Another week flew by. The late night case had been Sherlock's last case, and after solving it in two days, Sherlock was itching for another.
Over the time that had passed, John had finally accepted that Gwen was neither out to kill them nor going anywhere, at least for the time being. Naturally, John wanted to learn more about the girl. So instead of taking the Sherlock approach of studying her from afar, John took the more normal and socially acceptable method for getting to know other people. He talked to her.
John was surprised to find how mature Gwen was. Had he not known that she was 19 years old, he never would have believed it. Gwen was as mature as any adult that he knew, and certainly more mature than Sherlock himself was at times. She also seemed strangely like a normal person. That was strange because anyone who was interested in Sherlock couldn't possibly be normal. But John had to admit... she kept up the appearance rather well.
The only thing that he found less than normal was her unnatural control over her emotions. John never saw her display any emotion without doing so deliberately.
What has happened to this girl to make her so self-contained? he wondered sadly. Though she often smiled while conversing with him, John could clearly tell that this smile was not nearly as true as the one she wore on the rare occasion that Sherlock got a case. That was the only other odd thing about her.
Aside from that, Gwen was an amiable, interesting, smart, beautiful young lady. John found that he greatly enjoyed her presence. It was nice to have some company other than Sherlock sometimes.
One day, Gwen kindly offered to do the grocery shopping not only for herself but also for the two men. After John gave her the money and she had left, John made himself a cup of tea and plopped down on his armchair. Sherlock glanced over at the other man from his own spot on the couch.
"So John, what have you noticed so far about our new flat mate?" he asked. John looked up in surprise.
"How do you mean?"
"Her appearance; her clothes. Tell me about them."
"Um, well..." John cleared his throat. "She's young. Nice, expensive clothes, just like you said. She generally wears light colors. Her hair is naturally blonde and wavy, and she never wears make-up."
"Specifics, John," said Sherlock, frustrated. "Tell me specific things you've noticed about the clothes she wears."
"Well she... she wears jeans often, boots... She always wears the same white jacket-"
"Right!" exclaimed Sherlock suddenly, sitting up with a grin. "Tell me John, how often does she wear it?"
"I don't know, she wears it a lot-"
"Think John! I mean really think!" John paused for a moment and scoured his brain. He was surprised at the sudden realization that he now made. Why hadn't he noticed before?
"She always wears it. I've never seen her without it on."
"Are you sure about that John?"
"No..." John said slowly, staring at the wall as if all his memories of Gwen were playing there. "No, the time that she woke me up, she was wearing her pajamas."
"And what did her pajamas consist of?"
"Blue cotton pants and a long-sleeved blue shirt to match."
"Exactly John! So why does she wear that white jacket?"
John looked at his friend in confusion. How should he know how a 19 year-old girl made her fashion choices?
"For the same reason you wear your coat I suppose."
"Even I don't wear my coat in the house constantly," said Sherlock scathingly. "It's summertime John. Why is she always wearing a jacket?"
Thinking desperately for an answer that was clearly obvious to Sherlock, John saw pictures of her outfits swimming through his mind. Always that jacket... unless she was in her pajamas... Didn't she get warm wearing long sleeves all the time? Like Sherlock had said, it was summer for crying out loud.
Suddenly, it hit him.
"She's hiding her arms," he said excitedly. Sherlock smiled proudly at his friend.
"Why?"
"Uh... could be... tattoos that she doesn't want her parents to see?"
"We aren't her parents, why would she hide them from us?" retorted Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes bored intensely into his friend's head, silently encouraging him. John clenched his hands in frustration. Why was everything so clear to Sherlock? He couldn't think of anything else she might be hiding! What else could be on both arms that she would want to hide?
It's not as if she has scars from war injuries to hide, he thought, thinking of his shoulder. Slowly, his head raised as it dawned on him.
"Scars..." he murmured. Looking intently at Sherlock, who was smirking on the couch, John said,
"She cuts herself." Sherlock nodded. "But why?"
"Now that is something we should most certainly find out!" replied Sherlock with a wink.
When Gwen returned from shopping, she immediately knew that something was off. Sherlock was looking at her, while normally he simply ignored her presence. John on the contrary was not looking at her, rather deliberately, which again veered from his normal behavior.
"I left a few bags at the bottom of the stairway," she announced, "I couldn't carry them all. If you two could help me bring them up, that'd be lovely. Then we can talk about whatever's wrong."
As she walked into the kitchen, she saw John looking rather startled by her observation, while Sherlock merely smiled. Gwen heard the tromping of footsteps that meant that both men were obediently going to fetch the groceries.
Odd... she thought vaguely, wouldn't Sherlock normally make John do all the grunt work?- Ah. They wish to discuss whatever it is before they bring it up with me.
Sure enough, when they returned, Sherlock was still smiling and John looked less unsure. In fact, he looked rather determined about something. After putting away the groceries in silence, the three flat mates stood momentarily in the kitchen. Sherlock and Gwen seemed at ease, though John seemed a bit more uncomfortable.
When neither of the men said anything to her, Gwen walked away and made her way into the living room, where she then laid down on the couch.
