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Has anyone watched Sherlock series 3 yet? It's almost been a month, but I'm still not over it okay.

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Disclaimer- I can't be bothered to do this. But you know the drill, nothing is mine.

Chapter 28

Sherlock didn't really know or understand fully what was going on. As soon as John had raced ahead of him and flung open Lucy's bathroom floor, the toilet was being flushed and Lucy was standing up, using mouthwash, and then backing away from John with wide eyes. It all happened so fast the consulting detective was confused as to what the worry was. John held his hands up as he walked forward.

"Lucy..." he started gently, "I know what you were doing so don't try and hide it..."

"No!" She yelled at him, interrupting his sentence, "You have no idea. I wasn't feeling well okay?"

"Don't lie." John said, but he kept his worried voice soft. "You are physically well, you were..."

"Stop it John," Lucy snapped, looking torn halfway between regret for snapping and upset. "It's none of your business." And then it clicked. Sherlock realised what was going on. He often didn't concern himself with knowing the ins and outs of mental illness unless he needed to, but he knew what John was implying. It made sense in his mind, but Lucy didn't seem too pleased.

"Lucy I know what is going on, I've been suspecting it for a while," John told her, keeping his voice calm, "I know you were making yourself throw up just now so please don't lie to me."

"It's none of your business."

"It is my business when you're in my care." John sighed, but ran a hand through his head, "In fact, while we're on this whole matter, we might as well talk to you about something we think you need right now." John Watson shot a pointed look at Sherlock, and the detective knew he wanted to bring up the topic of a counsellor. It was as good a time as any, but it probably wasn't the best due to the fact that Lucy was annoyed enough already.

"Should we take this through to the living room?" Sherlock suggested. Lucy looked worried, but decided to follow them through.

The young teenager looked incredibly upset already and she was terrified as to what John and Sherlock wanted to talk to her about. But she was glad that they had dropped what had happened just now so she was prepared to go along with whatever it was for the time being.

They all sat down and you could practically feel the tension radiate around the room. Lucy looked at them expectantly, but neither of them knew how to start without causing an immediate argument. Eventually, it was Sherlock Holmes who spoke up first:

"We were thinking that it would perhaps be best if you were to see a counsellor for a while." His statement was short, but it got to the point straight away. Lucy stared at them. She liked to think that it was a joke, but Sherlock looked deadly serious. Before the teenager had a chance to state her opinion on the matter, John said:

"I know you don't want to see anyone," he took a breath, "But there's only so much we can do to help you. I'm worried that one day, you may go too far unintentionally- or intentionally. And to not get you any help when you need it most would be an awful thing on our behalf. You need someone who you can talk to, who can help you more than Sherlock or I can."

"Please tell me you're joking," Lucy said evenly, trying to calm herself. Her nails were digging into her arms, trying to help control the emotions she was feeling.

"We're not joking," John said steadily. "We just want you to give it a proper try for a while. You can't go on the way you are Lucy."

"I know you're probably going to be really angry with us Lucy, but I think John is actually right on this occasion." Sherlock told her, "I don't want there being a chance that one day things will go too far. I would find it quite nice to see you get better one day, but for now I would like to know that you are talking to a professional who can help you and listen to you with full confidentiality and be completely unbiased. You may find it helpful." Sherlock was looking at her intently, examining the range of emotions on her face.

Upset.

Annoyance.

Outrage.

Anger.

Confusion.

...Hurt.

The last one surprised him, but he knew that she felt hurt because she felt as though they were sending her away. A look from John kept Sherlock from saying this information out loud though.

Lucy just stared into space, feeling utterly worthless. She didn't want to see a counsellor. She didn't want to talk to a complete stranger, and she certainly did not want help! But she knew that they wouldn't let her get away with not seeing anyone.

"I have to see someone don't I?" She questioned with a bitter edge to her voice. John nodded and she felt her heart plummet. Truthfully, the troubled girl had no idea what to say to that. She felt numb. She needed to get out, to feel the fresh air on her face. She needed to be alone... properly alone without people in the next room listening out for her. Lucy sighed heavily in despair, feeling helpless to her own situation.

