Authors note: I would like to ask if that you feel the need to leave reviews that aren't very nice please feel free to PM me so we can talk about it rather than leaving an anonymous review please. Or simply just stop reading the story if you don't like it.

But thank you for all the continued support!

Did any of you watch the first and second episodes of series 4? They are amazing!

Chapter 49

"Hurry up!" Sherlock yelled at Lestrade.

"I'm going as fast as I can Sherlock." The DI said calmly, trying not to yell himself. Sherlock huffed and glared out of the window at the amount of traffic on the roads.

"It's all my fault." Sherlock mumbled to himself.

"No it isn't you idiot," John looked at the detective. He saw how pale Sherlock was, and how exhausted he looked, the consulting detective looked like he hadn't slept properly for weeks.

"I left, and look what it did to her."

"You had no choice."

"I hurt her and you." He ran a hand over his mouth, "And now she could be in serious danger because she couldn't cope." Sherlock took a deep breath. Lestrade glanced in his rear view mirror at the detective, his face filled with sympathy, but he had no idea what to say to make the situation seem any better.

"You're here now and that's what matters," John said quietly.

Lucy screamed in pain, terrified at what may happen. As she was flung to the ground she felt all the cuts on her arm tear open, leaving the pathway shining red with blood. She couldn't see the faces of the men; her vision was fading. The teenager shook her head, trying to fight the dizziness and blackness. One of the men grabbed her face, stopping her from moving.

"Don't struggle," he whispered menacingly into her ear, sending chills down her spine. She whimpered quietly, unsure of what to do, if she could even do anything.

Sherlock, John and Lestrade had been frantically looking through the park. Luckily, it hadn't taken them too long to arrive, but that didn't stop them all from panicking. Suddenly, an ear splitting shriek sounded. Sherlock froze. John and Lestrade looked at Sherlock. Without saying anything, Sherlock sprinted down the pathway, with John and Lestrade hot on his heels. They arrived to a scene that they never wished to see. Three bulky men were pinning Lucy down, beginning to rip off her clothes.

"Get off her!" Sherlock yelled. Upon hearing company, the three men glanced at each other before kicking the young girl. They ran off before Lucy's friends could reach them.

"I'll go after them," Lestrade shouted. Sherlock and John sprinted over to Lucy. Their hearts were in their mouths, their breathing heaving. Lucy was lying on the floor, her top half ripped off of her, exposing her arms filled with cuts that leaked blood onto the hard ground. John immediately started to stem the bleeding from the deeper ones while checking over the rest of her body to make sure nothing was broken.

"Jesus Lucy," John murmured, he was shocked but slightly relieved to see that they managed to get there before any real harm happened. Sherlock had remained silent, he was clearly unsure what to do and looked a little lost. The consulting detective had knelt down beside her head and slowly stroked her hair, scared that the hurt girl would flinch away. But she did the opposite, she leaned her head into his hand, searching for comfort. Her breathing was rapid.

"It's okay now Lucy," Sherlock murmured. "They will never hurt you again." His voice was determined and hard, and Lucy felt safe when she was near him.

"Everything hurts," the teenager finally managed to choke out. Her face was stained from the tears that fell from her scared eyes, and her two friends both flinched internally at hearing how broken she sounded.

"Trust me Lucy, everything is okay, nothing is broken." John said comfortingly, giving her a smile of reassurance. "You will probably feel sore though."

"They were going to… to…" She couldn't get the words out of her mouth. But they knew what she was talking about. Neither man wanted to think about what would have happened had they not have turned up when they did. It was then that Greg Lestrade returned, looking worried for Lucy's sake. Upon seeing, Sherlock and John's faces immediately turn towards him, Greg quickly said:

"Don't worry they have been taken care of." He came to kneel beside Lucy as well. "Mycroft was outside the park as well. He has assured me that we don't need to worry about them."

"Good." Sherlock muttered, "He can be useful sometimes."

"I think we should take you home," John said to Lucy, stroking her face.

Lestrade drove them back to Baker Street in his car. No one really spoke on the way back. John Watson had borrowed the first aid kit from the boot of Lestrade's car and bandaged up Lucy's arms. Greg didn't go into Baker Street with them, but gave Lucy a farewell hug and told her to let him know if she ever needed anything. John helped Lucy to walk on shaky legs into the flat.

"Oh my gosh what happened?" Mrs Hudson came out of her flat in shock. Sherlock went over to her and murmured into her ear what happened, the landlady gasped and proceeded to say: "You lot go upstairs to your flat, I'll bring up some tea and biscuits." Lucy smiled weakly at her, grateful at the offer.

