The Aftermath

Allison could not sleep that night. She had not gone to bed until well past midnight, choosing instead to drink cup after cup of tea with Sherlock in the living room. They had not discussed her captivity; he knew that information would have to come willingly from her. Instead, she had found herself listening to stories of his early cases including the story of an American woman who had been accused of killing her father with whom Sherlock had shared a long correspondence.

Now, though, Allison lay tossing and turning in her bed, unable to relax and sleep. She had known that there would be effects from her captivity despite the fact that it had been short. Admittedly, the kidnapper's parting words frightened her more than she cared to concede, but what was truly bothering her in that moment was being alone.

Being alone was usually a blessing to her, but after spending the night in a basement knowing that there was someone who could easily kill her in the house, she wanted some type of reassurance that she wasn't alone.

She strained her ears to try and hear any sound in the house through the walls of her room, and after a moment, she heard the soft sound of someone moving in the room beside hers: Sherlock. It came as no surprise to her that he was still awake – he had seemed rather keyed up after saving her. Apparently her kidnapping really had bothered him that much, something Allison had believed impossible.

Listening for a moment, she closed her eyes and focused on the sounds of him moving across his room in apparent restlessness. While he was not in the room with her, knowing that he was there and awake meant everything to Allison in that moment.

She wanted to run to him and have him hold her – wait, where had that come from? Allison shook her head and tried to put the thought from her mind, but all she could focus on was the feeling of his arms squeezing her against his chest back in the basement. She had felt safe: safe and warm for the first time in a long time. No man had ever made her feel that safe since her friend Marcus Bell from high school.

Swinging her legs out of bed, Allison crossed to the wall she shared with Sherlock and leaned the side of her face against it, trying desperately to hear more and be closer at the same time. She silently willed Sherlock to somehow sense her need for company and come sit with her, but she knew that was impossible. She was only partly right.

Sherlock had not been able to sleep either. The adrenaline from needing to find Allison had him pacing his room even after three or four cups of tea. In the absence of sleep, his mind was forcing him to relive that moment when Allison clung to him in the basement over and over again until he was certain he'd go mad.

There was no denying the fact that it had shocked him a great deal to have her suddenly in his arms, but the look on her face – that utter and complete trust – would not leave him. To his great surprise, the contact had not bothered him as much as he had anticipated, and he almost wished he could hold her again, just to repeat the experiment, but he was unsure how welcome that kind of contact would be to her at the present moment.

He paused in his pacing when he heard the telltale squeak of the bed in the room beside him, and he listened closely for signs of distress from Allison. No screams, no cries for help, not even the rustle of the bedclothes: he only heard the sound of (perhaps) a heavier sigh than was necessary. Realizing that Allison, too, was unable to sleep, he resumed his pacing.

Should he go over to her? Should he sit beside her and insist that everything would be alright, and that she was safe? He was sorely tempted, but something held him back. What if that embrace had merely been the result of fear and relief…what if she had not meant it the way he did? Did it mean anything to him?

Sherlock sighed at the confusion of thought running through his head. His mind was always so clean and organized, and this emotional madness was driving him up a wall. In the midst of his confusion, he heard Allison moving again, this time, closer to the wall. Moving silently, Sherlock crept to the adjoining wall and listened just long enough to hear her sigh again from much closer. It sounded as though she had her face pressed against the wall.

He pulled away as though he had been shocked. She wanted contact with him! She was standing there listening to him walk around! He should go over to her, but he couldn't. He just couldn't bring himself to go to her – he was too afraid of her rejection despite all the evidence that she would do nothing of the sort. Instead, Sherlock chose to do something to relax himself and give Allison a bit of comfort at the same time.

Allison leaned still closer to the wall, pleading with it to give way and give her an excuse to be in Sherlock's room. She thought she heard him walk away from the wall and slumped in disappointment. Sliding down the wall, she brought her knees to her chest and rested her face on her arms. She had just resigned herself to a night of no sleep when she heard the unmistakable sounds of a violin coming from the room next door.

