Author's note- Once again, a huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and followed this story! I never thought so many people would like it. Please, if you could leave a little review then it would mean the world to me. Perhaps even a little suggestion, something you would like to see at some point? Nothing plot changing obviously, but I take all requests into consideration. Can we get 50 reviews?

Oh oh oh, I wrote a Sherlock song as well. Thought I would share that!

And sorry I didn't update sooner, it was my 16th birthday on the 25th September, so I haven't had the time.

Disclaimer- Moffat would murder me and make a throne from my fangirl bones if I said I own Sherlock... so I don't, sorry about that.

Chapter 18

Morning came around the following day, and Lucy made sure to be up and ready by nine. On a day like today, she would have loved to have an even longer lie in, but she had to be ready for twelve. After all- she had to make sure there was plenty of time to sneak out to visit this person in the park. However, the young teenager was starting to have second thoughts, but she brushed them aside, thinking that it would probably be best to find out what the hell this person wanted.

Luckily for her last night, Sherlock and John didn't say anything else about her little walk around the city. They didn't need to. Sherlock partly understood why she would want to be on her own, and John had accepted that they were being a bit over the top. The poor girl had lived on the streets for god's sake! A little walk on her own wouldn't make a difference.

Lucy had a feeling she knew who would be waiting for her in Regent's Park. As she got herself ready and dressed for the day in her usual long sleeved clothing, she sighed heavily. All she wanted was to find out who was killing all these people, and to be able to move on.

At half past nine, Lucy heard her phone vibrate on the bedside table. Going over to have a look, she grimaced at the unknown number. There were two texts. The first one read:

Can't wait to see you later. We will have so much fun, but I'll give you a little puzzle first x

Lucy huffed out an emotionless laugh, now she knew for certain who this was. Moriarty. That bastard. But nonetheless, she flicked to look at the next text, frowning when a picture came up.

It was a picture of an abandoned alleyway. But it was surprisingly clean. Lucy frowned. She recognised the place. It was only a street away from where she used to live; she recognised the familiar graffiti of a bird on the right wall.

Dashing out of her bedroom, Lucy ran right into Sherlock- who let out a breath as she collided into him. Already dressed in a white shirt and suit, Sherlock looked like he had been up for hours- which was probably the truth.

"Sorry," she mumbled hastily.

"Didn't expect you up so early," he grumbled, clearly bored and annoyed.

"I have a picture," she told him. He merely raised an eyebrow, "It's from an unknown number." Lucy continued, "I know where it is, it's only a street away from where I used to live." She brought the picture up and held it up to him. Sherlock frowned for a fraction of a second before his whole face lit up.

"Brilliant!" He exclaimed, "That would be where the next body is right now." He suddenly darted off up the stairs to outside John's room and yelled at the top of his lungs: "John! Get up! We're off out, there's another body!" Jumping back downstairs, Sherlock texted Lestrade with a big grin on his face. This body must be the other self harmer.

"Do I get to come or not?" Lucy asked, with a reluctant and wary tone to her voice.

"Yes," Sherlock quickly replied as he got everything that he needed together.

"Really?" Lucy looked surprised.

"Well we need you to show us where this alleyway is." Sherlock said, "Lestrade and his imbecilic officers will be waiting for us at your old house." Tapping his hand impatiently he yelled, "Hurry up John!"

"Yeah alright," the tired doctor mumbled as he came downstairs. He yawned, and glared at his dark haired flatmate for inconsiderately waking him up. With a little jump of glee, Sherlock practically skipped downstairs ahead of everyone else to hail a taxi to Lucy's old home. John and Lucy followed suit, with John not sure whether to laugh or be annoyed at the great consulting detective.

Not too long afterwards did they find themselves strolling quickly towards the police force. Sherlock's long strides were making it hard for his flatmates to keep up- but he was far too excited. Once there, Lestrade had greeted them and he smiled at Lucy, who returned a grateful smile back.

