A/N: Our story is almost at an end :( Last chapter should be up by the end of the week. Please leave me a review. If there's a story you'd like to see me write, send me a prompt here or on tumblr! My username is the same there as it is here!
Once again, I own nothing except the story and Ri! Everything else is property of Mofftiss!
Sherlock helped Ri out of the taxi in front of 221B. She leaned heavily on his arm to make it in the door. As she tried to take the first stair, she felt his arms around her waist and behind her knees as he lifted her to his chest and carried her up the stairs.
He gently laid her on his bed, making sure not to do any more damage to her battered body.
"Sherlock," she began, confused as to why he had placed her in his room and not her own.
"My room is more convenient," he cut her off. "No stairs, and I can easily hear you from anywhere in the flat if you require anything."
Even to him, the logical arguments rang false, but she only smiled at him.
"Are you sure that's the only reason you want me in your bed?"
"Yes," he answered curtly. "You need rest."
"Actually, what I need is a bath. A real, proper bath. There's only so much a sponge bath can do and I'm pretty sure I would actually murder someone for the chance to wash my hair."
Sherlock considered her request, then nodded.
"Stay here whilst I draw your bath. Then I will assist you to the bathroom."
Ri giggled to herself as he left the room. He really was clueless, wasn't he. But she couldn't deny the fact that he was still being sweet in his own way.
He helped her undress and lower herself into the deliciously warm water. She couldn't help letting a small groan of pleasure escape her lips as the heat began to relax away some of the bruising and the stress of her ordeal began to slip away. She tried to sit up to reach for her shampoo, but it was too far. Silently, Sherlock reached for the bottle, poured some in his hand and began to tenderly massage it into her hair. Then he proceeded to softly wash the rest of her body until she squirmed uncomfortably under his ministrations.
"Did I hurt you?"
The concern in his eyes was evident.
"No," Ri replied, smiling to reassure him. "You didn't hurt me. But I'm pretty sure that's my second favorite thing you can do to me with your hands."
"Oh," he said, then the meaning behind her words sunk in. "Oh."
Sherlock helped Ri from the bath, got her dried off and safely ensconced in his bed once again. He stayed with her until she fell asleep, gently rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. Once he was sure she was actually asleep he walked to the kitchen, deciding a cup of tea would be nice.
John was sitting on the sofa when Sherlock entered the sitting room.
"So," John began. "Anything you want to tell me?"
"What do you mean?"
Sherlock's voice was icy and irritated. John ignored the clear warning that what he was asking was something not to be discussed.
"You show up at my door at 3 a.m., panicking because Moriarty has your flatmate. You don't leave her side while she's in hospital. And now she's in your bed."
"I was merely concerned because Moriarty was an extremely dangerous madman. I would have done the same for anyone who had been subjected to the same situation."
"Really? You were terrified. If it hadn't been someone you care about, you would have been excited by the thought of a case. And, as soon as it was over, you would have been back in the flat, all ready looking for the next one. Admit it, you feel something for her."
Sherlock looked horrified at the thought.
"It doesn't matter," he said, unable to face his friend as he spoke. "Moriarty is dead, her work here is done and as soon as she's able, she will be back in the States. She'll go back to her life and try her hardest to forget that any of this ever happened."
"Tell her," John urged. "Maybe she'll chose to stay."
"I can't. What can I offer her? A reminder of what happened to her. I don't do attachments, I barely have friends..." Sherlock's voice trailed off.
"Let that be her choice," John said gently. "How will she know there's even a choice if you don't tell her?"
"No," Sherlock said forcefully. "She needs to go home. Live a real life, find a man that deserves her. This subject is closed."
Sherlock stormed out of the flat.
John shook his head. His friend really had it bad, something he thought he would never see.
The six weeks of prescribed recovery were almost over. Ri was able to move about the flat on her own, and had even ventured to the shop when she discovered her choices for lunch consisted of moldy bread or something fuzzy and green that had once been take away.
The bruises had faded, the only physical reminders were the angry red scars from Moran's knife, yet Sherlock insisted on her staying in his bed. He never touched her while she was awake, but sometimes he would slip under the covers next to her and wrap his arm around her waist when he thought she was asleep, softly stroking her hair.
Ri sat in the middle of her bedroom, surrounded by piles of clothes she was trying to cram into her suitcase. Mycroft was sending a car for her in the morning to take her to a private airport. At least this time, she thought, the Crown was springing for a chartered jet to send her home.
When she had finished packing, she returned downstairs to find Sherlock pouting in his chair. This is ridiculous, she thought. Genius 4-year-old indeed. What's next, is he going to start pulling my pigtails?
"Sherlock? I was about to make something to eat, would you like anything?"
He ignored her. The sound of her voice echoed unpleasantly through his head, even looking at her made him ache in a place he couldn't define.
Ri made a decision. She walked over to him and lowered herself into his lap, straddling him. He looked at her in surprise.
"We need to talk about this," she said.
"There's nothing to talk about," he replied, unable to look her in the eye.
"Yes, there is. I don't know what's going on with you, but it's driving me mad! You stay with me in hospital, insist on me sleeping in your bed, I find myself in your arms when you think I'm sleeping, but when I'm awake you ignore me!"
For the first time in weeks, he looks directly at her. He can see the pain and confusion in her eyes.
"I thought you wouldn't want me anymore. I'm the reason all of this happened to you."
"No," she answered firmly. "Moriarty is the reason this happened. You can't blame yourself. It's not like I expected rainbows and puppy dogs when I took this assignment. In my line of work, danger is part of the job description."
"Did Moran..."
He couldn't finish the question. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know the answer.
"No, he didn't. But it wasn't for lack of trying. He untied my legs and I used the opportunity to break his neck."
She reached out a hand to brush a stray curl from his forehead. She took a deep breath and continued.
"And even if he did, that would have no bearing on wanting to be with you."
Her words awoke the dragon he was so desperately trying to subdue. His lips were on hers, trying to tell her everything his voice couldn't. She tangled her hands in his curls, turning to putty as his hands danced over her body. They couldn't get out of their clothes fast enough.
As soon as she could, she wrapped her hand around his length, giving it a few quick strokes until he was harder than he had ever been. She guided him to her entrance, all ready hot and wet, and slid herself down down his cock. He moaned her name as she tightened her walls around him. He couldn't control himself any longer, his thrusts became more erratic as he pressed himself in and out of her, striving for the release he knew was close. Her internal spasms pushed him over the edge, his orgasm so intense he saw stars.
They collapsed against one another in the chair while the post-sex hormones made their way out of their bodies. Then Ri just lay in Sherlock's lap because she could, running her hand up and down his arm as it draped across her bare legs.
"When was the last time you slept," she asked.
"What day is it?"
She stood up and held out her hand for him.
"Let's go to bed."
He obligingly followed her to his bedroom. This time he didn't wait for her to fall asleep, but wrapped his arms tightly around her as soon as they reached the bed. He pulled her to him and laid her head on his chest. He fell into one of the soundest sleep he'd had in months.