Author's note- thank you for the reviews, favourites and follows! It really means a lot to me, so please leave a little review if you like it. And I'll try not to leave you waiting too long for the next chapter!

Oh, as a warning, there will probably be some slightly graphic self-harm content towards the end.

Disclaimer- I surprisingly don't own anything if you haven't already figured it out.

Chapter 4

"Dinner anyone?" John suggested as they started to walk back down the stairs to the exit of the flat. The night sky outside was dark, and it was around seven o'clock. Stars glinted slightly as a sharp, cold breeze whistled through the trees.

"If you want," Sherlock shrugged, never being bothered by food whatsoever.

"Lucy?" John turned to her. She didn't look over the moon at the mention of food, but wanted to appear normal she replied:

"Sure."

They soon found themselves sitting in Angelo's restaurant a few minutes later; John smiled as he recalled the last time he and Sherlock were here during the case of 'A Study in Pink.' After ordering their food- John's being a pasta dish, Lucy's being a small salad and Sherlock's obviously being nothing- they started to chat about Lucy.

"So how did your parents die?" Sherlock suddenly asked, very much out of the blue. The sudden question shocked Lucy as she stared at him with wide eyes for a moment. Sherlock didn't appear to understand what was so shocking about his question, but he assumed that it was down to emotions, or whatever John called it.

"Sherlock," John hissed his name in warning, as he didn't want to upset the teen. Seeming to have recovered from the initial shock of the query, Lucy bit her cheek and dug her nails into the palm of her hand to control the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

"No, no, it's all right," she muttered to John, attempting to put on a brave face. Lucy guessed that the consulting detective was just trying to understand her more- especially if they were going to be living together. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she started to tell them the story. John, who had known her parents fairly well, was interested and a bit surprised to hear all of this; as he had never known how they had died. "Well, it was around six months ago I guess. We were at home, just me, mum and dad. We weren't doing much at all, just watching a little TV. There was a knock at the door, so dad went to go answer it. After a good few minutes, mum started to get worried, we couldn't hear anyone talking so we were wondering where dad had gone. Five minutes went by of pure silence, then, out of nowhere, an ear piercing scream sounded from outside our house. Mum, thinking it was dad, bolted to the door. I was sitting there waiting. I could hear no-one speak. It was silent... too silent. In a panic, I moved as quietly as possible to the open door, in a position where I could see outside, but I was partially hidden from view. Before I had a chance to look- two loud gunshots rang out into the darkness of the night. Obviously I was frightened, and unsure of what was going on, so tentatively I peered around the side of the door." Lucy took a deep breath and rubbed her face as the terrifying night came back to her in a flood of memories. Amazingly, Sherlock had stayed quiet throughout her story, not interrupting- but carefully listening to her. "There was blood, so much blood all on the driveway and splatters on the pavement near where a sinister looking black Mercedes was parked. I didn't dare go outside. I was sat in my room crying, too scared, and too paralysed with fear to even will my body to move. I knew they were dead. The next morning I summoned the bravery to go outside; the Mercedes had vanished, and in its place was a single gun, and two bullet shells. And blood, a lot of blood. My parents were nowhere to be seen." Lucy bit back the tears, "Later that same day there was a thing on the news saying two bodies had been found in an abandoned warehouse, and if there was anyone who knew anything they were to contact the police immediately. Of course, I said I did. But I knew they would take me in if I told them they were my parents. So I lied and said I saw two bodies being dragged away. I was sent to identify the bodies, and they looked exactly like my parents, with a single bullet hole through each of their foreheads." Lucy shrugged as she ended her story. "They never caught the killer."

John could see that Sherlock so badly wanted to say something, but he gave his friend a look that told him not to voice his opinion or perception on the matter. Reaching a comforting hand onto the teenagers shoulder, he felt saddened when she flinched under his touch.

After that, the conversation changed to a much happier subject, as more tales of John and Sherlock's adventures were recounted. John wanted to distract Lucy from thinking too much about her parents- as it was clearly upsetting her- and Sherlock was more than happy to talk about just how brilliant his solutions were to the countless problems he had solved. The food was good, it always was- and Angelo still liked to give them free meals because of Sherlock so that was a bonus. But John was worried, he frowned as he looked at what little Lucy had eaten. Chances are that she wasn't hungry- the stress of the whole day may have just gotten to her, but John wasn't sure, but now wasn't the time to ask. Just as they were about to leave, Sherlock felt his phone vibrate with a text message. The detective frowned as he read the single line:

Are you and the girl enjoying my game?

