Author's note: Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews!

Chapter 54

Mycroft Holmes was relieved. Lucy had managed to sleep through the night without any trouble. Not once during the evening did she mention or seem like she wanted to self harm- and Mycroft knew that for her it was a big step. In the morning, he left her to have a shower and get ready while he made toast. The older Holmes brother was just glad that work had not yet needed him, it meant that he could have a break as well as spend time with Lucy.

The teenager was very quiet and did not speak as she drank some tea, ignoring the toast.

"You need to eat," Mycroft said, pointing at the food, "you barely ate yesterday."

"I'm really not hungry." She shook her head. Mycroft was tight lipped. He knew she had often struggled with her eating, but she had gotten better with it as of late.

"Eat." He said softly as he buttered a slice of toast for her and put it on her plate. Rather reluctantly, she took a bite, knowing he would eventually be more forceful. Taking the time to chew, she glared at Mycroft, clearly not in a good mood.

"Look at me like that all you want, but it won't change the fact you have to eat to stay healthy." He raised his eyebrows at her.

"It's making me feel sick," she wrinkled her nose. At that he paused.

"Are you not feeling well?"

"Not particularly," she shrugged.

"It is probably stress." Mycroft said gently. She took another small bite of her toast before putting it down. At this point, Mycroft's phone went off with a text. He looked at it, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Oh for goodness sake," He muttered, "Clearly the country cannot last a few days without me."

"Work?" Lucy asked.

"Unfortunately." He ran a hand over his face. "It should not take too long to deal with. I'm sorry Lucy, I'll have to leave you alone for a bit." He sighed. "I'll be in my office, it's in the basement. I have some phone calls to make and such." He stood up, clearly frustrated.

"I can survive on my own for a bit." She mumbled. Mycroft looked uncertain.

"If you need anything," he started carefully, "If you have any… urges. Please feel free to knock."

"Okay." She agreed just to stop him from worrying. He looked at her one last time before hurriedly making his way to his office. The teenager sighed, rubbing her forehead in a feeble attempt to quell the headache that was throbbing in her skull. She looked down at her half eaten toast, feeling disgusted with herself. Standing up on wobbly legs, she made her way slowly to the bathroom.

It had been ages since she had done this to herself. But she felt the need to do it. It was not a craving as such, it was not as irresistible as the need to cut her own body. And yet, it still played on her mind. She needed the control it gave her. After all that had happened, after being unable to change her own situation or the things that happened to her, she felt the need to be in control. And one thing she could at least try to control, was food. Feeling uncomfortable, she knelt before the toilet, the saliva clogging her mouth from the anticipation. Brushing her hair out of her face, she slowly brought two of her fingers to her lips before shoving them in.

She gagged. But it wasn't enough. She tried again and again. The gagging noises becoming more violent. Eventually, her stomach churned and her meagre breakfast was brought up. She coughed and leaned back, feeling the bile coat her mouth and the god awful taste linger on her tongue. Standing up on even shakier legs, she flushed the toilet and grabbed her toothbrush, cleaning her teeth and any remains of her act. After she had made herself throw up, she always felt guilty. There was always that pang of regret, it made her feel more sick. But the teenager could not exactly cut easily at Mycroft's, besides, if it made her feel better then what was the harm? She knew she was being stupid, but she was past the point of caring. Feeling dizzy, she made her way into the living room, rubbing her eyes as her head relentlessly throbbed. She felt tired. Her body felt exhausted. She closed her eyes and fell asleep on the sofa.

The teenager awoke to find a hand on her forehead. Opening her eyes blearily, she found herself looking at Mycroft. He removed his hand from her forehead.

"Mycroft?" Lucy mumbled out his name.

"You do not look well at all," he was frowning.

"You're meant to be working," she said slowly.

"I finished working," he said, "You must have been asleep for about three hours."

"Three hours?" She looked surprised. Lucy winced, rubbing again at her head. It was pounding.

"Yes," Mycroft said. "You look very pale, have you not had anything to eat or drink?" She looked at him and he knew the answer, he looked back at her, worried. He sighed, "Maybe I should call John."

"No!" Lucy refused, sitting up straight and trying to stand on shaky legs that felt like jelly. She felt so dizzy. Her hand pressed into her eyes, trying to stop the feeling of wanting to be sick again. The teenager's legs buckled. There was a ringing in her ears and her whole body felt weak.

"Lucy?" Mycroft asked cautiously, but she barely heard him. His voice sounded like a fuzzy radio. She sat down on the floor and Mycroft knelt down, repeating her name and asking her questions but she wasn't paying attention. Her head thudded slightly against the floor as she fainted.

Mycroft looked at the girl in worry as she fainted. He was not quite sure what to do for the best. Quickly, he checked her head for any bump or bleeding from the impact, but he was glad to see none. From there, he put her onto her side into the recovery position. He knew she hadn't looked well, but he thought it may be from stress. Instead, she looked pale and sick. Pulling out his phone he made a quick call to John, asking him to come over as soon as possible as it was of the upmost urgency. Mycroft sent a car to pick John up while fetching a glass of water for Lucy before going back, waiting for Lucy to wake up.

