Author's note: thank you all for the continued support. I can't believe we have reached chapter 50!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 50

Lucy came out of the spare bedroom having gotten changed into a pair of long sleeved pyjamas. She wandered into the living room to see Mycroft lounging comfortably on one of the grey sofas, reading a thick looking novel. He looked up at her as she came in and sat next to him.

"Thank you for letting me stay," the teenager said after a moment of silence.

"No need to thank me." Mycroft replied, bookmarking a page and placing his book down on the coffee table. He sighed and looked at her thoughtfully.

"What is it?" Lucy asked, her eyebrows raised.

"Why me of all people?" He asked. She understood what he meant. Mycroft was wondering why she would turn to him when she needed to escape rather than John and Mary or Greg.

"It isn't just to annoy Sherlock," Lucy laughed. She paused, thinking through her answer. "I'm honestly not quite sure. John and Mary have their own life and probably need some peace and quiet of their own. Greg… well I spent a lot of time with him during Sherlock's… absence, and I love him a lot, but I just wanted to escape from it all." She sighed. "I've never spent much time with you at all, and I suppose a part of me wanted to get to know you a little." The teenager shrugged.

"Well, you are always welcome here." Mycroft seemed a little taken aback but kept his composure.

"Thank you," She said gratefully. There was a pause.

"You remind me a lot of Sherlock sometimes," Mycroft murmured thoughtfully. Lucy looked at him, but the older Holmes' brother didn't elaborate. After a while of general chatter, Lucy bid Mycroft goodnight. He told her that if she needed anything at all, to not be afraid to knock on his door. Truth be told, she was surprised at how nice Mycroft could actually be, and she was grateful for his generosity. But she sighed as she flopped down on the bed in the spare room. The familiar itch was back, tingling along her arms. She groaned, shaking her head in an attempt to clear the thoughts. It was hard for her to believe just how much her life orientated around self destruction.

For most of the night, she tried her best to ignore all thoughts of self harm. She dug her nails into her arms, trying to lessen the burn in her mind that craved for the release of the blade. Tears stung her eyes as she felt angry and overwhelmed with the emotions and thoughts that seemed to constantly plague her. Lucy was bored of feeling the urge all the time. She was frustrated at always feeling the need to tear open her own skin to feel better. Quietly, she groaned aloud. The temptation was always too great to ignore. Feeling extremely angry at herself, she dug into her overnight bag to pull out one of her blades and some tissues. She lay staring at it. It was too addicting. She rolled up her left sleeve, looking down at the bandage that John had used to cover up her arm. The young girl bit her lip, feeling sick. Slowly, she took the blade and placed it just below her wrist in the area of skin above the bandage. Digging down, she quickly dragged it across, feeling a bubble of anxiety rise in her body as she realised that she had gone deeper than intended. It was only meant to be a scratch. Just something small to destroy the urge. Holding her wrist in the air, she pressed the tissues against the cut, doing her best to stem the flow of blood. It took a while, maybe five or ten minutes, but eventually the blood had stopped flowing, leaving behind a wound that made her feel sick. Knowing it needed to be bandaged, she got up in search of a first aid kit or supplies. The teenager swayed slightly as she got up, feeling dizzy from the blood she had lost. From previous experience, she hadn't lost too much to be dangerous at all, nor did she need stitches, but it needed cleaning.

After finding nothing to use in the spare bedroom, Lucy slowly snuck out into the living room. It was late and Mycroft was in his bedroom, so she was safe. There was once again nothing to use in the living room, so she tried the kitchen. On most nights she would have just left the cut alone to heal on its own, but she had started feeling guilty, knowing that she needed to at least try to get better by looking after her injuries at the very least. She was shaking; panicking that she couldn't find anything to bandage her arm with. After having no success in the kitchen, she sank to the floor, her head in her hands. Trying not to cry, she eventually stood up and made her way to Mycroft's room. She hated herself, but she needed help. Lucy paused outside his door, feeling sick and anxious. After a moment in which she gathered herself, she knocked softly on the door.

