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Chapter 32

A couple of weeks had passed since Sherlock had captured the kidnapper, and in that time he had managed to also track down Interpol's most wanted criminal since 1982- Peter Ricoletti. It had taken him a week and a bit, but eventually, he led Lestrade and Scotland Yard to make another arrest. Needless to say, the press were suddenly very interested in the great consulting detective again. It was strange at first, Lucy thought, seeing herself, Sherlock and John on the front page of one of London's biggest newspapers- but it was all rather amusing anyway. The best thing of all was how Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson and some other officers all chipped in to buy Sherlock a deerstalker hat! The hat that had made him hit the front page in the first place. As they took the photos of him wearing it, the detective had the- please kill me now- smile plastered on his face. But the yard, John and Lucy found it hilarious.

It had been around a month since the teenager had moved in, although it felt like years to them all. Lucy had been going to her counselling sessions regularly, and managed to not walk out half way through again... luckily. Lisa had decided to focus on alternatives to self harm instead of talking about the troubled girl's family- after all, Lucy had requested to leave it for a while as she really couldn't talk about them. She knew she would have to face it sooner or later, but it was too painful to talk about them. And yet, even though she hated her parents, Lucy still wanted them back. Yes, they were alive, but she wanted them back to how they were when she was just a child. Or maybe the teenager just wanted a mum and dad again. But she knew that wouldn't happen. Sherlock and John were a bit like parents- at least, John was and if he really was, Lucy and Sherlock were sure he'd be the mother- but Lucy would never think of them as parents... or even carers; to her, they were her role models, people whom she admired, her flatmates, but most of all they were her best friends.

Several days after the whole Peter Ricoletti fiasco, Lucy decided (after her Saturday counselling session) that she would at least attempt to try one of the coping methods that Lisa had suggested. It hadn't been a great Sunday so far for her anyway, Sherlock was up all night doing an experiment so she was alone the night before, and the teenager had had another nightmare. There were always two particular nightmares- one where she relived the moments of her kidnapping and the rooftop showdown but the only difference was that her parents kept making it clear how much they hated her. And the other one was where something terrible happened to Sherlock or John. At least with the parent nightmare, she could kind of cope, but with the nightmare about her friends- she found herself waking up, shaking, tears streaming down her face as she gasped for breath. And she always cut.

So the morning after that particular nightmare, she had gone into the kitchen. Sherlock and John were down at the yard doing some kind of statement, so she had the flat to herself for a bit. Lucy set up all of the things she needed- the urge to cut was so bad but she was determined to wait and try what Lisa had suggested. She mixed red food colouring with water into an ice cube tray and put it in the freezer. She had to wait a while- much to her annoyance. So she distracted herself by watching some of The Big Bang reruns on TV. A couple of hours later, she was getting desperate and the teenager kept pinging an elastic band against her wrist- but it did little to calm the urge. Eventually, when she checked on her concoction in the freezer, she felt a sigh of relief escape her at the ice beneath her fingers. Lucy took the tray and popped an ice cube. She held it in her hand and squeezed, making sure to keep it over the sink as it melted. The sharp, cold sensation made her feel something akin to the cut of the blade. It wasn't exactly the same, but it gave her some relief. Feeling frustrated as the entire first ice cube melted, she swiftly popped another one out and repeated the process. The red liquid snaked its way down her hand and dripped in little splashes into the kitchen sink. It was fascinating.

The troubled girl was on fourth ice cube when the door opened.

"Lucy?" She heard John call out, but she was too busy squeezing the ice cube to really focus. The cold wasn't quite enough, but it was all she could really think about.

"What the hell!?" She heard John exclaim in fright. "Jesus Lucy stop." A hand on her arms jerked her out of her trance. She turned to look at John in confusion, seeing Sherlock observing them quietly behind him.

"What's wrong?" Lucy asked. Realisation dawned on John's face and a nervous laugh bubbled up inside him and escaped.

"I didn't realise that was ice," he admitted sheepishly.

"Really John, surely it was obvious? The consistency of the liquid is completely different to that of blood- blood itself is far thicker than water. Also, if you observe, there's an ice cube tray filled with red ice cubes beside her. And furthermore, why would she cut in the kitchen of all places?" Sherlock said with a good natured huff.

"Smart arse." John retaliated. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and smirked. But he turned back to Lucy, "Did it work?" He nodded to the ice.

"Kind of," she answered.

"While it mildly replicates the feeling, it isn't the exact same." Sherlock muttered. Lucy nodded in agreement.

Over the following few weeks she began to develop even more of a routine. She refused to eat breakfast- much to John's upset- but she agreed to start eating a small sandwich at lunch, and then try and eat almost everything on her plate for dinner. It was hard for her. And she would make herself throw up at various points throughout the first week. Sherlock eventually managed to reduce it by distracting her- he would often offer her a chance to help him with his experiments and to try out her own experiments if she wished. And it worked. By the end of the few weeks, she was now eating all of the sandwich and her dinner, as well as the odd snack in between. John was proud and very happy, and he would often make his feelings known; Sherlock didn't make it clear, but Lucy could tell that he was pleased as well.

And in regards to her self harm? It still happened. Quite a bit although she hated to admit it. The nightmares still occurred when Sherlock wasn't with her, and after the first couple of weeks she finally plucked up the courage to tell him, after that, he did his best to stay with her at night as much as possible. This made Lucy feel awful- obviously- but she was just glad to get some relief from the intrusive dreams. She kept trying with the red ice cubes, some days it was only just enough, other days she instantly got frustrated and cut anyway- and some other days she just didn't even think about the ice and cut. The counselling was still going well, she made an effort to try and talk about her family, and even though she ended up crying each time, it was starting to make things hurt less.

Lestrade texted her quite a bit, and she was glad of the friendship that had formed. Lucy was always scared that he would find it weird to be friends with a teenager, but he had told her that he liked her and enjoyed her company so her mind was put at rest. On some days when she was just struggling with everything, she would give him a call and he'd instantly tell her to go over his to watch a movie or something, and if he was at Scotland Yard, he tell her to go over and just sit in his office for a bit.

A certain Mycroft Holmes hadn't been to visit so his cryptic conversation last time still remained unsolved and probably would until she found out what he was talking about. But she had found a small camera in the living room so she guessed that the elder Holmes' was checking up on them in his own way. Needless to say Sherlock removed the camera and threw it out of the window with a growl as soon as the teenager pointed it out.

Despite the fact that she had the pleasure of going on a couple of new cases with the consulting detective and his trusty blogger, she couldn't help but feel a weight over her chest. And she was scared. Scratch that. She was terrified.

James Moriarty was still the voice in the back of her mind. The criminal genius that seemed to be omnipresent. The spider in the web, looming over you, biding his time to strike. And she could feel that things would go wrong. She told Sherlock and John this. Sherlock kept a surprisingly blank and neutral face, John instantly reassured her but Sherlock's nonchalant attitude had confused her. And several neat, deep red cuts later, she still found herself worrying. She knew it was stupid of her and that she was just being pessimistic, but she didn't want what she now had to be ruined. It had been around two months since she moved in with them, and they were the best two months of her life despite having the worst few weeks of her life mixed in. She didn't want anything to change. And she wasn't sure if she could cope if it did.

Author's note- I'm actually so sorry for this chapter and how it turned out. I promise that the next one will pick it up. I needed a bit of a filler before I started with the new, big storyline and I don't know. I'm sorry it's rubbish, but please leave a review and I'll see you in the next instalment.