"That's my couch!" protested Sherlock, as he and John followed her in. John shot him an exasperated look.
"Sherlock. Now is not the time."
"If I'm going to be interrogated about something, I'm at least going to be comfortable," asserted Gwen. Sherlock pouted a bit, but shut up and sat down on the armchair across from John.
"So what's all this about boys?" asked Gwen.
"We were wondering if we might see your jacket," requested John. Gwen smiled knowingly.
"Do you need my jacket because you already know what you'll find or because you aren't quite sure yet?"
"Oh we know what we'll find," said Sherlock smugly, "we just need to prove it."
"Sherlock wants to prove it," John cut in, "I would rather just... discuss it."
"What are you, a therapist?" she mocked.
"Uh, no, but I think if you're going to be staying with us then it's something we ought to... you know... talk about."
"The jacket, please," Sherlock reiterated. Gwen looked over at Sherlock with a smile as she shrugged off the white jacket. Her arms now bare, Gwen threw the jacket carelessly at John, amused at how he jolted when it hit him. John gently laid her jacket on the chair and walked over to Gwen on the couch, Sherlock right beside him.
Gwen was already holding her arms out for them to examine.
"Dear God..." whispered John.
Gwen had cuts, bruises, and burn marks galore up and down both arms. Some were obviously old scars; others were much fresher.
"How long has this been going on?" demanded Sherlock.
"How long have I been inflicting this sort of damage on myself?" said Gwen. "Six years."
"Why did you have the need to qualify that statement?" asked Sherlock immediately. "What happened before then? Who else was involved in this?"
"Oops," whispered Gwen teasingly, though it was clear that the subject had made her rather serious, sad even. "I'll have to be more careful or I'll end up giving away everything about myself."
"You have to tell us some things," said Sherlock in frustration, "Otherwise we'll never learn anything about you. Answer the question now please."
Gazing stubbornly into Sherlock's eyes, Gwen kept her silence and saw his facial features shift a bit as he got more annoyed.
"Did someone else abuse you? Was it one of your parents?- Oh..." he said, staring off for a moment as things began to click in his mind. Sharply, he looked back at the young woman. "That's why you don't get along with your parents. Your father used to abuse you, and your mother never stepped in to say no... Is that what happened?"
Gwen looked away from Sherlock and her eyes drifted to the floor, not wanting to look at John and face his kindness and concern.
"I was abused until I was thirteen years old."
"How young were you when it started?" That was John.
"I don't know. Too young to remember."
"But why did it stop when you turned thirteen?" asked Sherlock curiously.
"He became bored with it, that's all. Bored. So he left me alone after that."
"So why on earth did you keep hurting yourself?" asked John incredulously, obviously very sad about her past, and feeling sympathetic pain for her pain.
"You missed it," murmured Sherlock in wonder. "You didn't know how to live without it."
"Exactly right of course, as usual," whispered Gwen in return. Clenching her teeth together, she looked fiercely into Sherlock's eyes. "I'm not ashamed of it. And don't think that you can make me stop either."
"No of course not!" exclaimed Sherlock as he leapt to his feet and strolled out to the middle of the room. "Wouldn't dream of it."
"What are you talking about?" cried John as he rose up as well. Turning back to Gwen, he continued,
"You have to get help Gwen. This is a serious problem."
"Thank you for that brilliant analysis Doctor, but I'm doing just fine," she replied, her voice taut. Without speaking another word, Gwen got off the couch, grabbed her jacket from the armchair, and brushed past John on her way to the door. Before leaving, she turned back to John and Sherlock.
"Don't tell anyone else about this. It's no one's business but mine." And with that, she left the flat.
After a moment of stunned silence, John turned to his friend.
"That is the most vulnerable I've ever seen her."
"Of course it was. Something that emotional in her life was guaranteed to provoke some sort of emotional response," replied Sherlock.
"Will she be alright?" Sherlock glanced sharply at his friend, narrowing his eyes a bit.
"Why do you care so much?"
"Well I just... I mean... She's in pain! I feel bad for her. I'd be concerned no matter who it was. It makes it all the worse that she's actually living with us because I feel more connected to her."
"That's all it is?"
"Yes Sherlock. I, unlike you, am not a sociopath. I feel sympathy towards other human beings," said John pointedly. Sherlock seemed to ponder this statement before inclining his head slightly, as if agreeing to it.
"Right then! Well, to answer your question, I have no idea whether she'll be alright. But I suggest that you ask her yourself when she returns. I think I'll turn in early tonight."
John's mouth opened as if to say something, but he held his tongue and simply watched Sherlock strut out the room. He felt as though Sherlock was acting a bit strange... And he never went to bed early! What was wrong with him?
Pushing the thought from his mind, John grabbed a book and went upstairs to his own bedroom. It was too early for sleeping, but he didn't feel like talking to Gwen tonight. Another night perhaps.
In the room below John, Sherlock lay awake as well. He had not bothered to get into his pajamas and he had not even gotten under the covers. He lay on top of his sheets on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his fingers pressed together as he remained lost in thought for several long hours.