Once into their home, Lucy practically fell on the couch, clearly exhausted. Sherlock paced back and forth, unsure of what to do or say.

"Thank you," Lucy said. She looked up at the two men who she owed her life to. "I'm honestly not sure where I would be if it weren't for you two." John smiled and sat on the sofa next to her to gently hug the teenager. Sherlock nodded and gave her a small smile.

The three of them had their tea and biscuits before John left to go home to Mary. Sherlock sat down next to Lucy.

"I'm… sorry," he murmured, not looking at her.

"Stop." Lucy said softly, shaking her head. "I told you not to apologise anymore."

"It doesn't change what I did."

"And you cannot keep blaming yourself for what happened today." Lucy quipped. Sherlock looked at her, as unreadable as the detective often was, now and then Lucy could see exactly how he felt.

"Are you okay?" He asked after a pause. She raised her eyebrows at him. He nodded in understanding. Lucy ran a hand over her face. She was tired, and upset.

"Sherlock," she hesitated, feeling completely overwhelmed with emotions. But she shook her head and laughed, "Never mind." He narrowed his eyes, confused. Eventually, she bid him goodnight and went to bed. She was too exhausted with everything to cut that night.

The next morning, she felt sore, but better than the previous day. She got changed and padded into the living room of their flat. Sherlock was in the kitchen, playing with his microscope and god knows what. The consulting detective looked up at her, observed her state of dress and sighed.

"You aren't going out." He said simply as he got up to put the kettle on. Lucy stopped.

"What?" She demanded.

"You heard me," Sherlock said gently but firmly. "I can tell from your clothes you're planning on going out." The teenager looked down at herself.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She narrowed her eyes at him. He paused, running his eyes over her.

"After what happened yesterday?" He raised his eyebrows. "I spoke to John and he agrees."

"Oh so you two are conspiring against me now." She snapped.

"No," he laughed, only angering her further. But his face turned serious, "We just think it may be best if you take things a little easy for a while and aren't always on your own."

"You are being ridiculous." She started to raise her voice. "I'm almost seventeen! And you and John are not my parents!"

"No we are not," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "but that doesn't mean we want you to endanger yourself all the time."

"Why are you being so…" She shook her head looking for the right word, "Human?" Sherlock hesitated upon hearing this and narrowed his eyes slightly. He cocked his head at her before turning around and making them both tea.

"I don't want you to get hurt." He said, trying to sound detached. "Funnily enough I do happen to care about my friends." He finished stirring in sugar and placed both his own cup and Lucy's on the table in front of the sofa before he flung himself down. Lucy didn't seem to know what to say. So she didn't say anything, she sat down and took her tea, murmuring a quick thank you for the drink.

By the late afternoon, being cooped up inside was doing Lucy's head in. She was bored. The television had nothing interesting on and Sherlock was busy playing with bits in the kitchen. She couldn't really stay in her bedroom, because Sherlock would be constantly checking on her which took all the fun out of it. She felt trapped and it was making her go crazy. Eventually, having made up her mind on what to do, she went and grabbed her phone from her bedroom.

"Who are you texting?" Sherlock asked as she came back in. Lucy looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Mycroft." She replied.

"What?" Sherlock almost shouted. "Why on earth would you want to text that idiot?"

"I'm fed up of this place I want a break," Lucy shrugged. She had texted the older Holmes' brother to ask if she could spend the night at his.

"Are you serious?" Sherlock asked, "You want to spend a night with Mycroft of all people?"

"Yes."

"Why not Lestrade?" Sherlock muttered, obviously angry.

"I don't often see your dear brother." She smirked.

"Fine," Sherlock sighed in defeat, throwing his hands in the air. "I know what you're doing, you're trying to get back at me for not letting you out earlier." He took a breath. "I know you are probably frustrated and annoyed with me, but I didn't do it to intentionally piss you off."

"I know." Lucy sighed as well. "I just… I need a break. If that's okay?"

"Of course," Sherlock eventually nodded. "I just don't like that it's with Mycroft of all people."

Mycroft had texted her back to let her know that she would be picked up at six. She packed a small overnight bag, feeling relieved to be someplace else for a bit. Sherlock looked like a puppy that had been told off when she said the car was there to pick her up. In all honestly, the teenager felt bad for leaving Sherlock, but she knew that he did understand her reasons. She waved goodbye to Sherlock, promising to see him the next day before heading downstairs and out of the house.