How on earth does the killer know about Lucy? Does that mean he is keeping tabs on us? Sherlock's mind was a whirlwind of questions.

"Are you okay Sherlock?" John asked him, bringing his friend out of his own little world.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sherlock muttered as he pulled on his coat. He frowned slightly as he glanced down once again at the message before pocketing the phone and heading off to 221B Baker Street.

Walking up the stairs into their flat, Sherlock frowned slightly again. Someone else was in the house.

"What is it?" John asked when he saw Sherlock grab what appeared to be disinfectant from Mrs Hudson's cleaning supplies.

"Shh, someone's here." He whispered. Tiptoeing to the door, he waited; Sherlock took a breath before bursting into the room ready to spray disinfectant at the stranger. Lucy and John followed him, confusion on their faces at the heavy pause before:

"Mycroft?" Sherlock huffed loudly as he complained at his brother's presence. "What are you doing here?" Lucy didn't think that Sherlock sounded at all pleased at the person he so blatantly knew.

"Oh, hello Sherlock, lovely to see you dear brother," Mycroft drawled slightly sarcastically in that posh accent of his.

"Hey Mycroft," John greeted the older man with a nod as he and Lucy stepped into the room.

"John, good to see you." He said, "And this must be the teenager who is staying with you."

"How do you..." John was about to ask how when both he himself and Sherlock answered the question at the same time:

"Cameras."

"Of course," Mycroft smiled as though it was normal to have someone's flat rigged with hidden cameras. He turned back to Lucy, "Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother." He introduced himself as he held out a hand to the teenager.

"Lucy Patterson," she politely introduced herself as she grasped his hand firmly and shook it with a small smile.

"What are you doing here Mycroft?" Sherlock asked impatiently, seeming bored at the formalities.

"Just wanting to introduce myself to young Lucy," Sherlock's brother replied, unfazed by the detectives annoyance at him. "I saw she would be living here, so I thought I should meet her. Especially if she is becoming part of the family here at 221B."

"Family?" Sherlock frowned, "I wouldn't quite say that. They're my friends."

"Whatever," Mycroft shrugged, "They're as good as family to you- considering the way you can treat people." Sherlock glared at his brother.

"I have been very nice to Lucy," Sherlock told him.

"Really?" Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. Apparently Sherlock wasn't usually nice to people.

"He actually has," John decided to interrupt before Sherlock got wound up, "They're quite a pair together." John smiled at them, "They've already managed to convince Lestrade together that the supposed suicides are actually murders."

"Have you now?" The older Holmes sounded surprised, "I thought Lestrade was dead set on them being suicides."

"Yeah, well," Sherlock started, "Lucy helped me to convince him otherwise. I couldn't have done it without her." He flashed the teenager a genuinely happy smile. His brother looked pleasantly surprised.

"Well in that case I'm glad," Mycroft sighed as he fiddled with his umbrella handle, "You need to have friends."

"Well I have two, John and Lucy."

"I'm surprised you are already calling her a friend."

"I like her. She's intelligent. I value that in a person, although John is an exception."

"Wait, what?" John looked offended.

"Oh you know what I mean John," Sherlock smiled at him, "You are mildly intelligent, if that makes you feel any better." John just grumbled to himself.

"Well I must be off dear brother, important business you know," he glanced at Lucy an informed her: "I occupy a minor role in the British Government."

"He practically is the British Government," Sherlock said.

"Nice meeting you Lucy," Mycroft said, ignoring Sherlock's comment that he had heard before when Sherlock told John about him, "Goodbye John. Look after yourself Sherlock."

"Goodbye," Lucy and John said.

"I so anxiously await your next visit Mycroft," Sherlock said with sarcasm dripping in his voice. Mycroft just shot him a look as he picked up his umbrella and left the trio alone.

Shortly after, Lucy decided to call it a night. In all honesty, she was actually rather tired from the day, and she wanted nothing more than to just go to her new room and think things over. It had been a hectic day after all. She bid goodnight to the boys and went to go to her room, just as she opened the door, John came up to her.

"Is everything okay?" Lucy asked him, wondering what he wanted.

"Yeah, I just wanted to say that... if you need me, for whatever reason during the night, or anytime in fact- don't be afraid to come and find me. You know my room is upstairs- so just knock on the door okay?" John smiled slightly at her.

"Thank you John," Lucy returned the smile, "I mean it, thank you for everything."

"No problem," John said. "Goodnight Lucy."

"Goodnight John," Lucy said as she went into her room.

