Here's Chapter 20! I hope everyone enjoys it because I really loved writing this one!

Thanks to purpleflames, itsbeautiful9, C'estMoiLiz, Bookwormiie, Sally, LolaWants, 88dragon06, laced-with-fire, JuubiOokami, XMillieX, Aimee, celtic goddess of fertility, and coconuts-are-funny-27! you guys are awesome!

If there had only been one he was certain he could have handled it. He was also sure that, had there been two, the odds of him getting the upper hand would have been respectable, if not assured. But there were three men and Sherlock knew the law of probability was against him.

Alexandra's voice was still ringing in his ears when the first man hit him square in the face and he was flung backwards. Instinct took over and he was able to block the first assailants next punch but a second man appeared behind him, grabbing Sherlock by the arms to keep him still for the first man.

His head twisted sharply and his vision blurred as he was struck repeatedly in the jaw, but the pain only served to spur him on. Sherlock leaned back into the second man's chest, using him for leverage, and he kicked out with his right leg as hard as he could. He was rewarded with a satisfying crunching sound as his foot connected with the man's kneecap but frowned when he only hobbled backwards instead of hitting the ground as Sherlock had hoped.

Taking advantage of his attackers momentary distraction, Sherlock jerked out of the second man's grasp and swung around, his hand balling into a fist as it cracked against the man's nose. His hand came back wet with the second man's blood and he couldn't help but smile in satisfaction.

But it was short lived.

A third man, who'd been biding his time until then, came up behind Sherlock and kicked the back of his knee with such force that his leg crumpled beneath him, making him fall to the ground. When he tried to get up he felt a sharp pain in his side and turned to see the first man's boot swing out again, connecting with his stomach and knocking all the air from his lungs. The other two seemed to get the same idea and Sherlock could do nothing but curl onto his side, trying to make their target as small as possible.

He could see Alex running towards them through the flurry of feet and tried to call out, to tell her to stay away, but he felt one of the men strike his ribs and could only gasp in pain.

He could hear her shouting but his head was throbbing, ears filled with the loud rush of adrenaline, and he couldn't make out what she was saying.

Sherlock knew she had to have done something though, because for a few seconds he could feel the frequency of kicks decrease by one.

But then he blinked and he could see her clearly through one of the man's legs, the side of her face pressed into the snow as she stared at him with wide, fearful eyes.

He had done his best to protect his head, shielding it with his arms and forcing most of their blows to his legs and torso, but at the sight of her on the pavement he was filled with a newfound anger and grabbed the shoe nearest him. He twisted it meanly and heard the ankle snap before pushing it away from him. The owner of the shoe shrieked in agony and stumbled backwards, tripping over Alex to sprawl on his back in the street.

There was no time to savory that minor victory.

Now that he wasn't covering his head, the third man lashed out again, but this time the toe of his shoe truck the back of Sherlock's head.

His vision went white and everything was silent for a moment as he lay still, too stunned to move. When his vision cleared and sound came rushing back everything was too bright… too loud, and he winced in pain when he heard a familiar voice shout "police!"

One more kick to his abdomen (he almost didn't notice, the ache in his skull was so unbearable) and then there were hands on the lapels of his coat and a stale breath on his face.

"Maybe next time you'll be more careful about who's father you help put in prison," the third man whispered harshly and released Sherlock's coat.

Bile rose in the back of his throat as his head smacked against the pavement but he forced it down as best he could.

He'd be damned if he couldn't at least control that.

Sherlock turned his head and rested his cheek against the snow, the cold offering some relief. He could see the three men hurrying away, the one who's ankle he'd broken supported between the other two.

"Where were you!"

Sherlock jerked his head sharply towards the sound of Alex's angry voice and he instantly wished he hadn't. The pounding in his head grew worse and his vision swam, but he forced himself to sit up so he could see her. She was standing with matted snow on her jeans and had a small cut on her cheek, he assumed from one of the men knocking her down. And she was currently glowering at Officer Carrow.

"I was stuck in traffic," he admitted in embarrassment. "I'm going to call for backup and go after them." He reached for his radio.

"Leave it," Sherlock croaked and cleared his throat.

"But…"

Sherlock shook his head and grimaced as a shooting pain pulsated through his skull. "I said leave it."

Alex mumbled something to Carrow before kneeling in front of Sherlock, the snow crunching quietly under her legs. "How bad is it?"

He closed his eyes and thought for a moment, mentally taking stock of his injuries even in his daze: multiple lacerations on face - possible broken nose. Severe bruising on torso - possible internal bleeding and broken ribs. Head trauma - possible concussion or fractured skull leading to confusion, vertigo, nausea…

Sherlock opened his eyes when he felt a hand on his shoulder and tried to focus on Alex's face.

"Sherlock I asked you a question." She squeezed his shoulder gently and repeated it. "How bad are you hurt?"

He blinked and leaned forward slightly as his eyes finally focused, not on Alex, but on the cut on her cheek.