"Fine." She said after a minute's silence. Sherlock and John looked back at her in surprise. Before they had a chance to say any more, Lucy quickly said: "I'm going to bed now."

"Do you want me to stay?" Sherlock queried gently, although he already knew the answer.

"No." She said before heading off without a backwards glance.

Sherlock ruffled his hair as John let out a big breath of air. The doctor glanced at his flatmate with a worried expression.

"Should we leave her alone tonight?" He asked.

"I think we should," Sherlock said as he stood up, "She is angry and annoyed with us enough already, we don't want to stir things up any more. I think she needs to be alone for a bit."

"But what if she... does anything?"

"We can't stop it from happening. If she wants to do anything then she will do it and it would be unfair of us to expect her to stop just like that." The consulting detective picked his violin up, "I know you're worried about her, but she needs space. I'll talk to Mycroft later, he knows a very good counsellor that Lucy could see."

"A private counsellor?" John Watson rubbed his face.

"Kind of." Sherlock shrugged, "But he's very good... apparently. Besides, I'll make Mycroft pay." That made John laugh softly and Sherlock smirked before continuing composing the song he made for Lucy.

As soon as she slammed her bedroom door shut, Lucy went straight for her sharpest blades. She rolled up the sleeves of her pyjama top and rolled up her pyjama trouser legs. The teenager took in a deep breath, feeling calm as she felt the cool metal beneath her fingertips. She brought the blade to her arm, and quickly dragged it across, relishing the relief it brought. Again and again she ripped in her own skin, the cuts soon becoming deeper than she intended. After a good five minutes of wiping away dripping blood, both of her forearms were covered in bleeding wounds. Even her wrists were bleeding more than usual. But it wasn't enough. Her heart was pounding and the relief was washing over her, but she needed more. She needed to punish herself for needing to see a counsellor, she needed to feel something other than all of the emotions of despair and hurt. So she brought the blade to her thighs. Normally, she wouldn't cut there- but she needed it so badly. The cuts were even deeper on her leg and she probably needed stitches, but she couldn't care less as she kept dragging the blade across in frenzy. It was like a trance, in a way she didn't realise just how bad it was tonight. Both of her upper thighs were dripping blood, but the tissues she placed carefully made sure that the bed wouldn't get stained with the scarlet liquid. Her arms were stinging, barely any skin left to cut on them, and her thighs were also stinging, the cuts scattered all across the pale flesh. With a shaky breath, she brought the blade to her neck. With the lightest pressure, she slowly dragged the shiny metal across the side. She repeated the motion, five times each on both sides. A few beads of blood dripped down, but they were only scratches... nothing to harm her- she made sure of that. Finally, she felt okay again. For almost an hour Lucy just lay there, happy that the emotions that plagued her had gone away for a while. Once everything had stopped bleeding, she cleaned up the dried blood, looking at the red cuts everywhere before looking in the mirror to check her neck.

Dammit. They were visible slightly. Only the ends of the cuts were visible but it wasn't what she wanted. With annoyance at herself, she angrily ran her hand through her hair as she put her blade away. A single, lone tear trailed down her face and she swiftly brushed it away.

She needed to get out. She couldn't risk Sherlock or John seeing her like this. She couldn't face seeing anymore disappointment in their kind eyes. Lucy hated herself for hurting them this way. But she couldn't stop, she didn't know how to, she wasn't even sure if she wanted to stop. And that was her great internal struggle.

After getting changed back into her normal clothes, black skinny jeans and a long sleeved top with a jacket. Lucy waited until she was sure everyone was either in bed, or out of the way. She knew she shouldn't do this; every time she ran off just led to danger and her friends becoming extremely worried. But she felt suffocated. She was hardly ever on her own and she just needed to walk without being followed and watched... at least for a while until either Mycroft found her or until her phone had 100 missed voice messages.

Opening her door a crack, she knew that John had gone up to his room to bed so she kept an ear out for what Sherlock may be doing. Tiptoeing out of her room, she was silent as she strained her ears desperately. She could hear running water from the room across from her, it sounded like Sherlock may be in the shower. So she shut her bedroom door and walked to the staircase. She had left her bed in the state of the old trick where there were a couple of pillows stuffed under the blanket. Simple, but enough to bide her time to go out for a bit. Lucy made sure her hair covered her neck as she descended the stairs, skipping the one that always creaked as she made her way down. A wave of guilt washed over her. She knew she was being stupid, but she needed the freedom for a bit.