"Come in." She heard. Swallowing, the troubled girl opened the door. Mycroft was sitting on a chair by the window in his room reading. He was still dressed in a white shirt and suit trousers. Lucy walked in softly, having only gone in a few steps in nerves, she paused. Mycroft Holmes glanced at her and immediately put his book down. Standing up he gestured her over to his bed. He sat on the edge, but Lucy hesitated in front of him.

"Mycroft…" she felt her eyes well up with tears. Knowing that she must look like a state, she refused eye contact.

"It's okay," he said quietly and calmly. "I know." He looked at her left arm. Once again, he gestured for her to sit next to him, and this time she obeyed. From his bedside drawer, he rummaged around and pulled out a roll of bandage, some medical tape and disinfectant.

"How do you…" Lucy started shakily, but she shook her head, "Never mind."

"I thought this may happen," Mycroft mused aloud. He looked up at her surprised face. "I know a danger night when I see one." He explained. He held his hand out, and with reluctance, Lucy offered him her left arm.

"I didn't want to do it." She muttered bitterly. "I hate myself for it."

"It's okay." He reminded her. "Bad nights happen." He carefully and gently rolled up her left sleeve. Lucy studied his expression as he saw her scarred and cut up arm. His face didn't change though, so if he felt any emotion towards what he saw he didn't let on. They were silent as Mycroft cleaned her arm and bandaged it.

"I'm sorry." She whispered as he finished.

"Don't be." He shook his head and smiled at her. Mycroft stood up and gestured to his bed. "You can stay in here tonight."

"No Mycroft it's okay," She started to get up to leave.

"No Lucy." He shook his head. "I'm not the best of people in the world but I am not leaving you alone tonight." Knowing better than to argue with him, she nodded in thanks and got snuggled under the covers. She fell asleep as soon as she closed her eyes.

The next morning, she awoke to find Mycroft asleep on top of the covers next to her. Trying to be quiet, she got out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. Lucy took her time brushing her teeth and getting dressed before going into the kitchen to make tea. As soon as the kettle started to boil, Mycroft came through, awake and dressed in a shirt and trousers as per usual.

"Tea?" Lucy asked.

"Please." Mycroft smiled.

"You didn't have to sleep on top of the covers last night," Lucy murmured, feeling bad that she had inconvenienced him. Mycroft shook his head.

"It's fine," he reassured her. "Please don't apologise again either." He added as he saw her mouth start to open. She shot him a look but eventually smiled and passed him his tea.

"I had a nice night though," Lucy said. It was unspoken but it was obvious she meant before the whole incident.

"As did I." Mycroft agreed. "You'll have to come over again."

"Teach me how to cook more," Lucy laughed.

"Just so you know," Mycroft started carefully after a moment of quiet, "I did keep my dear brother updated."

"I thought you would," Lucy smiled at him. She knew it was in her best interests. Mycroft nodded.

After having their tea, they decided on going back to Baker Street. They rode in the back of one of Mycroft's fancy black cars, watching the busy streets of London. Once at Baker Street, Lucy and Mycroft let themselves into the house and headed up into 221B. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, plucking at the strings of his violin. He looked up at his brother and flatmate as they entered.

"Oh you didn't have to bring him in as well." Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother.

"It's lovely to see you too little brother," Mycroft smirked.

"Boys," Lucy warned. "Hi Sherlock." She smiled at him. He smiled back. The detective hid it well but it was obvious he was pleased to see her. Sherlock placed his violin down and got up to put the kettle on.

"Not for me," Mycroft said. "I best be off. I have a country to run."

"Oh good," Sherlock smiled patronisingly. The older brother just raised his eyebrows.

"Thank you again Mycroft," Lucy turned to him with a genuine smile.

"My pleasure," he smiled back, "I'll see you soon hopefully." He stepped towards her and gave Lucy a brief hug before taking his leave. Sherlock stared at Lucy in surprise.

"Well that was awkward and uncomfortable," Sherlock mumbled, talking about his brother hugging her.

"It wasn't," Lucy laughed, "He's alright."

"I meant it was awkward and uncomfortable for me." He smirked as he made them tea. They sat down on the sofa together.

"Did you miss me?" Lucy asked jokingly.