"You're bleeding…"

She frowned and rocked back on her heels in worry. He sounded wrong… different, like something was missing. The something that made him Sherlock. That scared her more than any amount of blood ever could.

"Yeah, well so are you," she sighed and stood up, turning to Carrow. "Call an ambulance."

Her words made something click in Sherlock's brain and he grabbed her hand, pulling himself up shakily. He swayed slightly and Alex put a hand on his arm to steady him.

"I really don't think you should be moving. Just wait for the ambulance."

"That won't be necessary."

Alex regarded him skeptically as he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand.

"Sherlock…"

"I said no…"

That sounded more like the Sherlock she knew. She stared at him for a moment, mouth set in a thin line, before nodding.

"Fine." Alex raised her voice so Carrow could hear her but didn't take her eyes off Sherlock. "You heard him, no ambulance… come on then." She tried to tighten her grip on his arm but he shook her off, marching unsteadily through the small crowd and into the hotel lobby, Alex and Carrow close on his heels should he stumble.

As soon as the lift doors closed and they were free from prying eyes, he slumped against the side of the lift, breathing heavily.

Alex shared a look with Carrow and moved closer to Sherlock. "Let me help you."

"I'm fine," he spoke quietly and managed to right himself as the lift came to a halt at the eighth floor.

They followed him down the corridor and Alex's eyes wandered over the patterned wallpaper again. Yesterday she'd thought it was beautiful… now it just seemed gaudy.

Sherlock pulled the room key from his pocket and winced when his arm brushed against his side.

Without a word to the others, he opened the door and entered the room stiffly. He tried to shut the door before Alex could follow him but she slammed her palm flat against the wood and he stopped just short of crushing her arm.

"Go away," he mumbled through clenched teeth and she almost rolled her eyes.

"Like that's going to happen." She brushed past him quickly and he made no move to stop her.

When he shut the door and turned around she was right there, pulling him to the center of the room and working his long coat off his shoulders. His scarf had come unknotted during the fight and she tugged that off with the coat. She stuck her hand in each pocket, ignoring the odd look from Sherlock, before tossing it over the chair.

Before he could ask what she was doing she was in front of him again, trying to slip her hand underneath his suit jacket.

Her audacity surprised him but he reached up quickly, slapping her hand away.

"What on earth are you doing?" he asked incredulously.

"Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

Alexandra moved closer, so close he could only see the top of her head, and grabbed his right wrist. He seemed too dazed to remember he had another hand he could use to stop her and just stared with wide eyes as her right hand disappeared beneath his jacket.

His breath caught in his throat as her fingers grazed the thin fabric of his button-up shirt but she was too absorbed in her search to notice.

She found what she was looking for in a matter of seconds and stepped back, his mobile clutched in her hand.

"If you won't go to the hospital I'm calling John."

He didn't even argue, just stared at her for a moment before shrugging out of his suit jacket and walking to the bed.

Alex picked his discarded jacket off the floor and threw it on top of his coat and scarf. She regarded him warily while she did, unwilling to believe he wasn't going to put up a fight.

"That's it?" she asked. "You're not going to tell me not too?"

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. "Would you listen if I did?"

"Well… no."

He laid back on the bed with his feet still on the floor and closed his eyes. "Then why should I waste my time?"

A small smile crept over her face as she moved to the en-suite. "Smart man," she muttered to herself and looked up the doctor's number in Sherlock's phone.

He could hear her rummaging through cabinets from where he lay on the bed and couldn't help but listen to her side of the call.

"No it's Alex," she began in a hurry, her voice slightly higher than normal. "Sherlock's hurt…" She paused and Sherlock knew John was speaking. "I don't know. Some men outside the hotel… I haven't asked yet," she sighed and waited for John to finish. "I don't know if it's bad, I'm not a doctor! That's why I'm calling you… He won't go to the hospital!" she almost shouted and Sherlock winced at the sound. "Well you can tell him that cause I'm not," she added unenthusiastically and turned on the faucet.

The sound of the water rushing into the sink muffled Alex's voice and Sherlock sighed in discomfort. Without the distraction he couldn't ignore the pain coursing through his body. It was a dull ache in some areas but excruciating in others, mainly his head and lower torso. He pressed his fingers to the side of his stomach and inhaled sharply. He knew without looking that the skin there would be discolored, the beginning of a nasty bruise. The question was, how far did it go? Intra-abdominal bleeding usually only presented with pain (and he was certainly feeling pain). But if the bleeding was severe there could be weakness, lightheadedness, shortness of breath, shock, decreased…

The water stopped and his thoughts skipped over one another, jumbling together in his head until he couldn't remember what he'd been thinking about. That definitely wasn't a good sign.

"Room 836... Just hurry John." Alex tossed Sherlock's phone on the bed as she reentered the room with several towels and a few damp wash cloths draped over her arm. She'd washed the small amount of blood from her cheek but left it uncovered.