Within the first few notes, Allison felt her nerves fade and relaxation set in. Sherlock seemed to be coaxing her muscles to sooth as easily as he coaxed the melody from the strings. Her breathing lengthened and slowed as the melody continued to flow through the wall, reaching out to her like he had only a few hours before.

Allison surrendered herself to the music and leaned her head back against the wall as Sherlock's talent took her closer and closer to sleep.

Sherlock poured everything he had into the melody he was playing. It was a soft, soothing piece about two people very much in love. He had chosen it for its reassuring qualities as well as its beauty. He had never truly loved it until this moment, but he was certain he would remember it forever now.

He walked closer to the wall again and listened to see if he could hear whether or not his plan had worked. To his shock, he heard the sound of slow breathing much closer than the bed – Allison must have fallen asleep on the floor which would not be good for her.

Sherlock slowed the melody to a stop and listened to be sure he was correct. There could be no doubt that Allison was sleeping on the floor as he heard the sound of her arm thudding to the floor. He sighed and put down the violin, debating with himself yet again.

He could not just let her sleep on the floor considering how sore she would end up being in the morning! Yet, the other choice was to go to her room and put her in the bed or else wake her up and ruin the purpose of his music. His lip tightened as his logic revealed the only choice.

Carefully, Sherlock opened his door and turned to Allison's. He gently pried that door open as well and peered into the room. The lights were all off, but he could still make out the prone figure of Allison asleep in a most uncomfortable position against the wall that she shared with him. Slowly as not to wake her, he crossed the room and stared down at her.

Beautiful. That was the only word that came to his mind as he looked down at her sleeping face. Her hair had drifted over her face, and it fluttered with each breath she took, but that somehow added to the innocent and calm image. He bent at the knees until he could easily slide an arm under her knees and another arm across her shoulder blades.

She came into his arms easily and without fuss: she was exhausted. Sherlock hoisted her higher into his arms as he stood back to his full height. He quickly tucked her head against his shoulder so it wouldn't loll around and made certain he had a firm grip before he walked towards the bed.

He laid her in the center of the sheets and pulled the blankets around her in a cocoon of warmth and security. Almost as an afterthought, he smoothed the hair away from her face and stared at her for another moment with a tender expression. It had frightened him so much when she had been taken, and it was truly a great relief to have her back in 221B. He was beyond tempted to simply lie down beside her, but he could not quite bring himself to do it.

Instead, he leaned down and softly brushed his lips against her forehead in a gesture of reassurance that she did not recognize. Her face twitched momentarily, but she did not wake up. With a small smile, Sherlock raised himself from the bed and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Returning to his room, he picked up the violin again and began to play a piece of his own creation, making it up as he went and pouring his feelings into each note.

Allison awoke the next morning and blinked for a moment in confusion. She could not remember, for the life of her, how she had gotten into bed the night before. All she knew was that she had been listening to Sherlock play his violin – she must have fallen asleep against the wall, but then how had she ended up in bed?

A light but firm knock on her door brought her from her thoughts.

"Allison, may I come in? There's no need to get up," he continued when she began to rise. "I brought you breakfast."

Allison froze in shock. Sherlock had never cooked for her before, in fact, she wasn't even sure he had cooked before. "Come in," she called, nevertheless.

Sherlock opened the door and backed into the room carrying a full tray of food and a steaming cup of tea. She could already smell that it was her favorite.

"We were both up rather late last night, I thought you must be exhausted, and there are no cases today, so I thought it would be best to let you sleep," he explained. "Then I thought food would be best for your recovery, so I put my observations to good use. At least, I hope I did."

Allison took a bite of the eggs and was relieved and surprised when their delicious flavor filled her mouth. "They're perfect, Sherlock," she assured him. "How did you learn to-?"

"As I said, my observations," Sherlock repeated with a much more relaxed air now that he knew the food was done properly. "I have been watching you cook since you arrived, and I hoped that maybe after enough time I could reproduce your results. I am pleased I was correct."

"I think you did it better than I do," Allison laughed. "So, if there are no cases today, what are we up to?"

