A/N This story may be triggering for some, as it mentions self harm. No details or blood and gore. But still, trigger warning

For once in his life, Sherlock Holmes was flat mate (Y/N) was nowhere to be was normally out at this time of night. Or in the sitting room, grumbling about his tonight, she was neither out nor in their sitting room. He would have noticed her go upstairs to his other flat mate John's room, and he was out tonight anyways.

'She must be in her room. Ill perhaps' He thought to himself.

He lightly knocked on your door and walked in. He found you, crumpled up in the floor. Sobbing. Sherlock had no idea what to do. He had never seen you this way before He had strong feelings for you. He was unsure what to say. He couldn't lose you with the wrong choice of words.

"(Y/N)," he whispered softly. "What's wrong?"

You looked up to see the last person in earth you expected to see. Which was odd, because you lived together. He was also the person you wanted to see the most. You sunk into his arms, and he returned the embrace.

Your body shuddered from crying.

"I-I," you managed, before another wave of tears came.

"You what, (Y/N)?" Sherlock said gently.

You slowly pulled away, and showed him your arms, and motioned towards your legs, now visible as you were wearing shorts.

"You did that to yourself, didn't you?" Sherlock analyzed.

You slowly nodded. But for once in his life, he had analyzed and felt something odd. Something called emotions. He had been where you are now, except his razor was drugs and there was no one there to dig him out of his hole. Sure Mycroft helped, but did he truly care?

"(Y/N), what made you want to do this?" He inquired softly.

"I've been depressed. It runs in the family. I cant control it and well, I thought this was a good way to deal with it."

" And I caught you in the act," he murmured .

"..yes," you say quietly, the new and old wounds still visible.

"(Y/N), this isn't the way to deal with this. I learned the hard way by trying to get rid of it with drugs. It's useless. Do you know what clears it up?" He asked you.

"What?"

"Someone who cares."

"Who cares?"

"I do." He whispered.

With that, he slowly kissed all of your scars, not leaving a single one out. He then kissed you on your lips.

"(Y/N)," he whispered in your ear," I love you, and I'm never going to let anyone, including yourself, hurt you again."

"I love you too," you told him.

That night, you threw your blades away. All of them. The two of you curled up on your bed, each snuggling with the love of their life.