"Sorry but they don't have much in the way of first aid," she apologized and dropped the towels on the bed next to him. "I guess they don't expect their guests to get attacked outside," she tried to joke but quickly turned serious. "What was that Sherlock?"

He sighed and finally opened his eyes. "That was the very angry son of the man I proved guilty of murder on my last case."

"The ears?"

Sherlock nodded as best he could in his position. "The ears."

"What about the other two?"

"His mates."

"Okay…" Alex picked up one of the wash cloths and regarded him for a moment. He hadn't moved, still on his back with his arms at his sides and his eyes on the ceiling. There wasn't as much blood as she'd remembered and she knew her mind most have over exaggerated in her panic. There was still quite a lot though, too much to accurately tell just how badly his face was cut up and bruised. For the first time she noticed that some blood had splattered onto his shirt, near the collar, and she briefly considered calling John again and asking him to bring another shirt, before dismissing the idea completely. She doubted Sherlock would care about a few red splotches.

And then there was his midsection, where he'd taken most of the beating…

Alex was starting to think it might be better to wait for John. She really didn't know what she was doing and hospital dramas could only get you so far… But on the other hand, the longer they waited the harder it would be to clean the blood from his face. They'd probably have to scrub to get it off once it dried and that wouldn't be pleasant, not for anyone. Sherlock would surely see to that.

"Right," she spoke with determination, having made her decision. "Can you sit up?"

He took a deep breath and did as she asked, grunting slightly as his muscles constricted in protest. Her eyes fell to his waist, very concerned with the way his arm cradled his side.

"Here." Alex put the damp cloth in Sherlock's hand so he could start on the blood and fisted both her own into the sides of his shirt.

The rag remained limp in his grip and he could only watch, frozen in place, as she carefully but efficiently untucked his shirt. It wasn't until she began pulling it up, tilting her head to get a better look, that he shook himself from his trance and pushed her hands away. The shirt dropped back into place, but not quickly enough to hide the multitude of bruises that graced his right side and Alexandra inhaled sharply.

They were still so fresh they hadn't completely darkened yet, still a deep jaundice yellow on its way to purple. It stood out terribly against his pale skin.

There eyes met and she held his gaze for a moment, trying and failing to think of anything appropriate to say. Instead she grabbed the washcloth from Sherlock and focused on the task at hand.

She placed her left hand at his temple and tilted his head back, unconsciously moving closer so that he had to part his legs to make room for her. With her right hand she wiped gently with the cloth, removing the blood from his jaw, nose, cheek, and forehead.

Her soft touch was a welcome relief from the pain. It was soothing and comforting… everything he never needed. Her thumb traced circles at his hairline while she worked and he let his eyes close. He couldn't help it… it felt good.

When she was finished the white cloth was tinged brownish-red and she could see where his skin was torn. For the most part they were only scrapes, but there was a nasty looking gash on his cheek that worried her. John would be able to tell if he needed stitches.

Alex let the cloth fall to the carpet. She had every intention of withdrawing but when she absently brushed Sherlock's hair back, away from his face, he sighed and leaned forward and something in the pit of her stomach tightened.

She scooted closer, until her legs brushed his thighs, and slid her hand into his hair. He made the most beautiful noise, a combination of a quiet moan and a contented sigh that made her pulse quicken.

Outwardly she was calm and quiet, her right hand raking through his hair again and again while her thumb continued its slow rotation at his left temple.

But inside she was screaming.

She wanted to shout "ha!", to call him a liar and make him admit he was wrong.

But she knew he never would, even with his body betraying him.

Still her pride seemed to have a mind of its own and she couldn't stop the question from slipping through her lips…

"I thought you didn't want me here?"

Sherlock tensed under her hands.

"I don't," he answered roughly and she could tell that he meant it.

But then he confused her again when he leaned in farther, resting his forehead against her stomach with a shuddering breath.

She gasped softly and her hand tightened in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

Sherlock's eyes flew open and he stood up so suddenly she had to step back, hands falling to his shoulders as he stumbled slightly. His pupils were large and black, almost filling the iris, and she wondered if it was because of her or the attack.

Alex reached up cautiously and trailed a finger down his unscathed cheek in quiet contemplation. His eyes fluttered closed again briefly. When they reopened they were wider, startled and more aware than they'd been since…

"Stop," he demanded with a quiet intensity that made her shiver, and caught her hand in his own, pulling it away from his cheek.

"I can't stand being this close to you," she began softly after a few seconds, her voice surprised as though she'd only just figured it out, "and not being allowed to touch you… Why is that?"

He wanted to tell her that it's only because their bodies are familiar with each other. That sometimes, especially during periods of great stress, they can act independently from the brain. Seeking a comfort that doesn't like being denied.

He wanted to explain the biology behind it…

But then she was kissing him, standing on her tiptoes with her left hand flat against his chest and her right still grasped loosely in his, and he couldn't quite remember the point he was going to make.

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