Sherlock hesitated. "You are not up to anything. I believe we should take the day to-"

"If you say rest I may throw something at you," Allison said flatly. "I am perfectly fine and can handle more training. Now, what are we up to?"

Throwing his mind around quickly, Sherlock finally decided on something practical and useful especially in light of recent events. "I am going to teach you single stick," he said simply. "It is a defense tactic that very few know, and therefore very few can defend against."

"Does that translate to 'I'm worried about you after what happened, and I want you to be able to defend yourself'?" Allison teased.

"Yes," Sherlock said with no hint of humor in his voice. "This method will be perfect for your protection, so I will wait for you downstairs. Take your time with breakfast – I am in no hurry." He left the room without another word, leaving Allison to dwell on his rather blunt admission.

After wearing themselves down to nothing, Sherlock and Allison called it a day and retired for the night to their own rooms. Allison fell asleep quickly, but she did not sleep for very long. She awoke with a start as a nightmare of being chained in the basement returned to her. Staring wildly around her room, she struggled to return her breathing back to normal and listened closely for sounds of Sherlock in the room next door. When she did not hear anything, she swung herself out of bed and pulled on an old sweatshirt before padding down the stairs.

She peered into the living room and saw Sherlock lounging on the couch and watching the news. Stepping into the room, she wrapped her arms around herself and watched the story.

"Police are still on the hunt for a man who robbed a jewelry store at gunpoint late last night. Inspector Lestrade insists that the police have everything under control, and the culprit should be in custody before the end of the week."

"You lied to me," Allison said softly, not taking her eyes off the screen.

"I did not," Sherlock replied. "This case is quite simple, and the police should have no problem handling it without our assistance."

"But they asked, didn't they?"

"Your recovery is much more important than a simple robbery. Even if it had been a murder, I would have told Lestrade we would be available in a few days. I did not wish to rush your recovery."

"I'm fine," Allison insisted.

"There is no need to continue pretending that," Sherlock replied, finally meeting her eyes. "If you were fine, you would not be down here talking to me."

"By that logic, you aren't fine either."

"I am not pretending to be," Sherlock whispered. "I have already admitted that your abduction caused me great consternation. You are the one who has not spoken of the incident. Now I am not rushing you," he added quickly. "But you will, at some point, need to stop pretending to be alright in order to truly be alright."

Allison opened her mouth to argue, but she knew deep down that he was right. "Fine, it bothered me."

Sherlock gestured to the empty seat on the couch beside him, and Allison slid into it, still staring at the now muted television.

"I've had nightmares every night since he took me," she began quietly. "Sometimes it's just the feeling of being alone in that tiny room, sometimes it's the way he looked at me, and tonight it was him chaining up my wrists. I just hated being caged up, and that's what's still bothering me."

"Is that all?" Sherlock prodded gently.

"No," Allison admitted. "I don't like being alone. All I can see is his face when I turn the lights off and there's no one else in the room. I want to feel safe again."

Sherlock didn't say anything, but he moved his right arm which had been draped over the couch to wrap around Allison's shoulders, tugging her closer.

She leaned her head onto his shoulder, and Sherlock felt her breathing slow and even out as they sat there in comfortable silence. When he glanced down at her, he saw that she was sound asleep and relaxed against his shoulder.

Sherlock flicked off the television and unconsciously began playing with Allison's hair as he slowly felt himself relaxing as well. While he never would have accepted their current position normally, he found himself strangely comforted by the feeling of this woman in his arms leaning against him. Her presence was calming his racing mind to the point of feeling himself nod off. With his last ounce of consciousness, he turned off the nearby lamp and pulled a blanket over the pair of them before falling into the same calm sleep as Allison.

Sorry about the wait everyone! I was on a study trip to Oxford, and I couldn't access this site, then I had to prepare for returning to college, so I didn't have a lot of time to write. I felt like this story needed a little bit of a sweet moment, so that's what you got – I hope you enjoyed it!

Thank you for all your continued support, and I'll try to have a new chapter out soon. Bye until then!