A/N: So, so, so sorry guys. I cant do my normal rant. My life is spinning helplessly out of control. Thanks to those who reviewed! Enjoy, review and see you next week!


The flat screen tv on the wall was on, sending light though the darkened room. The room was very nice, decorated with an old Victorian London feel. The glass of whiskey was growing warm in her hand, the ice watering down the brown liquor. Her mind was numb and the shake she had developed was gone. She cracked a bit of a smile. She was on her fourth or fifth glass of whiskey and knew that David would have a fit once he found out. Her first session in eight years may have gone well but that was only in a sense. They had made a break through, yes, but they'd also had a setback of sorts.

David leaned back in his chair, his fingers linked together in front of his face.

"We have to do a run-down of your background before we start the eye movement sessions. We're going to identify every emotion you get and everything that triggers them, and then desensitize you. This will-"

"It will result in my flashbacks and panic attacks to not be triggered." Allessandra smiled.

"You had a panic attack, too?" She shook her head at him.

"No, but I had felt one coming on once or twice. I managed to avoid them." David nodded. He picked up a pen and scribbled a few notes on a pad of paper.

"Don't you dare even read what I'm writing." She smiled innocently. "You were in the army for how many years; do remind me?"

"Five years. Honorable discharge due to mental condition."

"The post-traumatic stress disorder?" Allessandra nodded. She remember the day clearly.

"We were in battle. One of the enemies had made it to the front line he raised the butt of his gun to hit me and I froze completely. He managed a good hit or two before another member of the battalion shot him." She ran a finger over a barely noticeable scar on her hairline. David made a few more notes.

"And how did you get into your current occupation?" She smiled at him.

"Story for another day. Move on." David pursed his lips and made a scribbled note.

"Okay. Then tell me about Sherlock Holmes. You were upset that you woke up in his bed. Isn't that what you wanted all those years ago?" Allessandra shrugged and shrunk down in her seat, not looking in David's direction. She knew it was an obvious ploy to not answer the question but she couldn't help it. "Allessandra, there is no shame in having an attraction to Sherlock." She glared at the therapist.

"It's my ex-boyfriend-slash-boss's obnoxiously brilliant and horribly good-looking younger brother. Am I just supposed to jump in bed with him?"

"I'm not suggesting that. I'm trying to get you to stop denying your feelings for the younger Mr. Holmes. A romantic relationship honestly wouldn't be bad for you. You ready know him and you trust him or else your subconscious wouldn't have taken you to him when you felt most vulnerable. From what I know of your past, he has proven he won't hurt you. What is holding you back?" She shrugged again. "Is it fear?" She didn't move. "Allessandra, are you afraid that Sherlock is going to hurt you? You can't hide away forever in fear of hurt and heartache. Give him a chance."

Just after that they started the eye movement desensitization. David waved his hands in front if her eyes and made her think happy thoughts. He assessed her distress level afterwards. It was high, which wasn't unusual for abuse victims during the treatment but she was told to sleep if off, not drink it off. The whiskey just made her feel so much better at the moment. She scoffed at herself. If she kept drinking like this, she'd turn into her father; a drunk. Allessandra put the cup on the nightstand with a slam and rolled over to the opposite side of the bed. She pulled the blankets up to her ears. She hated when she felt like this - insecure, vulnerable, needy. She wanted the want of Sherlock to be gone. Curling in a ball, she fell asleep.

She knew she was dreaming. There was no way she'd be back in Baker Street already. She knew the therapy session wasn't the dream; there was no way her mind would subject her to a dream like that. She also knew that if she were to be in Baker Street, she wouldn't be looking at the green Victorian patterned wallpaper of Sherlock's bedroom. Said man's arms wouldn't be holding into her like a vice grip either. Not even when they were little would he hold her tightly. He didn't understand back then. That was another thing that proved it was a dream. But she didn't know how to wake herself up. Did she even want to wake herself up? David was right; she wanted this for so many years. It was one of the reasons she had avoided Sherlock at all costs. Allessandra didn't want to have to face the fact she was attracted to him. She knew Sherlock wasn't attracted to others like a normal person was. Sure, he pursued and manipulated women into bed, she knew that, but he had no actual relationships. And that's exactly what she wanted with him.

"Stop thinking. You're waking me up." His deep voice grumbled behind her as his arms tightened more. One hand began to rub circles in her flesh with its fingers. That's when she realized she had no clothes on. Sherlock kissed her shoulder where a bullet scar was. He trailed the kisses up to her neck and bit her earlobe, grinding his hips into her. She let out a groan of want. "Perfect. No more thoughts." He settled back down into bed behind her, obviously attempting to go back to bed. Her body was hyper aware of every bit of Sherlock that was touching her. She hoped this dream wasn't making him endowed in certain places he was lacking in in reality. Though, with Sherlock, you never really know. It's not like he has a line of women he's left behind to gossip with.

"Sher..." She rolled over in his arms. He cracked his eyes open and looked at her.

"Allie." He mocked her, a light of amusement in his eyes that she'd never seen before. She put her hands on his chest and leaned up to kiss him. As cliche as it sounded to her, they fit together like a puzzle piece. Every curve of her body fit into the dip of his. Their lips were in sync, tongues dancing together in a familiar way. Sherlock's hand wrapped in her long blonde hair, using it as a device to pull her head back. The kiss broke and he trailed teeth and lips down her neck.

"Sherlock." A knock on his locked bedroom door made them both pause, panting for breath. "Sherlock, I know you and Allessandra are in there. You guys have to come out for food sometime." John's voice echoed through the door. "Don't make me call Mycroft again."

"Go to hell, Watson!" Allessandra yelled at the man on the other side of the door. She was enjoying this too much to give it up. She barely made out the noise of his feet walking away over the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. Sherlock pinned both her wrists above her head with one hand and was using the other one to trace over every inch of her body, while his mouth assaulted her neck. Allessandra squirmed under him, small noises of pleasure encouraging him. Until Sherlock's phone went off. He let out what sounded like a growl and quickly put the phone on silent with the hand that wasn't holding her wrists. He barely got back to what he was doing when her phone went off. She watched his eyes narrow, his glare setting on the offending device. Sherlock put her phone on silent as well. As a second thought, he reached over and unplugged the alarm clock. No more chances for interruption. But another alarm went off. It wasn't one she recognized, but it was irritating nonetheless. She just wanted to finish what was started.

Allessandra roused from her sleep, groggy and hung over. The last alarm from her dream was screaming from somewhere within the hotel. It was splitting her head in two. But, then again, so was the sun streaming into the room. Or was the alarm coming from outside? It sounded almost like police cars and ambulances in addition to a security system. She flipped the television on, groaning at the headline on the news. Allessandra's hotel was plastered across, along with the word 'murders'. The news caster was saying something about a serial killer. She covered her hands with her face. All she could think was 'why me?'.