He was shocked. Shocked and happy. He turned around to see you leaning on the door frame of the flat's entrance. John walked in the room and dropped his coffee mug when he saw you standing in the doorway. He put his hand over his heart and whispered, "Jesus..." as he bent down to pick up the broken mug. "How come you're here?" Sherlock asked. You grinned. "Got room for one more in this little flat of yours? You aren't the only consulting detective around here anymore." Sherlock smiled and said, "What do you think?" John looked up, alarmed, "Hold on a second, are you two dating or something?" Both your heads snapped towards him as you both blushed lightly and said, "No!"

"Suure." John muttered.

"What was that?" you and Sherlock both snapped instantly.

"Nothing." he said quickly, "And you didn't even ask me if I was okay with her staying here."

"Well," you began, "There's the fact that you couldn't turn me away." you said with a wicked glint in your eyes. He sighed. This might not end well in the long run.. he thought. "Well?" you asked, "What do you say Watson?" His brow furrowed, then it unknitted, with I sigh he shrugged and it clearly said, Why not? You smiled and sat down on the couch by Sherlock's chair. You snatched the violin out of Sherlock's hand. "Hey!" he shouted, reaching out to grab the violin back.

You kept it out of his reach. "Nope!" you said with a mischievous glare in your eye. You readied the bow with a flick of your wrist and Sherlock sat back in his chair, apparently doubtful that you could play, and was clearly saying Go on. You smirked and began to play vigorously. The notes were forming into the song you adored, Wretched And Divine. You began singing to it. Sherlock and John sat back, relaxed, and listened to the beautiful voice you had that you thought was horrible.

The last notes ("And divine!") you and Sherlock finished together. John looked taken aback, he didn't know Sherlock sang. You smirked again. You knew you could get it out of him. You handed Sherlock back the violin. "I can play violin, see?" you said.

"I never said you couldn't." Sherlock retorted.

"You thought it, it's annoying." John rolled his eyes at the pair of you. "Do you two even hear yourselves?" he asked, "You are exactly the same!" You and Sherlock rolled your eyes in unison. "Jesus.." John whispered to himself again and walked out of the room. You sighed and laid down on your back on the couch that looked rather like one that a therapist's patient would use. You folded your hands under your chin and closed you eyes.

"Got any nicotine patches?" you asked abruptly, breaking the silence that filled the room. Sherlock sighed and handed you a patch. With your eyes still closed you said, "No, I need more than one. It's impossible to contain a smoking habit in London these days. Do you have three I can use?"

"Three?" Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrow.

"It's a three patch problem, and you wear three too, so don't think girls aren't the same."

He smiled one of the only genuine smiles he's ever given anyone and handed you three patches. You eyes shot open quickly and snatched the patches out of his hand hungrily. You turned your arm so he couldn't see the raised bits on your skin that drained the happiness out of you as soon as you saw them. You placed the three patches over the precise scars a fine razor had made all up and down both your arms and both your legs.

Sherlock had never dreamed of even attempting that. For you it started off as an experiment. How much blood you could draw before passing out. It soon spun into uncontrollable depression. Nothing anyone said helped. Nothing ever did. It was something you did to punish yourself. For acting stupid, messing something up, getting something wrong. It became your habit. One you still carry. There were the scars up next to your wrist that were tinged red. You had several scars that weren't your doing. he most noticeable was the one that arched from your left eyebrow in a jagged line down to your collarbone.

"So, where do you want to sleep?" Sherlock's gravelly voice broke you out of your revere. You yanked your shirt sleeve, jacket sleeve, and trench coat sleeve up and turned to him with forced kindness in your features. "I can just sleep on the couch." you said with a smile. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "You can sleep in my bed. I won't be sleeping tonight anyway."

"Where's your room?"

"Follow me." He stood up and turned fairly quickly. You followed his lead and with one swift motion, your [P/C] trench coat was in a heap on the floor in the corner. His head jerked back at the movement with a smile planted on his lips. "You've got a new flatmate." you said with a shrug as you followed. He opened a door along a hall and let you pass. "Just check out the room," he said bluntly, "Please excuse the clutter I-"

"Clutter? This isn't clutter. These are experiments." you smiled. A glint in Sherlock's eye appeared as you said 'experiments'. "Sherlock!" John's voice came from the kitchen in an alarmed tone. "He's probably found the fingernails..." Sherlock muttered as he dashed away. You laughed quietly. You began to take in the room. You took a deep breath. The room smelled like him... Cedar and.. Hm.. Old parchment and.. London. Something about him smelled like the city you came to know as home.

Later That Evening

You obviously were staying up all night anyway. You rejected Sherlock's offer to stay in his room. You needed to sneak out to give Mycroft the papers. After that no more of Mycroft. You walked into the bathroom, locked the door, and began to strip down, every article of clothing you had on falling on the cold tile floor. You wanted a nice bath before "bed". You still had your pants and knickers on when you started the warm water flow. As you took off your pants and let them fall to the floor you heard a small clink.

You looked over to see the glimmer of sharp metal lying on the hard tile floor. Standing in the light all your scars suddenly looked carved in and grotesque. You looked into the mirror and saw how distorted they made you look. One tear rolled down your cheek, then two, then a river of silent tears were streaming down your face. The blade looked so much more appealing now that you had spotted every single one of your imperfections and focused on them. You finished stripping down and got in the bathtub.

You grabbed the blade from where you were laying. You tossed it in between your hands, pondering if you should risk it. You decided against your better judgement and pressed the razor lightly against your skin. You made one cut on your upper thigh and you relished the pain. Ugly you thought. A cloud of blood red rose from the wound, tinging all the water a light shade of pink. More and more cuts all down your legs pursued and soon the water was a deep shade of crimson. Fat, Know-It-All, Freak, Jerk, Depressing, Needy. Every insult was another cut. You were nearly ready to faint and doubted you could get up. Your vision was incredibly blurred and you looked at your hand to see it was white as a sheet.

You somehow stood up and got out stumbling to the floor with a loud bang. You heard footsteps rushing towards the door. "What was that?!" you heard John shout through the door. You didn't trust your voice and you were bleeding everywhere. "W-wow." you stuttered faintly, putting the blade back in the pocket of your jeans, "C-Can't-t a g-g-girl g-get-t s-som-me p-priv-vac-cy?" you stuttered barely able to talk correctly. You stood up once more draining the tub that was more full of blood than water. "[Y/N]!" Sherlock shouted through the door, "What's going on?!"

"N-Nothin' Sherly." you said. you sopped up the blood on your legs and found some bleach. You bleached out the tub and bleached the floor you pulled some thick gauze out and wrapped your legs sloppily twice. Some pigment was coming back to your [S/C] skin and your vision wasn't blurred anymore. You bleached the towel you used to sop up the blood white. There was no evidence of what had just happened. "What was that crash?!" asked John's still alarmed voice.

"I fell, geez, you're so protective. I just met you today Watson." you said through the door. Once you were sure you could trust your legs you stepped out in your normal [P/C] silk shirt and dress pants. John and Sherlock were standing outside the door with concerned looks on their faced. Their noses scrunched when you opened the door. "It smells like a crime scene." said John, "I know from experience."

"I bleached out your tub." you said with a timid laugh that was like a tinkling bell to Sherlock. "Your legs must hurt from falling." Sherlock said, "Let me see."

"No, I'm fine, promise." Sherlock shrugged and walked to the kitchen. John still looked mildly concerned. "Oh," you said, "By the way Watson, Afghanistan or Iraq?"