"Okay then," Greg said clapping his hands together, "Lead the way Lucy."

At another brisk walk Lucy led everyone a couple of streets away into a seemingly eerie street. The sun was starting to rise more in the blue, cloudless sky, and the golden glows basked the street in light, giving it a much more cheerful atmosphere than usual. There were two closed down shops in the middle of the street, both of which had their windows bordered up and each looked long abandoned. In the middle of the two shops in question, was an alleyway. Straight into it the young teenager led her friends and the police force. In the shadows, she could see what she presumed to be a body, but something on the wall caught her eye. It was what appeared to be a note, sticky taped to the beak of the graffiti bird. With swift hands she took it without anyone seeing.

Lucy let the officers, John and Sherlock past to examine the body as she quickly had a look at the note. The neat writing read:

Always keep a watch out for those who mean something to you. Oh, and Lucy honey, I suggest you leave as soon as you get this note. I would like to see you as soon as possible or there will be consequences. JM x

Her heart thumped in her chest. Jim Moriarty had left that there. The first sentence didn't make much sense, maybe it was meant for Sherlock or John? But either way, Lucy knew she had to leave now or God knows what this crazy man would do next. All of the police officers and both John and Sherlock were crouched around the body. Sherlock was rattling off another long deduction and was currently the centre of attention. This was useful. It gave her a chance to slip away.

But Lucy hesitated, she knew she shouldn't run off again, but she had to. Not only did she want some more time to herself, she wanted to meet Jim and find out what he wanted. If Sherlock or John were to know anything about this she would never be able to be alone again in case she got hurt. The young girl straightened her posture, she had to do something- she wasn't going to sit in the sidelines getting hurt again and again.

She felt the paper slip from her grasp as she turned on her heel and jogged out of the alleyway. Glancing at her watch she sped up her pace, being quiet so she wouldn't alert anyone. She had approximately five minutes before they noticed she was missing. Sherlock usually wouldn't miss anything, but because he was so absorbed in the body and deductions, he wouldn't be focussing on her. And the police force... well, there wasn't much hope with them. Now fully sprinting back onto the main road she checked her pocket for the money she stuffed in there earlier and hailed a cab with surprisingly quick success.

"Regent's Park please," she said to the driver, panting to regain her breath.

Sherlock had just finished his deduction about the dead man lying on the floor, the scars and deep cuts confirmed the knowledge that this was in fact the other self harmer. But of course Sherlock was always right. Feeling pleased with himself he glanced at John, but his flatmate's gaze was wide-eyed.

"What?" Sherlock frowned.

"Where's Lucy?" John choked out. The consulting detective glanced around, confusion laced his features. He didn't manage a reply, but instead, noted the piece of paper that had fallen onto the floor. He picked it up and read it aloud for both John and DI Lestrade.

"Moriarty," Sherlock growled out once he had finished.

"Always keep a watch out for those who mean something to you." John repeated, "He must have meant for us to read that bit." He clenched his fists, "We didn't look out for her... again." He mentally chastised himself for failing her again.

"We need to find her now." Sherlock snarled, starting to pace, "Obviously she already knew about meeting him..." He hesitated in his tracks, "Oh stupid, idiot." Sherlock Holmes' eyes flashed with annoyance, "Last night John, she seemed out of sorts didn't she?"

"She looked pale," John confirmed.

"Lucy must have found out then and didn't tell us," He resumed his pacing, "What are you all waiting for? She's gone to meet a psychopath! Go find her!" He yelled to the police force.

"She already lives with a psychopath, she's probably used to it," Anderson drawled out sarcastically.

"I will fucking make sure you're the next person to be killed if you don't shut up right now!" Sherlock hissed venomously, his tone dangerous and menacing.

"Right, Sherlock, John, get in the police car with me; everyone else, go find her!" Lestrade ordered, "We don't know where she may have gone, but keep a look out, I'll inform the other officers."

