Author's Note: I'm glad you're all enjoying this so far. I hope everyone is having a great weekend! Enjoy!
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Many thanks to GaeilgeRua for not only inspiring this story, but encouraging me to expand and allowing me to use her subscription to Grammarly to beta! This one is for you! Much love, xxDustNight
*NOTE* If while reading this you feel you've read it before, there is a very good chance of that. This story is the expanded version of a two-shot I wrote last year for the Holmes for the Holidays series. You can still find that piece on my profile; although it has been renamed Underneath the Christmas Lights. Please do not send me messages or leave comments telling me that this story is copied. It's not. It's mine. I just made it longer for your reading enjoyment! Thanks!
Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.
. . . .
22 December 2018
Theo spent the entirety of his afternoon, evening, and well into the early hours of the morning working on triangulating whether or not the text Harry showed him was from Hermione. When he finally found where her mobile last pinged, he set off to figure out if it was a trap or not. Arriving in the alleyway, Theo glanced around in search of what might have happened to Hermione. He could tell there had been an altercation seeing as the few rubbish bins there were strewn about.
Sticking to the shadows, Theo pulled out his little notebook and read over his notes. The mobile was registered to a Doctor John Watson. His home address was listed quite a few blocks from here, but Theo was nothing but thorough. Using the internet to his advantage, he discovered that this Watson fellow often worked alongside Sherlock Holmes. The Consulting Detective, as he was described on the web, did, in fact, live nearby.
Now, Theo just had to determine whether or not this Holmes fellow was working against the Ministry and using Hermione as his pawn or if he was just an innocent bystander in all of this. Placing a Glamour charm on himself, Theo stepped out of the alleyway and headed for 221B. Striding up to the door, he used the knocker to call the attention of whoever was inside. It only took a moment before a middle-aged woman in a purple house dress answered.
"Good day, ma'am. I am Arthur Finnegan." He tipped his head and the straightened up right once more. "Would you mind if I inspected your building for signs of mould?" The woman gave him a strange look and then placed her self securely in the doorway. Clearly, Theo had underestimated how easy it would be to obtain entry to the building.
"I'm sorry, sir, but my building does not need to be inspected the woman told him sternly. In fact, it was fun last spring. Thank you. I hope you have a great day.
Theo wasn't surprised when the woman took a step backwards and then shut the door in his face without waiting for him to reply. It was a long shot, his cover story, but he had to give it a try. Besides, it was really early, probably earlier than was normal for people to come to inspect houses and such. Nevertheless, Theo decided to do what he could, and so he closed his eyes and reached out with his own magic to try and see if there was another magical being in the vicinity.
He was relieved to find out there was, in fact, only one magical core close by and that it felt familiar to him. He guessed that it was Hermione and that she was resting somewhere in this building safe and sound and free from harm. He couldn't sense any dark beings or the like. Part of what made Theo such a crucial role in the MLE and Auror departments was because of his magical sixth sense as many called it. It was like a type of divination but a little further in-depth.
The sense allowed Theo to gauge whether people were good or bad and locate specific magical entities. Satisfied, Theo smiled and backed away from the flat building. He made his way back down the street and chose a different alleyway to disappear into. Once there, he removed the glamour charm and apparated back to the Ministry. Harry would be waiting, and he needed to assure his friend that Hermione was safe and that he could contact her at that number.
It only took him a few minutes to locate Harry in the cafeteria where he could generally be found purchasing some coffee to start the day. Only, he wasn't just starting his day, he was continuing it. They all were. Striding up to his dark-haired friend, he patted him on the shoulder and waited for the wizard to turn around. When Harry turned to face him, he could see that he hadn't slept at all and the worry lines on his face were far more profound than they'd been the previous day.
"Here you go," Theo said, handing over the mobile phone. "I just came from where I believe Hermione is being kept. It appears she's safe."
Harry took the phone and stared it almost in disbelief. "Are you sure she's safe and not being used as a way to lure us into a false sense of hope?" Harry inquired, his anxious side outweighing everything at this point.
"Absolutely," Theo told him, placing a hand over his heart. "I could sense there were good people in that building. 221B Baker Street is where she's being kept when you want to go and retrieve her."
"Do you think we should go and get her now?" Harry had thumb smoothing over the surface of his mobile screen.
"No," Theo said honestly. "I think you should leave her there if she's severely injured. Whoever attacked her left her behind and probably has no idea where she is. If we let her stay there, we can solve this case without having to worry about her safety."
"You're probably right," Harry said, sweeping the mobile to life. There wasn't much of a charge left on it after everything that Theo had done with it the night before, but there was definitely enough to send a message through to Hermione. "I'm going to text her so that she knows I'm here for her but that I think she should stay where she is for the time being until we figure this out."
"That's honestly probably what's best." Theo ran a hand through his hair and tried not to yawn. He was exhausted from not having slept the night before. "Look, I'm going to go home and see Blaise for a couple hours and maybe grab a nap. I'll be back after lunch to jump right back into things. Is that okay?"
"Absolutely," Harry said, clapping him on the shoulder and pulling him in for a quick hug. After he released him, he added, "I can't thank you enough for this, you know? I was terrified that they had Hermione and were going to use her against us."
"To be honest, I wouldn't put it past whoever is in charge of this disaster." He looked around the canteen, his eyes lingering on the different people there. He could sense all of their emotions and everything about them, but it was difficult to decipher it all. "I have a bad feeling about all this, but I know we'll make it through just like we always have."
