A/N: Hey, look! It's chapter ten of For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires! WOOT! Double digits! So, first off, I love this chapter, so much. Second, if anyone can tell me the slightly Moffat related slip I left in this chapter, I will be greatly amused. Third, I'm having trouble writing chapter twelve, so lets pray its done by the time it needs to be posted. It's probably partly because I spent some time with my grandmother who I haven't seen in five years, attended and got tipsy at my Uncle's wedding, and pulled a few double shifts at work. All in a matter of five days. Yeah. Fourth, thank you to TaylorRiley17, stanleydoodles and Gwilwillith for their reviews on the last chapter! For real. I'm about to become a whore for reviews. No lie. And we really don't want that to happen. So, to prevent it, leave me some beautiful reviews! Enjoy and review...
It took a while for Sherlock's consciousness to come forth. This sleep, while plagued with memories, was deeper and more fulfilling than the sleep he normally got. The bed was warmer than normal. He had his arms wrapped around something that felt vaguely familiar and he didn't want to let go. Whatever it was helped keep the flood of terror at bay. Wait. He was feeling. Terror from the dreams and that annoying burning that happened when Allessandra was near. Sherlock's eyes jolted open. Sure enough, curled up to his chest in his arms was Allessandra. He resisted the urge to jump out of bed screaming. He had listened in to her conversation with John the previous night. He was willing to bet her move from the couch to his bed was probably subconscious. In the past, Allessandra had snuck into his and Mycroft's rooms on nights when her father dished out a particularly bad beating. She sought out comfort and protection from the people she trusted most. And when Mycroft was away at Uni, that person was Sherlock.
There was a knock on the study window. It didn't startle the seventeen year old Sherlock, a knock on the window at this time of night was nothing new. He didn't make a sound as he got up from his chair and opened the window to let the now sixteen, almost seventeen, year old Allessandra in.
"Help, Sher." She hand one hand on the window's bottom ledge and the other wrapped around her ribs. It was miracle she hadn't fallen from where she scaled the trellis to the second floor study. Sherlock wrapped his hand around her wrist and heaved her into the room.
"Bloody hell, what did you do this time?" His reaction shot out before he could think. She had bruises all over her arms, blood at her temple and a split lip. Adding in the fact that she was wheezing and holding her ribs still, it was easy to say Sherlock was concerned.
"Apparently," she huffed out, "I was not only out past curfew, but the information I learned at the library today was a repeat of something I've told him before and was therefore lying to him." She cracked a bit of a grin.
"This is nothing to be grinning about, Allie!" Sherlock was giving her a rare scolding. She couldn't help but grin more. "Your ribs could be broken for all you know!" She shook her head.
"Been there, done that. Doesn't hurt that bad. They might be badly bruised, cracked if anything. Not broken though. He wouldn't risk it again."
"May I?" Sherlock motioned to her hurt ribs. Over the years he studied a bit of medical related texts to help out in situations like this. His hands pressed into her ribs, pulling back as Allessandra winced with a strangled gasp. "They feel cracked but that doesn't explain why you're having trouble breathing." She shrugged.
"Maybe I'm just exhausted; lack of stamina after a beating. I don't fucking know." She managed to pull herself up with the help of a chair and Sherlock. "Is 'Croft home yet? His window was locked. And it's one hell of a climb from there to here, you know." He nodded with a frown.
"He got in a few hours ago. Had dinner and retired for the night." Walking on her own, she winced in time with her slight limp. Sherlock moved to help her but she stopped him.
"I'm fine." Sherlock scoffed at Allessandra's obvious lie. "I'm going to wash some of this blood off, I'm going to use the bandages in the closet to bind my ribs and I'm going to sleep with my boyfriend in his bed for the first time in months. And I don't mean that in a sexual way, not that I couldn't even have sex with how much pain I'm in. Anyways, goodnight, Sher. Thank you for the help." She gave him a smile. He watched her walk off, a frown on his face and jealousy heavy in his stomach.
With a silent sigh and the resignation of his stubbornness, he tucked Allessandra's head under his chin and went back to sleep.
As soon as Allessandra let her mind wake, she knew she wasn't on the couch. In fact, the strictly woodsy and masculine scent around her told her exactly where she was. And as much as she knew she should get up, she didn't want to leave Sherlock's strong arms. Her position brought back memories, and while not all of them were good, it filled her with a sense of comfort and protection she wasn't offered anymore. Actually, she was tempted to fake sleep just to avoid moving. However, her internal clock was telling her that it was rolling onto ten o'clock already and she had to leave today. Besides, there was a painfully obvious pressure pushing against her and the nice side of her wanted to spare Sherlock some embarrassment. The other side of her, the sexual frustrated and Sherlock-attracted side of her, wanted to - yeah, time to get out of bed. Allessandra immediately slid with a practiced ease from the consulting detective's arms and rolled over. She landed on her hands and knees with no sound and the grace of a cat.
"You couldn't get out of the bed like a normal person?" Allessandra's entire body tensed at the sound of Mycroft's voice in the bedroom. She should have guessed that he'd come retrieve her after her stunt last night. She was willing to bet her security clearances were being recalled as the current situation played out.
"Good morning, Mycroft. Have we started having government meetings in my bedroom now?" Sherlock's sarcastic voice made Allessandra jump. Shit, she was off her game today. She needed a few hours back in training with the rookies.
"No, no. I was just admiring you and Alice in bed together." She shot her boss a glare.
