Author's note- A massive thank you to my two anonymous reviewers and to NottingHill11, your reviews mean a lot to me! In response to the anon who said they'd prefer for Lucy to never stop self harming- I completely understand that. And in fairness, I have been playing with whether or not to make her stop. I won't say what I plan, but know that I do plan to keep this story going for a long while! I myself, having been a self harmer understand that it's not easy to stop and I hope this reflects in my writing- and in my future plans.

Sorry for the lack of updates- I've been doing my GCSE's and they aren't the easiest- and so this chapter won't be that long. Sorry!

Oh and is anyone going to comic-con in London? I'm going on the Saturday and I'm doing a casual Sherlock cosplay!

Disclaimer- Nothing is mine.

Chapter 38

Sherlock knew he was brilliant- there was no doubt about that. He never questioned his intelligence, but ever since he found John he ended up questioning himself as a human being. Truth be told, he honestly didn't care whether or not people liked him, and he didn't care if his actions often strayed from the social norm; what bothered him was whether he fit in with the people he so often thought of as family. Even as a child the word friend was foreign, it was something to turn your nose up at. And yet, he had gotten to know John he had considered him more than a flat-mate, he had considered him a great friend. But what made him question everything the most was Lucy. A young girl. A mere teenager whose intelligence could give half of Scotland Yard a run for their money- not that that was hard. She was unusual. For a man who rarely kept the company of teenagers, Sherlock always found himself surprised at how much he liked her. Frequently he underestimated her and her ability to survive. Her will to carry on and determination for success was certainly amusing to watch. When John had initially proposed the idea that Lucy would be staying for a while Sherlock Holmes had been more than a little uncertain and apprehensive. He had wondered whether she would mess things up, whether she would accept him. While acceptance wasn't terribly important to Sherlock, he felt the need to be accepted and at least tolerated by those he lived with. To live with someone with so many problems didn't sound easy- but then again, Sherlock never did or liked easy. She was a puzzle, a challenge. And often Sherlock would wonder what kept her going most days. Despite her suicidal thoughts, Lucy had often shown him so much determination for life and her inability to cope in a particularly safe way highlighted the fact that she was a great person. For someone so young to go through so much and still show a sign of improvement was a great thing- and certainly one Sherlock would never underestimate.

He liked her.

And he was one hundred per cent sure of that fact.

Much to his amazement, Sherlock found that Lucy reminded him a lot of himself. When he looked at her he saw a very bright young girl who struggled to cope. And he often knew exactly what she was going through. Admittedly he never showed it enough, but he understood.

Seeing her and knowing that just a few hours ago she had put a blade to her skin hurt him. It cut him just like it cut her. He remembered the feel of the cool blade beneath fragile fingertips, and he remembered relishing the sharp sting as it pierced through layers of skin to reveal the bright scarlet liquid that bubbled to the surface. Even the thought of it made his arms itch. But he wouldn't relapse. He promised himself, he promised Lestrade and he promised John. (Screw his promise to Mycroft!) Of course he didn't stop for other people- he didn't even know John when he stopped cutting- but instead, he tried to do it for himself. He hated the scars that tainted his once unmarked body, and looking at them now brought back a surge of regret. He never regretted cutting- he knew that much- it was now a part of him and he had learnt to accept that. But the thin white lines and almost faded scars served as a reminder to his previous pain. That was what he hated; the reminder of the pain. Luckily, for Sherlock, he never let it get as bad as Lucy's had. He'd done plenty of research on self harm- obviously- and he knew that he had to stop early on. He was addicted for several months- he remembered telling Lucy that- and despite his few relapses, he managed to stop. With Lucy, she had been doing it for a much longer time. Her cuts were deeper- less careful than his precise ones in which he was under control of the depth. A few times he had cut just a little too deep but he never did it on purpose. And the fact that Lucy did it on purpose hurt him too.

He wanted her to get better. He knew it was possible- he was living proof of that. But Lucy couldn't cope without it- she had nothing to fall back on. And Sherlock wanted to help her more than he was already doing.