Sherlock decided that in this circumstance, he would get into the police car. He only hoped nothing more would happen.

During the taxi ride, Lucy was unsurprised to feel her phone vibrate in her pocket numerous times. Apparently they had realised she was gone within around five minutes. She bit her lip; she didn't know what awaited her, but she was certain she would get yelled at when they found her. Lucy said thank you to the driver as she paid him before walking at a fast pace into Regent's Park.

It was a lovely day, so obviously there were a lot of people there. But Lucy headed straight for that secluded, private spot that only she knew about. Her step faltered as she went through the trees and bushes, but with a deep breath she pushed on to find none other than Jim Moriarty sitting comfortably on the bench dressed in his usual suit. With her head held high and a neutral expression on her young face, she walked fearlessly towards him.

"Lucy!" He sang, looking up at her with a smirk, "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist coming to see Uncle Jim again."

"What is it you want?" Lucy demanded, cutting straight to the chase. Moriarty pouted, but patted the seat beside him; a gesture that meant Lucy had to sit down. With her posture radiating confidence, she took a seat next to the audacious criminal mastermind.

"Now, I don't want to hurt you Lucy," Jim spoke normally, but a smirk was hidden in his voice.

"Then what is this all about?" The teenager asked, "Why kill everyone? Why make people suffer? Why deliberately remind me of my parent's death? Why mock me with all of this?"

"Honey, you never listen, I never killed anyone," Moriarty shook his head sadly, "You're parents were pathetic, surely you saw that on the video I showed you. They hurt Uncle Jim, so Uncle Jim is making them pay." He smiled.

"You're making them pay by hurting me? They're dead! There's no point to this!" Lucy said frustrated.

"Well," he seemed to be debating something, "I think my plans are quite entertaining actually."

"You're a psychopath."

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean it as a compliment."

"I'll take it as one," Moriarty withdrew something from his belt or pocket, "I found this in your house the other month." Jim Moriarty placed a gun in her hand, it was similar to the one Sherlock had taught her to fire if she got in danger at the warehouses. Attached to it was a note. Lucy's voice caught in her throat and she choked a sob.

The words were written in the neat calligraphy of her dad's hand writing:

Here's a gun sweetie. Should you still be alive, it may be a good idea to end your pathetic life x

Lucy shook her head, enraged. "What is this bullshit? My dad would never write something like this!"

"Apparently he did," Jim sang gleefully.

"I don't understand," Lucy sighed, defeated, "How are you doing all of this?"

"I have my ways, all will be revealed very soon." He taunted, "But Lucy, you're parent's never loved you, it's time you listened and learnt that fact." He laughed to himself, "Get it in that thick skull. You won't win this battle. You're weak." He glared at her, "We're not playing games anymore, Lucy Patterson. You and your little friends can solve all the murders in the world, but they will never find the killer. Sherlock must be enjoying this; he's such a sweet little thing isn't he?" Jim sneered and his eyes flashed excitedly, "It all ends in heartbreak though. When you're ready to give up, please, send me a little message." He got up, adjusted his suit and was about to walk off when Lucy spoke up:

"Wait," she hesitated, "What is it you're aiming for here?"

"I think your parents gave you a gun for a reason sweetie, don't be so dull and ordinary."

"If you think I'll kill myself, then you're wrong." Lucy glared at him. The man raised an eyebrow.

"We'll see," He winked before turning around and walking off but sang: "Very soon..."

Lucy was left sitting there, feeling hot and uncomfortable in the heat of the London day. She felt numb, dead inside. It was like she wasn't even alive. For all she knew, Moriarty could have forged the writing, and forged the video; but it was enough to make her question her parent's love for her. Ha. If there was any love that is. You know those days when you just feel like you're not yourself, you feel disengaged, numb? Those were just a few words to describe everything. Her hand itched and her mind craved the soothing cut of the blade as it released all the hurt and anger. But she couldn't go back home. She couldn't face John and Sherlock. She didn't want to be yelled at right now, because if she did, she would start crying and she didn't think she'd be able to stop.