Lucy opened the front door of 221B Baker Street and shut it almost silently behind her as she stepped out into the now dark streets of London.

It was night time. She would have much preferred to go out during the day, but she wasn't about to complain. The fresh, cool air felt amazing against her cheeks and she sighed in relief as she started to walk off at a brisk pace in no particular direction. She walked for a good hour or so, not even caring about the time nor where she was. After all, she had brought some money to get her back to Baker Street if she got badly lost. But she wouldn't worry about that. Lucy passed many people, surprised at how many people were still outside despite the fact that it was getting very late and heading quickly towards midnight. Lucy was even surprised to find that no mysterious, sleek, black cars were stalking her every movement. So either Mycroft hadn't realised she had gone out, or he had found himself a new mode of transport.

Lucy sniffled as she came across a park she recognised, but couldn't put a name to due to the fact that everything looked different in the dark. Without warning, she felt a tear snake its way down her cold face. The troubled teenager touched it in surprise as she found a bench to sit down in the deserted park. However, as soon as she sat down she put her head in her hands and let the tears flow freely. Everything had overwhelmed her. It was all too much. She found herself unconsciously scratching at her arms, feeling the fresh cuts begin to bleed again but she didn't have the energy to care. Taking her phone out of her pocket, she was surprised to see that there were no missed calls or texts. That really did shock her. Maybe they thought she should be left alone. Maybe they didn't want to disturb her and annoy her further. She suspected that was the case, but she couldn't help but feel a little bit upset regardless.

She pocketed her phone and put her head back in her hands again, letting the salty tears keep on cascading down.

A few minutes later she felt a flashlight on her face and the sounds of footsteps approaching.

"Hello?" A male voice called. "Who's there?" Lucy was surprised that it was a voice she recognised. As the footsteps came to a slow stop beside her, she brushed away the tears, not wanting to look up at the man standing over her in case it was someone who wanted to hurt her.

"Hey now," The voice said softly. Lucy let her face slightly peek out from her arms, but was met with a bright light, which made her squint. After a pause, the voice said: "Lucy?" He sounded shocked, and the teenager finally knew who it was. She brought her face away from her arms to look up at the man who had crouched down.

Greg Lestrade looked back at her with a soft, but concerned expression.

"Detective Lestrade..." Lucy said his name, although her voice was choked.

"Call me Greg," he told her gently. But he frowned at her tear streaked face. With a tentative step, he got out of his crouch and moved to sit next to her on the bench. Lucy made no move to stop him so he sat down and looked at her. "It's eleven at night." He said carefully, "What on earth are you doing out so late?" Lucy opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words, a sob escaped her and she brought a hand to her mouth. "Hey now, it's okay." Greg Lestrade reassured her as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into his gentle touched and cried softly into his side as he whispered reassuring words to her.

"I'm sorry," she murmured once she was able to speak again.

"Don't apologise," he told her, he hesitated, "Does Sherlock or John know you're out here?"

"No," she admitted, "Please don't tell them! They'll be angry. Please... not yet."

"I won't at the moment, but they need to know where you are, they'll be worried sick when they realise you've gone."

"I left pillows under my blanket so it looked like I was still there." Lucy sighed, "I don't think they wanted to check on me tonight in case they annoyed or upset me further. I slipped out while Sherlock was having a shower and while John was in bed."

"Why did you run away?" Lestrade queried gently. Lucy looked up at him, feeling safe to tell him anything.

"Because of what happened earlier." She sighed before explaining: "They were saying that they wanted me to see a counsellor because they're worried that I'm going to get worse. And I just felt awful about it. I needed to get out for a while, I felt suffocated staying there under their eye and I knew that they wouldn't let me out on my own. So I snuck out." Greg nodded as he listened to her.

"Did you self harm?" He ended up asking gently and softly. His question was blunt, and normally Lucy wouldn't be annoyed, but she knew he was only worried.