Many a discussion had been had with John about Lucy.

"I'm worried." John said with a soft sigh, not even needing to explain his words.

"You always worry."

"And you don't?"

"I care, if that's what you mean," Sherlock met John's gaze, "But I know what she's going through- one day, and that may be a long time away- she will get better. I know it."

"What if she doesn't make it until then?" The ex army doctor's voice wasn't much more than a whisper. Sherlock had hesitated, taken aback at the amount of concern.

"We will be here to make sure she will make it. Have a little faith in her John. She's doing brilliantly, and we can help her." Sherlock had smiled, trying to be reassuring. He knew it was a tough topic.

But now, he was scared himself. Hell, he was worried. With the way that Moriarty was going to play, Sherlock wasn't sure how well he could stick to what they said. He wanted to always be able to help her and look after her... but what if he couldn't be there to help her? Sherlock ran a hand through his dark hair. He could have done so much more to help Lucy.

So maybe it was better to distance himself. As much as he hated it and how it could hurt Lucy, he knew it had to be done. So that it would be less of a blow if things went as he predicted.

But he saw Lucy continue to hurt. He saw how she wanted to be able to talk to him but he was just being indifferent and slightly rude- saying how he was busy doing an experiment. He knew that wouldn't help her... but he didn't know what else to do. Sherlock couldn't ask for help from John or Lestrade- otherwise they'd know something was up. He was just relying that John would be able to help her on his own.

While she was out at one of her counselling sessions, Sherlock had gone into her room and looked at the notebook on the desk. With a grimace he remembered the note she had left when she had gone to the rooftop to meet Moriarty... it wasn't the nicest memory he had. He remembered the shock in John's eyes and he remembered the feeling of adrenaline course through his body. But everything had turned out okay so he was grateful for small mercies. The latest entry in the notebook was what appeared to be a diary entry. He knew it wasn't the social convention to read another's diary but he couldn't help himself. With keen eyes he scanned the few small words on the page. All it said was:

Sherlock's different... something has changed and I'm scared as to what may happen. I know its Moriarty. I just wish he'd leave Sherlock alone.

Sherlock sighed as he closed her notebook again. And he turned swiftly as the creak of a floorboard alerted him to the presence of someone. Moving out of Lucy's bedroom, he was surprised to find Mrs Hudson in the living room.

"Mrs Hudson," he said as a greeting.

"Oh hello dear, I brought up some cakes for you, John and Lucy." She set the tray down, "I hope you all like rock cakes..."

"I'm sure they'll be consumed."

"How is she?" His landlady asked with concern.

"I think she's doing a little bit better." Sherlock told her- making Mrs Hudson smile in relief a little.

"I'll be nice to see her completely happy." She said thoughtfully, "It's nice that she has Detective Lestrade as well, although I'm surprised they're so close."

"Well, Lestrade is an easy person to talk to and like," Sherlock muttered, "She needs someone other than me and John."

"She needs people her own age."

"Do you really think that would be good for her?" Sherlock mumbled softly, "She hasn't been to school in months and Lucy said she doesn't get on well with people her own age."

"Shame really." Mrs Hudson sighed.

"Well before you ask she is doing well with her studying."

"Oh that's good. She's a bright girl... maybe one day she could give you a run for your money."

"I think that's enough chit chat for one day," Sherlock quickly said, but he had a good natured smile on his face. Mrs Hudson patted his back before taking her leave.

And it was several weeks later when things had started taking another interesting turn. Kidnapped children. Brilliant! No doubt it was only the beginning of things. Sherlock glanced at Lucy as they arrived at St Aldates boarding school. He saw the longing in her eyes to be able to have had a bit more of a normal life- but underneath he knew she wouldn't change it for the world now. His eyes wandered down to her arms and he couldn't help but wonder how everything would turn out. But as he stepped out of the car to talk to Lestrade he felt both a shred of nervousness and a shred of excitement. The game was on.