All throughout the conversation, her phone had been endlessly buzzing with missed calls and texts; from her pocket she retrieved it and glanced at the texts. They were mainly just asking where the hell she was and to ring them now. But Lucy barely read them. She had twenty missed calls. She didn't ring anyone back. All she wanted was to be alone for eternity, to just crawl into a dark corner and be left to die like her parents wanted. There was no point to anything. There was no point to life. The teenager made sure the safety catch was on the gun before stashing it in the small bag she had brought along.

Needing to take her mind off of the overwhelming urge to cut, she took off at a fast pace to walk through the park and onto the streets on London. All the time her phone kept buzzing, but all the time she would ignore it. It was unfathomable, her mood; she couldn't understand what she was feeling. Depressed, obviously. But she felt worse than that... she felt suicidal. Now the weight of the gun was heavy in her bag, a clear sign. Maybe Moriarty was right, maybe she would just end it the way he had predicted. This was his game wasn't it? He liked to watch people dance, before slowly breaking; he relished watching innocent people lose themselves before finally taking away their precious lives. It is a game; and one he knew he would always win.

She didn't stop walking. The troubled girl took no notice of the signs or the direction in which she was going; all she knew was that she didn't want to stop. She wanted to walk until her feel bled and cried for mercy, until she could feel no more pain. Nothing. Emotionless. For two whole hours she walked, unnoticed by the bustling city. She was just another person, one in billions. She was miniscule... nothing. She was barely even alive.

Of course she wasn't surprised when a black car rolled up near her. But this time she didn't stop. Choosing to ignore the car, she carried on. With the sun beating down on her clothed skin, she took a deep breath; she had no intention of stopping. Of course the sleek Mercedes followed her. Lucy was getting pissed off- couldn't they see she wanted to be left alone? Turning down a few side streets, aimless wandering at a quick pace, the teenager came to a few abandoned roads that ran along the length of another park. No sign of people. Relaxing.

Of course that black car had to persist and pursue her onto this particular street. Of course police sirens had to sound before a car raced around the corner towards her. Of course Mycroft had to get out and walk straight towards her. Of course Sherlock, John and Lestrade, all with worried faces had to run towards Lucy. Of course that would happen; because the world is a cruel bastard.

But Lucy just kept on trying to walk, ignoring them. Their shouts and voices drowned out into white noise. It was all unimportant. It was all pointless. Her pace had quickened, and she knew they were all around her, telling her to stop, to calm down, asking what was going on. But she just wanted to be left alone.

Was it really too much to ask?

A pair of arms wrapped around her fragile stomach as they all caught up to her, the white noise voices blocking out the once peaceful sounds of the city. Lucy jerked violently away, ripping away from the arms and looking at them with shining wide-eyes. Tears threatened to fall, but she fought back. They grabbed at her arms as she tried to walk away. She was wordless. She said nothing.

She couldn't speak.

She wasn't herself.

Lucy Patterson... who is that?

She was nobody.

"Get off of me," she said weakly, as she continued to thrash out of their grasps. "Just stop this, stop everything." Lucy tried to run, but her efforts were futile. Sherlock had grabbed her again, just as the tears started.

The tears didn't fall, they crashed around her.

Everything was catching up; everything was going wrong in her life.

It was blocking her senses.

Overpowering her mind.

A grey foggy mist swirled round and round.

The tears didn't fall, they crashed around her.

"Lucy?" She heard Sherlock and John say.

But it meant nothing anymore.

Who was Lucy?

No-one.

"Lucy what's wrong?" Sherlock's voice was concerned, "Stay with us."

It meant nothing anymore.

The mist clouded her vision.

Everything went silent.

Everything seemed to go away.

The hurt, the pain, seemed to drain.

Like a broken memory of the past.

The tears didn't fall, they crashed around her.

Her body hit the floor.