Sherlock, Why Didn't You Tell Me?

After what the doctors had said was two days, Sherlock awoke to his two best friends; John Watson, and his wife, Mary. Mary had a relived smile on her face, but John looked as if he may cry. Sherlock looked at him and saw the pain in his eyes. "I'm sorry, John." John just nodded and looked to the ground briefly. When he looked up, he looked at Mary, and said "Can we have a moment, Alone?" Mary looked stunned, but arose and left. "What was that about?" Sherlock said, although, deep down, he knew. John arose, and walked closer to Sherlock. "Sherlock, you are my best friend. So will you answer something for me?" Sherlock nodded, scared of what he'd say. "Sherlock, did you self harm?" He looked at his shoulders, beyond the wires, and saw cut scars. Sherlock looked down in embarrassment, but John put his hand to it, and rose it back to eye level. "Sherlock, Why didn't you tell me?" John said, his face filled with pain. "I could have helped." He leaned in to hug him, but this time- Sherlock hugged back. When John sat back down, he looked worried, but folded his hands, and said "Please, explain." Sherlock cleared his throat, and started.
"When you married Mary, I was so happy for you, once I pushed away the pain of you moving, I could put a smile on- for you, John. But once you actually left, it hit me so hard, I didn't know what to do. I knew, I couldn't turn to drugs, you would never forgive me. So I cut- but where you couldn't see it. It did help, but it also made for some other issues. When you came back, I knew I'd be fine, so I stopped. Everything healed. But then, you, well, got shot. And it was my fault. Please John, forgive me." John's face was now soft. "Sherlock, I will always forgive you. And always know, you will always be my best friend. And please, promise me something?" Sherlock looked him in the eye. "Anything." John cleared his throat, and looked at Sherlock in the eyes. "Please, don't cut. I'm begging you. It kills me to see you like this." Sherlock nodded. "Ok." He replied. John arose, and said "they said you should be out of here soon- come and see me and Mary once you actually do. And please- don't do anything stupid." Sherlock chuckled, and John walked out.

One day later, Sherlock was out. He visited John and Mary, but quickly returned to his flat. After cleaning everything again, including the blood stain John left, he sat down, in his armchair. Not a minute after he had, a knock came to the door. He opened the door, and a teenage girl stood in the doorway. She had on black jeans, A "My Chemical Romance" shirt on, and grey converse. Her mascara was streaming down her face, and her hair was in her face. She looked up at him and said "Please Mr. Holmes, help me." Sherlock took compassion to her, and guided her in. He sat her down on the couch, and pulled his armchair up to her. She was trying to catch a breath, and when she did, she said "Nobody gets me, And I thought maybe you would, because you know so much." Sherlock looked at her and wiped her hair out of her eyes. "What's your name?" He said. "Fiona." She replied. "Nice name." He started "Whats going on?" He said. She looked at him. "You'd be the first." Sherlock didn't look puzzled, but instead said "do you like your name?" Fiona nodded. "Then I'm the second." He said. She chuckled at him, and continued on. "Lately, my parents have been arguing- about me, them, and a ton in between. But then recently, I have been getting bullied at school. For my music taste, the fact I like black, and whatever they can think of to hurt me. Last year, I picked up a gun, and shot- but it didn't work. Then everyone just got worse. My parents shunned me, everyone at my school either didn't talk to me, or made fun of me. Then, I started cutting." She pulled out her arm from behind her back, and scars covered her wrists. "I just, need help." Sherlock took her hands into his, and looked her in the eyes. He said "I do understand your predicament; I have just been through something of the same genre." She looked at him "What do you mean? Please tell me." He released her hands, and folded them in his lap. He reclined in his chair and started "About three years ago, one of my enemy's dirtied my name. When he had a sniper on all of my friends, -including my best friend- I faked my death. I hid away for two years, and didn't tell him I was alive. When I came back? He was getting married. When he left, I had nobody. So I cut. And now he knows, and I bet he's ashamed. I understand you." She looked at him. "Can I stay with you? You are awesome. I can help you with your job." Sherlock arose and nodded. "Yes you can, but are you sure your parents won't mind?" She looked at him. "I ran away for two weeks once, and they didn't even notice." Sherlock nodded, and picked up a book off the shelf. "Do whatever you please as long as it isn't illegal and you don't get hurt." She laid down on the couch, and picked up a book she'd brought with her, and She read it silently to herself.
After about half an hour of silence, Sherlock looked over at her, because he heard something drop. She had fallen asleep, and dropped her book. He picked it up, and placed it in her bag. He grabbed a blanket from another room and covered her up. He was quite bad at it because he had never needed to do it. But when he was finished, he had done what he set out to do- cover her up. He picked his book up and put it back, and called John.
"Hello?"
"John- I need your help."
"With what?"
"A Child."