What was only a couple of minutes later, Lucy slowly started to awaken. She felt a cold sheen of sweat over her body, and her mind felt thick with fog. Blinking in confusion, she felt a firm hand on her shoulder, keeping her pressed onto the floor. Vaguely she was aware of her hair being brushed away from her damp forehead. She knew she must have looked a state. Attempting to try and get up, she resisted the hand that held her, but it was to no avail. Her body was too weak to fight back right now.

"Just stay there Lucy, you are safe." Mycroft's voice said softly. Her gaze moved to settle on his face. It was a few moments later when John Watson walked in, looking very concerned.

"Lucy!" He gasped when he saw her, instantly going to her and kneeling beside Mycroft to examine her.

"Thank you for coming John." Mycroft said politely.

"What happened?" He asked as he checked her pulse and temperature.

"She fainted." Mycroft said, keeping a neutral face.

"You don't look particularly well Lucy," John sighed, "Have you had anything to eat or drink?" Lucy just blinked up at him, still making sense of the world after only just having woken up. Mycroft answered instead:

"She's barely eaten anything lately, I thought it was stress."

"It might be," John agreed. "Having too little food or water can cause a fainting spell." He paused, looking her over. "It may even be dehydration."

"Is there anything we can do?" Mycroft asked.

"Drink plenty of fluids. If possible, have fruit juice to replenish any lost sugar and nutrition. If you're feeling too sick Lucy, I'd suggest drinking little and often." He ran a hand through his greying hair, "I'm just glad it's not too serious." John smiled at Lucy and she returned the smile.

"Thank you John," Lucy mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologise." He shook his head. "You just need to eat." He looked at her with concern but he was deadly serious. "I know you may… struggle sometimes with eating but you really need to try as hard as you can okay?" He sighed.

"I'll try," she whispered, embarrassed that John knew what was going on in her mind. There was a pause in which she shakily got into a sitting position and took a small sip of water. "How's the investigation going?" She asked, hopeful.

"Well," John looked between her and the older Holmes brother, "We have managed to capture some CCTV footage. He got clumsy. Until now he has managed to avoid a lot of CCTV, but he was following what we assume was another victim and we have a rough idea where he is going."

"So you think you will catch him soon?"

"Sherlock is very sure of himself."

"When isn't he," Lucy smirked.

After ensuring that Lucy was not going to faint again, John left them to get back to Sherlock and Mary. Lucy had felt sad that he had to go, she missed being with Sherlock and John and Mary. She missed how it used to be. But deep down, the teenager knew that it would definitely not be good for her mental health to continue with such cases all the time. She hated it, but it was something she had to accept. At least she was not stuck home alone constantly to her own destructive thoughts. In that sense, Mycroft was a blessing allowing her to stay with him. He was so accommodating that she felt bad that she was imposing on him a lot as of late.

"You're over thinking." Mycroft raised his eyebrows at her as he passed her the glass of water for her to take a sip from.

"Sorry," She sighed. He frowned at her, not knowing what to do or say to make her feel better. Lucy looked at him and smiled, "You've done so much for me and I'm really grateful."

"Oh, it is no trouble." He shrugged. He looked at her carefully. "Are you up to eating anything?"

"Not really," she murmured, not meeting his eyes.

"Is everything… okay?" He seemed surprisingly unsure how to word what he wanted to say.

"Uh," she looked back up at him. "I'm… fine?" She answered, but it was more of a question in that she was not sure what kind of answer he was looking for. Mycroft gave her a half smile, but did not push further.

The day had gone by quickly. Lucy had not been up for doing much, so her and Mycroft spent the time reading in silence, sometimes playing a game or two of Cluedo. She refused to eat, her stomach turning horribly at the thought, but she drank plenty of orange juice. Mycroft eventually forced her to at least try to eat some fruit, but she could barely get through half an apple without feeling sick. He realised that she might actually not be feeling well, so he did not force her any further in case he made her feel even worse. After having a headache for most of the day, Lucy had fallen asleep on the sofa next to Mycroft before it was even 7 o'clock in the evening. Mycroft felt his phone vibrate and looked at it to see Sherlock calling him which did not often happen. Immediately he answered the phone and went through to the kitchen.

"Sherlock," he said by way of greeting.

"We've got him." His brother instantly informed him, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Ah, excellent, I'm sure Lucy will be pleased." Mycroft was happy that this whole ordeal would be over for Lucy.

"Of course." Came Sherlock's snarky reply.

"You wouldn't have called just for this." Mycroft frowned.

"No," Sherlock started, "I do not want Lucy to have to go through court to testify as a witness."

"She will not have to." Mycroft's voice instantly turned dangerous, agreeing with his brother. "I shall see to it that he will be… away for quite a while."

"Good." Was all Sherlock said.

"Shall I send Lucy back to Baker Street tomorrow morning?"

"Yes that's fine." Sherlock was clearly bored of talking to his brother by now.

"Very well. And I will get about to contacting mummy and daddy." Mycroft smirked as he heard Sherlock groan in annoyance before hanging up the phone. The older Holmes brother smiled, pleased with himself before grabbing a spare blanket and covering Lucy with it. He did not wish to disturb her. She slept through the night, clearly tired from not feeling well all day. But Mycroft was just glad that the case was resolved fairly quickly. He sent texts to the necessary people with tight lips and a furrowed brow. That way, the boy would never be able to hurt Lucy, or anyone else, again.