"Yeah," the teenager told him quietly.

"Badly?"

"It's the worst it's been..." She suddenly felt really ashamed of herself. Greg squeezed her shoulder.

"How about we go back to the station, and I take a look at you to make sure you'll be okay. And if you need medical attention then we can get help." He suggested. By now she was too tired and emotionally exhausted to argue so she just nodded her head. Lestrade helped her stand up and walked her out of the park.

"Oh, this is where Moran waited for me." Lucy commented as she could already see the building of Scotland Yard after turning a few corners. Greg hummed in response.

"I was worried when I saw you, ya know," He said conversationally, "I was just about to head back to the Yard to finish up my shift when I saw you on the bench in the park. Didn't recognise you at first of course." They stopped outside the building and the light of the police station suddenly bathed them. Lestrade glanced at her but let in a quiet gasp. He grabbed her upper arm to stop her from moving away as he carefully drew her hair back. Lucy jerked underneath his grasp but knew it was pointless.

"Jesus Lucy," Greg muttered, she could hear the worried and sadness in his voice. "Let's see the other side." He instructed gently. She turned and showed her neck, which was identical to the other side. There was no point in arguing so she let him look. He sighed, "They don't look too bad thank God, but Lucy..." He didn't seem to know what to say.

"I'm sorry," Lucy said, looking down.

"Hey now, I'm not angry okay? And I know Sherlock and John won't be angry either. I'm just worried about you." He gave her a reassuring smile as she looked up at him before leading her into the building.

The DI took her into his private office to give them all some privacy. Donovan, who was still working, gave him an odd look- but a shake of the DI's head prevented her from asking anything. Feeling as though she could trust Greg, Lucy showed him her arms when he asked to see them. He kept his face neutral as he looked, although she could see the concern and sadness in his eyes. She didn't know Greg very well, but she knew he cared and she felt like she could really trust him- so she was happy in a way. He got out a medical kit from one of the drawers and pulled up a chair opposite her.

"I'm not a doctor, but I know how to care for things like this okay," He told her as he opened the kit up, "I had to take a few medical training courses. Can often come in useful." Lestrade carefully cleaned her wounds and bandaged up her arms. He took his time and worked gently to make sure he wouldn't hurt the young girl. "I don't think you arms need stitching luckily." He commented.

"I'm sorry Greg; you shouldn't have to do this." She told him sadly.

"Its fine," he looked into her eyes, "I'm more than happy to help. I told Sherlock and John the other day that I would be more than happy to help if they ever needed anything. And Lucy listen to me," He stopped what he was doing as she looked into his calm eyes, "If you ever need anything, then I'm always here to help okay? I know you don't know me very well, but you can always trust me. If you ever need to get away from Sherlock and John and you don't fancy spending the evening with Mycroft, then I'll be more than happy to have you over." He frowned suddenly, "I know this may sound weird," he laughed, "But I'm here okay? I've known Sherlock for a while, and he trusts me, so you can trust me as well." He thought for a moment, "Besides, I'm not sure what it would be like spending time with Mycroft- I'm the British government- Holmes." Lucy laughed.

"Thanks you Greg," She smiled at him for the first time genuinely, "It really means a lot." He nodded at her, smiling.

"Now, you arms are done, is there anywhere else that may need bandaging or cleaning?" Lestrade asked her seriously. Lucy hesitated, unsure whether to tell him about her legs or not.

"My uh..." She stammered but took a breath to calm herself. But before she had a chance to speak, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She took her mobile out and saw that Sherlock was trying to call her. She rejected the call and placed her phone on the desk, sighing heavily.

"You should call him back." Greg said gently.

"I know."

"Would you like me to call him?" He offered.

"Yes please," Lucy nodded. Greg Lestrade got his own mobile out of his pocket and started to dial the number. "Oh, Greg, tell John to bring some stuff for either butterfly stitches or stitches."

"Why?" He stopped his actions.

"Because, my legs may need stitches of some kind." She admitted.

"Can I see?" He asked.

"Well... not really, it's on my thighs so..."

"Okay, I'll tell John." Greg sighed in worry but gave her a smile which she returned as he called Sherlock.