"'Croft-"
"I don't know why. You've seen her in bed before." She turned scarlet at Sherlock's words.
"Yes, but not with you, brother." Mycroft's smirk earned a half of a smirk from Sherlock.
"And I'm sure there's a reason she's chosen my bed over your's." Allessandra was mortified. Mycroft open his mouth to respond once more when she put her hand up, her jaw clenched.
"I don't know what's gotten into either of you, but if you insist on having this argument, have it when I'M NOT IN THE FUCKING ROOM!" She lost control at the brothers. She turned to the man who signed her paychecks first. "Whether this is retaliation for my decisions at work last night or you've just got a hair up your ass today, I expect - hell - everyone expects better from you! You're the OLDER BROTHER, MYCROFT! FUCKING ACT LIKE IT!" She took a breath and turned to Sherlock. "And you," she pointed at him, "know damn well that I wasn't in your bed for a good time. To be honest, I'm sure your sneaky, nosey ass heard my conversation with Dr. Watson last night and knew exactly what I was doing here. So, DO - NOT - ACT - LIKE WE FUCKED TIL THE BREAK OF DAWN!"
"I'm sorry, but, what's happening?" John was just in the doorway, clearly having been roused from bed by Allessandra's yelling. She let out a scream and stormed out of the bedroom. She would not continue this with another person in the room. She wouldn't continue this at all. Without another thought, she sent a text to Arthur to come get her and she gathered all her belongings. Mycroft and John watched her silently. As she slung her bag over her shoulder, Mycroft stepped forward to take it.
"I have Anthea with the car-"
"Fuck you, Mycroft. Fuck you, fuck Anthea and fuck your car."
"You've already done one of those!" Sherlock's voice came from the bedroom.
"Go jump of a roof, Sherlock, and make sure you fucking land in hell!" She slammed every door shut behind her. Arthur took her bag and placed it in the car. "Take me to the airport. Call ahead and get the jet ready. I'll change on the way to Cambridge." Arthur gave a knowing smile.
"Has it been one of those mornings, ma'am?"
"Shut up and do your job, Arthur." He smiled and shut the door after his boss.
Her private plane landed in Cambridge airport near forty-five minutes later. She nodded to her pilot with a smile and departed the aircraft. She had her small bag in hand, full of clothes. Allessandra was hoping that being near an hour and a half away for a day or two would help her clear her head. She knew she should be at the office for damage control and a debriefing but, at this point, she could care less. If she had spent any more time in London, she may have shot someone. On the Tarmac, an airport employee handed her a set of keys and opened the door to a very nice, discreet car for her. She turned the vehicle over and grinned at the roar. Maybe an imported American Mustang wasn't exactly discreet. She dropped her aviators onto her nose, a grin on her face as she peeled out.
At Cambridge University, she made her way to where the psychology classes took place. She was looking for a particular room, one she hadn't been to in a few years. Allessandra found it just as the class was exiting. She slipped in the door as it was shutting. The instructor was at the front of the room, speaking with a student. As soon as his chocolate brown eyes hit Allessandra's ocean blues, he gave his student a smile and excused him from the room.
"I haven't seen you in a while." The instructor spoke to her with a Scottish accent, sliding his hands into his pockets.
"You know how it goes; people to kill, bodies to hide, governments to control." He smiled at her again, moving his tall and lanky form towards her.
"But you wouldn't be here unless something was wrong, Allessandra. I haven't seen you in, hell, ten years?"
"Eight years, three months and two days." She smiled. "They keep track of my medical file. I'm just surprised you remember me." The man smirked.
"Well, you are one remarkable case." She put her hand up to stop his line of thought. It could go in several different directions, a few of them sexual, but that wasn't what she was here for. Sure, in the past the two of them had contemplated pursuing that part of their relationship, but quickly agreed that they'd make better friends.
"David, my PTSD is getting worse." The psychologist in front of her cocked his head and leaned against a desk.
"How so? Have you developed more symptoms? And do you know what triggered it?"
"Patient - doctor confidentiality still apply in a classroom?" David nodded. "I woke up in Sherlock Holmes's bed this morning. I had slept-walked there in the middle of the night. I had told his roommate my past and how Sherlock and I met, so that was probably the stressor. But I thought we worked through all this?" He shrugged.
"Therapy is a fickle matter. It will work with some people and it won't work with others. How's your sleep pattern?"
"Royally fucked with the jobs I've been doing. Even when I have time to sleep, I can't." She watched him nod. His eyes were calculating as his brain went through possible solutions.
"Flashbacks?"
"Only when I was telling the story. I didn't have any before and I haven't had any since." David stood to his full height.
"We could always medicate you." He motioned for Allessandra to follow him as he moved out the door and down the hallway of Cambridge.
"Hell no. If you did that, they'd take me off active duty." David gave a rueful smile.
"Ah, yes, for queen and country. You exhibited that loyalty eight years ago when we first started our sessions." She gave her psychologist a sideways glance.
"What can I say? I've always been loyal to some higher power." David chuckled.
"How long are you in Cambridge, Allessandra?" They took a turn down a relatively deserted hallway and entered an office. David took a seat behind the desk, looking over the large calendar placed on it.
"I'm here until my boss finds me."
"We can do therapy sessions if you'd like. I'd also like to try eye movement desensitization and reprocessing with you. It's proven to have to best results with PTSD patients." Allessandra nodded and sat in a leather chair opposite the desk.
"Let's get started."