"Of course." Sherlock said. The teenager looked surprised. "I only had my skull to talk to." Lucy laughed, having missed Sherlock Holmes a lot.

For most of the day they didn't do a lot. Sherlock was in the kitchen doing experiments. Lucy had fetched her drawing supplies, walking to and from her bedroom before curling up on the sofa with her pencils and drawing pad. She had turned the TV on to some channel that was currently playing a competitive dining programme. The detective groaned internally from having to listen to the infuriating show, but deep down, it felt nice to be back to normality… or as close to normality as was possible at 221B. He smiled to himself. Sherlock Holmes had really missed everyone. He had missed life in London, his friends, his family. The consulting detective dropped two singular drops of citric acid onto the ear in front of him before putting it in the fridge; he removed his gloves and went to sit down next to Lucy. He watched her draw with intent. He noticed how she gripped the pencil, how she moved it across the paper, how she shading delicately every intricate detail.

"Is that the blue police flying box thingy from that show?" He mumbled in his deep voice. She laughed before taking her hand away so he could fully see her drawing.

"Yeah, it's the TARDIS from Doctor Who." She smiled at her picture, "It's flying through time and space." She caught the detective rolling his eyes but was amused when he didn't scoff and tell her how preposterous the show was.

"I didn't know you were that good at drawing." He commented.

"I got back into it when you… well when there wasn't a lot going on in my life anymore I had to do something." She smiled sadly at him. Sherlock kept a straight face. She paused for a moment before flicking through the pages to show him all the pictures she had drawn. He held his breath as he looked through them. His tall figure filled the pages, sometimes in colour, sometimes just shaded in grey.

"Why did you draw me?" His voice was tight.

"I was scared to forget you." She admitted. He put his arm around her, unsure of how to feel.

"What else did you do this past year and a half?" He asked, unhappy that he had missed so much of her life.

"Well," She took a deep breath, "I passed my GCSE's with straight A's." She saw him smile genuinely with happiness for her. She continued, "I spent some time doing cold cases for Lestrade, turns out I'm pretty good at some of them. I also spent a lot of time with Greg actually." She paused, "It felt normal to be with him, watching movies and eating take away at his for the night. It gave me a break." She sighed, "John tried his best to be around as much as possible, but it ended up with him staying at Mary's a lot and me staying here." She smirked a little, "Mrs Hudson enjoyed my company though." She shook her head, "Enough of that depressing stuff anyway." Sensing she didn't want to talk about it any further, Sherlock said:

"Have you thought about going to college?"

"Well err," Lucy looked taken aback, "I have actually." She ran a hand through her hair, "I'm not sure though, but I was thinking I could always give it a try. John seemed keen on it anyway."

"Well there's plenty of time to decide. Obviously I don't think you should but then again, it isn't my decision." She laughed at him. There was a hesitation though from Sherlock. And Lucy knew he was about to bring up last night. Eventually he said: "Are you okay?"

"Sherlock…" Lucy sighed and rubbed her face. He took her left arm and rubbed it with his thumb, his face frowning thoughtfully.

"Mycroft told me." He stated.

"I know he did and I'm sorry," Lucy said shakily. "I'm trying Sherlock. I don't want it to be like this forever." She bit her lip to stop from crying. Sherlock let go of her arm and gazed at her. "You know Sherlock, it's just so hard. So hard." She shook her head. "But I'm gonna start trying more than before." Sherlock felt bad for starting the conversation, he hadn't meant to make her feel worse.

"Do you want to go out?" He asked, hoping it may distract her. "I was thinking we could go to Covent Garden to shop?"

"You hate shopping," She ran a hand over her face, knowing that he wanted to distract her.

"I could maybe hate it less for a bit if you wanted." He huffed.

"I know why you're doing this." She sighed. He looked at her with his bright green-blue eyes.

"Then you would understand why I want to take you shopping."

"Okay." She tried to smile. He looked surprised.

"Really?"

"I have to try don't I?"

"Well get ready to go out then, I'm sure we will make good use of the numerous cheques I receive from my cases!" He smiled, "Oh and I know a nice little place that does some really great pasta dishes."