Outside, a sleek black Mercedes was parked next to the pavement. Opening the door, she was surprised to see Mycroft sitting in the back seat. She got in, shutting the door behind her.

"Hi Mycroft," She said cheerily.

"Hello Lucy," he gave her a smile. "I must say that this is most unexpected." The car started to drive off.

"I'm sorry if I'm inconveniencing you."

"Not at all." He replied. "I just did not expect you would wish to spend the night with me."

"Neither did Sherlock," she laughed.

"I bet he didn't." Mycroft Holmes smirked. Lucy sighed, fidgeting slightly in her seat, feeling a little nervous under the British government's intense gaze. After a moment, Mycroft spoke up: "You know I do not mind you coming over to my place." Lucy looked up at him in shock.

"Mind reader," she mumbled. Mycroft smiled slightly.

"I know you feel uncomfortable, perhaps thinking you are imposing yourself upon me or that I do not really want you to come round. But I can assure you that I am more than happy to have you over." He said in his posh voice. "I am here for you. And although I may not be anyone's first choice or the most approachable man in the world, I care for you and am here should you need me for anything."

"Wow," Lucy looked genuinely surprised, "thank you Mycroft."

Mycroft Holmes led the teenager into his home. It was not the biggest house but it wasn't by any means small either. Everything in each room was in order, all neat and precise. Lucy stood looking around his living room. There were two comfy looking sofas, a large television, a coffee table amongst other normal bits and pieces. One main wall where the tv hung was all in wood panelling, whereas the others were wallpaper. Lucy breathed in a shaky breath. She felt overwhelmed. It was all confusing. Mycroft's home almost seemed to radiate a sense of normality. Which was strange considering he was a Holmes'. His home was warm, cosy and welcoming. It was nothing like how she imagined. It almost reminded her of her old home… with her parents… her old family... She felt a tear trail down her cheek. Mycroft Holmes looked down at her, very unsure of what to do. Once the tears had started falling the young girl could not seem to stop them.

"Lucy…" Mycroft started uncertainly. She shook her head, turning towards him and wrapping her arms around the taller man. He froze, after all this was not exactly a common occurrence for him. Slowly, he reciprocated the hug, putting his arms around her slender frame in the hopes it would comfort her. After she had calmed down enough, she let go of the older Holmes' brother.

"I'm sorry," she said shakily, wiping her eyes.

"No need to be," Mycroft murmured. He didn't push her into talking about anything, but instead asked: "Dinner?"

The two of them cooked together. Mycroft was a surprisingly good cook and helped teach Lucy how to cook. They made chicken with a homemade sauce with rice and vegetables. At the dinner table, Mycroft poured himself a glass of red wine.

"Very classy," Lucy laughed.

"Would you like any wine?" He smiled.

"Am I allowed?" She asked surprised.

"Of course, it's only a small glass. It won't hurt. You're more than old enough to have a drink at home." Mycroft replied.

"Oh then yes please!"

"I think you may like this," Mycroft went to his wine rack and selected a bottle of sweet white wine. "Not many young people like red." He explained as he poured her a glass. "Have you not had alcohol before?"

"No, not that I can remember." She responded. "Thank you." She raised her glass to his.

They chatted about tv shows and books and music. Obviously Lucy was giving him an education on all the different tv shows that she liked and the music that very different to his own tastes. But she enjoyed herself. She didn't expect to but she really did. Mycroft showed her to the spare bedroom which contained a double bed and plenty of books. He left her while she got ready for bed. Feeling uncertain, but knowing the signs, Mycroft called Sherlock.

"Hello Mycroft," Sherlock huffed, obviously not happy to hear from him.

"How are you dear brother?"

"Marvellous. How's Lucy?"

"She's okay at the moment," Mycroft paused.

"What do you mean at the moment?" Sherlock immediately replied with worry.

"I mean I think it may not be the best of nights." Mycroft sighed, "I recognise the signs. She kept fidgeting with her hands, trying to distract herself and kept scratching absentmindedly at her arms. I know this may be a danger night for her." He paused, "She was very overwhelmed when she got here but settled after a while but that doesn't mean she won't still… self harm." Mycroft heard Sherlock sigh heavily.

"There isn't a lot you can do other than be with her." Sherlock muttered. "I often stay with her at night, but I don't think she would want you anywhere near her at night." Mycroft ignored the insult.

"So wait and see how it goes basically?"

"Pretty much." Sherlock hesitated, "Let me know how tonight goes."

"Of course."