That night, Lucy stayed awake for what seemed like forever. She couldn't sleep. She would just toss and turn, plagued with thoughts of her family. Everything had overwhelmed her, and she was struggling to cope. She was always struggling to cope. Unable to resist the overwhelming temptation any longer, Lucy reached out for her bag beside her bed. Opening one of the compartments, she withdrew a small box and some tissues. From inside the box, she took out a blade. A shiny silver razor blade that seemed to glint in the moonlight that filtered through her bedroom window. Rolling back the long sleeves of her pyjama top, she looked at the numerous cuts and scars that littered her arms, telling a story with their red and white lines. They were wounds of pain, wounds of sadness and loss, wounds of all of the emotions she could no longer cope with. And this was the only way she could feel better.

Bringing the blade to the skin of her forearm, she cut, pressing down to create a fairly deep gash. Cut after cut after cut, the blade was drawn across her arm and tears streamed down her pale face. Trails of blood dripped from both of her arms, and she hastily cleaned up most of it with the tissues which soon became soaked from the red liquid. She sighed, relishing the buzz. As she put away her tools, she felt a wave of tiredness wash over her, and as she lay back, she let sleep consume her.

A piercing scream rang through the flat and awoke John from his sleep. In an instant he knew it was Lucy, most likely in the throes of a nightmare. He jumped out of bed and quickly made his way to Lucy's room, the screaming stopped as he neared her door- which to his surprise was open. Going inside, he was amazed to find Sherlock holding her, shaking her gently from sleep and out of the nightmare that tormented her. She was awake by the time John reached them, and she was crying. Tears streamed down her face and she held tightly onto Sherlock. John was surprised. Sherlock was the last person he thought he'd see comforting someone, the detective had one arm wrapped around the teenagers shoulders as he silently held her. It was obvious he was unsure what to say or do, but nonetheless, it was a sight to behold! Sherlock had moved onto the bed so he was lying on it- sitting up slightly- beside the upset girl.

"Are you alright Lucy?" John asked her gently as he sat on her bed.

"Nightmare," she said shakily as she attempted to calm herself. "I... I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wake you!" She sounded so genuinely upset at the thought she had disturbed them that John's heart just broke to see her like this.

"Hey now, it's okay, don't worry. It doesn't bother me and I'm guessing that Sherlock was already awake." John comforted her, "What was the nightmare about?"

"Nothing important," she muttered, wiping away the tears that kept falling.

"Are you sure?" John frowned in concern. He touched the teenagers arm but quickly withdrew it as she flinched and jerked her arm away from the touch. John had, after all, just touched the fresh cuts that stung Lucy's arm. John decided to ignore her reaction, but couldn't help but glance at what appeared to be blood on her sleeve. "Are you okay?" He asked her, motioning to her arm, "What happened?" At his question, Lucy's face paled slightly, but she shrugged it off.

"Oh, that's nothing," she muttered, "Must have caught it or something..."

"Can I see?" John requested, "That looks like a bit of blood..."

"No! No it's fine," she said quickly, "It's okay."

"Well, if you're sure... tell me if it gets infected though..." John said softly, surprised at how defensive she was over her arm. Not knowing what to say about her wound, John sighed, as a doctor he obviously wanted to see it- but it was clear she didn't want him to take a look. So for now he would have to agree with what she was comfortable with. During this time, Sherlock had taken to absentmindedly stroking the teenager's soft brown hair.

"If you want, I could stay with you for a bit," John offered, not sure whether or not Sherlock would even consider staying much longer.

"I'll stay," Sherlock suddenly spoke for the first time, startling both John and Lucy. John was extremely surprised at what Sherlock had said, ever since Lucy had come, he had seemed to be a little different. John knew that he was putting some effort into appearing friendly to Lucy, although she already knew what he could be like. But even that response shocked him.

"Are you sure?" John asked Sherlock.

"Of course," the detective murmured as he got himself more comfortable.

"You really don't have to..." Lucy whispered, embarrassed that she had interrupted them with a silly nightmare.

"Get some sleep," Sherlock told her, before she had a chance to protest further. She sniffed and cuddled up against Sherlock's side. Sherlock didn't seem to know what to do again at the contact, but he settled for stroking her hair again.

"If you need me you know where I am," John said gently, "Goodnight both of you."

"Night," Lucy mumbled as he walked out of the door. After a brief pause she murmured, "Thank you Sherlock."

"For what?" The detective frowned.

"For staying with me and letting me stay here and for being nice to me," she said sleepily. Sherlock smiled a little.

"Come on now, get some rest," he murmured quietly as she drifted back off to a much more peaceful sleep in his arms.

From inside Sherlock's pocket, his phone vibrated and a text message popped up on the display screen:

Are you ready for the next part of my game?