knows obviously, but he's okay with it too." Lucy ran a finger along his arms. Both had some scars, although you wouldn't notice unless you were either deliberately looking for it, or if he had pointed it out. Some had almost faded; whereas some of the larger ones were just starting to turn white. "There's more on my torso." Sherlock muttered. Lucy looked at him in the eyes, and she smiled a genuine smile.

"What made you stop?" She asked.

"I started doing even more cases. Running about and solving crimes became satisfying. Besides, I didn't really like the scars," he frowned at his arms, "Yes, they are now a part of me, but they are a part I wish I never created."

"And what do you do now to cope?" Lucy faced him.

"I'm not sure," he chuckled once, "I have John to amuse me. I compose music on my violin. I busy myself with cases or experiments. On the very rare occasion I will smoke." He looked at her, "I relapsed several times actually. And I still get those urges. But it gets a lot easier after a while."

"Thank you for telling me this Sherlock," Lucy looked truly touched that he had confided in her, the urge to cut had slowly started to fade. "I want to tell you about me more... but can that wait for another time?" He nodded, sensing her weariness. "Can you play the violin please? I'd love to hear." Sherlock's face lit up as he finished his tea and grabbed his violin.

"I composed this one for you," he said, "Haven't finished it yet, but this is what I've got so far." With nimble fingers and a sway in his lean body, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, started playing a beautiful melodic tune that soothed the young girl. It was happy, but sad at the same time. With a twist that was hard to mention.

The short version?

It was perfect.

"It's beautiful," Lucy murmured quietly to him. Sherlock heard and flashed a grin. Seeing that she was starting to fall asleep again, he changed the tune to a lullaby he had composed years ago. Letting the music wash over them both, Lucy drifted off into a peaceful sleep in a few minutes. Upon seeing her breathing even out, Sherlock smiled and put down his violin carefully. He walked over to the sofa and sat down beside her. He moved them both into a comfortable, lying down position where they slept for the rest of the night.