I am so, so sorry! I'd meant to have this all up by last week, but writers block got in the way :( I had no clue what to do for this chapter until yesterday. Good news is though that I didn't write these in order, and this is my last one, so will be uploading a chapter a day from now on! :D Enjoy! Warning for reference to drugs and violence.

Call girl, no phone

Sherlock was trying very hard not to panic. And failing.

He had been buying cocaine from a supplier when an earlier customer had approached and started an argument with the dealer, claiming he had mixed her cocaine with something undesirable and was demanding her money back. Sherlock realised he knew the girl, Angel. She was 19 years old, a runaway who decided that life on the streets was preferable to life with her father. She and Sherlock would meet up sometimes on the streets entirely by accident, but she was actually rather good at reading people, and they had spent days sitting on the pavement and deducing the life stories of the people passing by. He supposed she was a close acquaintance, maybe what normal people would call a friend. Dealers were at best irritable, it seemed to be a trait they all shared, and this one had a particularly short temper. He had told the her to back off (or words to that effect) and when she had refused, he lashed out. He had punched her right in the face stunning the girl but after she recovered from the initial shock she gave as good as she got. Sherlock watched the scuffle from the sidelines, mildly interested but mostly impatient. He knew Angel would be okay, she was tough and would walk off any damage done, he just wanted a fix. He wasn't really bothered if the cocaine was pure or not, as long as he could get high on it. He was relieved to see from Angel's body language that she was planning on ending the fight, and she gave the dealer one last punch to the nose. She had punched hard and broke it, and rather more unfortunately for her, his pride. He would not stand for the young girl beating him in a fight and seeing as red as the blood spurting from his nose, he pulled out a knife which he quickly stabbed into her chest before pulling it out and running away.

Sherlock was for once in shock. He stood still for a minute watching the man run away, only breaking out of his trance when Angel collapsed to the ground. He rushed towards her and assessed her position. She was okay for now but if she didn't get some help soon she would die from blood loss. For the first time since retiring to life on the streets Sherlock wished he had his phone, he had sold it for money within the first few days of his new life, mainly due to the fact that Mycroft kept trying to contact him once he's realised he'd disappeared. He had also had a sneaking suspicion that he could trace him with it, and was all too happy to dispose of it. It seemed a stupid idea to get rid of it now, even though he had not had need for it until now. He tried to think of a way to contact help but panic kept bubbling up and disrupting his thoughts. This was exactly why he kept himself distant, both from emotions and people. It blinded him and clouded his thoughts, and right now he needed to think. He took Angels pulse, and although she was unconscious her pulse was still steady. Although it would probably be preferable if it was slow, it would mean there was more blood in her body than staining the ground crimson. He decided the best course of action was to leave Angel here for the time being and try to find help. He took a look at the girls pale demeanor and covered her with his jacket before half running out the alleyway and into the council estate street. He searched around for a likely helper but the place was mostly empty and the few people hanging about would probably refuse to help for fear of being dragged into a police investigation, so Sherlock ran further up the street.

If you were to ask Lestrade how he thought he had managed to be in just the right place at just the right time he would probably tell you it was "damn good luck." Sherlock would scoff at this and tell you that there is no such things as luck, and then go on to explain probability and consequence until you hastily make up an excuse to leave. Whatever you choose to believe, it so happened that there was a police car and a certain detective inspector parked outside a flat not 5 minutes away from Angel. Sherlock had no luck finding someone likely to help so approached the flat with the thought of finding a phone and dialing 999 but upon seeing the police car changed his plans and ran towards it. Lestrade had just been investigating a suicide inside the flats (which was just what it seemed) and was walking back to the police car, when Sherlock ran up and skidded to a stop in front of him. He looked more bedraggled than usual, his hair sticking up every which way and his clothes covered in dirt and…Lestrade's eyes widened, was that blood?

"Sherlock?" He said, hoping for an explanation.
"Need your help, down the road there, been stabbed." He spoke quickly, slightly breathless from running.
"Wait, what?" Lestrade asked confused. Who had been stabbed? Sherlock made a noise of impatience and took the mobile Lestrade was holding out his hand and dialled 999.
"Tell them to come now!" He exclaimed holding the phone back out to him. A bemused Lestrade took the phone and told the person on the end of the line the address Sherlock told him and told them to be quick before hanging up.
"Sherlock, what's happening, who's been stabbed?" Lestrade asked.
"I'll explain on the way." Sherlock said impatiently, already rushing off. Lestrade sighed exasperatedly but followed quickly, sensing Sherlock's haste and realising that things had to be bad if Sherlock was worried.

They arrived at the entrance to the alleyway just before the ambulance did, it was thankfully fast due to the hospital being close, and the fact that they had been summoned by the police helped. Sherlock directed the medics towards where Angel lay and they hurriedly lay her on a stretcher and carefully took her back to the ambulance. "Christ" Lestrade muttered under his breath as he got a glimpse of the girl. She was white as a sheet and her clothes stained in blood, her eyes closed as if she was sleeping or... Lestrade looked at Sherlock who was animatedly scolding the medics for their handling of the stretcher rambling something about weight distribution and how simple physics would suffice in making them more competent at their job. All in all, he didn't seem too affected by a girl almost being murdered in front of him. As the ambulance drove away Lestrade approached him. "Is she a friend of your's then?" He asked, curious.
"I don't have friends." Sherlock scoffed.
"What, none?" Lestrade asked, disbelieving. Surely even Sherlock Holmes had friends?
"Friends implies a certain level of attachment and I consider myself above such emotions." Sherlock told him. The things that kid came out with.
"Of course you are, that's why you were so panicked when you ran up to me looking for a phone." Lestrade remarked sarcastically.
"If she had died I would no doubt come under investigation, I was only-"
"I know." Lestrade said, giving the kid a pat on the shoulder and in return receiving an extremely icy glare.
"You're lucky I was there." Lestrade reminded him. "I don't want to think about what could have happened if you hadn't found a phone."
"There is no such thing as luck, the odds that I would meet-"
"You could just say thanks." Lestrade told him. Sherlock scowled at being interrupted again but sighed.
"Thank you." He said, his arms crossed.
"Your welcome." Lestrade said pleasantly. "Now, you're a witness so you're going to need to come down to the police station with me." Before Sherlock could argue he added "I'll let you look at some case files." Sherlock hesitated before following the man back towards the police car.

I don't actually like this one much but oh well, hope you liked it! I'm thinking of doing a spin off story about Sherlock and Angel, what do you think? Thanks to phanpiggy, LinzPhantom, MoriartyandHisTardis and IamthePhantomoftheOpera for reviewing!