"It's a lot different now than it was twenty years ago," Harry said quietly watching his friend observe the multitude of witches and wizards scattered around them.
"That's true," Theo said, "but there's always going to be those out there who think that their blood is purer than the others and that makes them better than the rest of the community."
"I hear you," Harry replied somberly. "We'll figure this out."
"Alright, I'll see you later. Make sure to let Ginny know that Hermione is safe."
"I will."
Theo left the cafeteria, thankful that they knew where Hermione was, but he still felt uneasy about the entire situation. Who was causing the rift in The Wizarding World this time? As he neared the floo corridor, Theo tried to push work and everything else to the back of his mind, if only for a little while. He wanted nothing more than to see his husband and make sure that he was safe. Plus Blaise always knew how to make him feel better in the worst situation, and that's precisely what he needed right now to get his nerves under control. He would be useless to the cause if he didn't get himself relaxed and some sleep too. Scooping up some floo powder, he threw it into the closest grate and disappeared back home.
. . . .
Morning came, and with it, the realisation that Christmas was only a few days away. When Hermione opened her eyes, it was to find Mrs Hudson decorating a Christmas tree against the wall between the door and the kitchen. The lights and most of the bulbs were already making the branches look festive and charming. Before alerting the landlady to her awakeness, Hermione glanced around to make sure no one else was present, specifically Sherlock. They were alone, so Hermione struggled into a sitting position and greeted the landlady.
"Good morning, Mrs Hudson," she said as cheerfully as she could manage. She was feeling a little worse for wear, two nights sleeping on a sofa was not exactly conducive to healing.
Upon hearing her voice, Mrs Hudson turned around with a candy cane in her hand and a warm smile on her face. "Good morning, dear. I hope I didn't wake you."
Finally comfortable, Hermione shook her head. "No, it wasn't you. I don't typically sleep this much as it is. I didn't even know you were here. The tree looks beautiful, by the way."
"Thank you, dear. Sherlock can't be bothered to decorate for the holiday, so I took matters into my own hands. We don't usually have guests for Christmas," she told her as she hung the candy cane on a bare branch. Stepping back, Mrs Hudson admired her work and then wandered into the kitchen. She began making tea but kept up the conversation. "John mentioned that you would probably need to stay at least until the end of the week."
"He did?" Hermione asked, shocked by this news. He hadn't mentioned it to her. She was under the impression that she could leave as soon as she was able to move without cringing in agony. It was true she wasn't there yet, but it was getting better. "Was he here this morning?"
"He was, "Mrs Hudson answered, bringing her a cup of tea and then returning to the tree. "He checked you over and said to tell you to check the mobile when you woke up." She pointed to where it sat on the coffee table.
Frowning, Hermione reached for the device and saw there was a text message reply from Harry finally. She quickly opened it and began to read, her frown deepening with every word…
Hermione, I'm glad to hear you're safe. Things are a bit… hectic… right now at work. Everyone is all hands on deck but we're glad you're someplace safe. It might be a good idea for you to stay where you are, if you're able to. I'll call when everything settles down. Talk to you soon.
Whatever was going on at the Ministry must be severe enough that Harry would to insist she stay away. Perhaps it was related to her attacker? Heart beating frantically, she set aside the mobile and reached for the tea instead. She needed something to calm her nerves and ease her mind. Tea was as close as she was going to get right now, it seemed. Sipping the drink, she watched as Mrs Hudson resumed decorating the tree.
"So it looks like I'm going to be here for Christmas," Hermione said quietly, her heart sinking as she thought about the unwelcome way Sherlock had made her feel just yesterday. She bit her lip and set the mug in her lap. "I hope that's okay." She peered up through her eyelashes to find Mrs Hudson staring at her.
Mrs Hudson sighed heavily and then came to sit by her, one hand moving to rest on her knee. "Don't you worry, Hermione. You're more than welcome to stay here for as long as you need." The kind way Mrs Hudson was looking at her made tears spring to her eyes and the landlady quickly handed her a clean tissue from the pocket of her dress. "Don't you fret. Whatever is happening will blow over, and don't you mind Sherlock either."
"Sherlock?" Hermione asked, dabbing at her eyes and nose.
"Yes, he's always a little testy at the holidays but don't let him get to you." She frowned then and crossed her arms. "I really should call his mother about the way he treated you. John told me everything, of course. But don't you worry, we're going to make the flat up for Christmas and help you get back on your feet."
Hermione really didn't know what else to say for the moment, so she merely nodded and thanked Mrs Hudson for being so kind. They spent the rest of the morning chatting while the tree was finished and other decorations were added to the room. By the time Sherlock appeared at the door, eyes narrowed at his landlady, Hermione was feeling much better. She met his gaze when he glanced her way and attempted a smile, but it was not returned. Instead, he turned and again vanished into his room, leaving her to wonder if she was genuinely welcome at all.
. . . .
After being scolded by John about the way he treated Hermione, Sherlock found himself spending more time in his room than out in the living area. He tried to time his visits to the kitchen and loo for when Hermione was sleep or distracted by Mrs Hudson or John. It was becoming increasingly difficult to do so, however, the longer he thought about the mystery of her arrival.
There was just too much coincidence for it to be a pure accident that she walked in that alleyway and was attacked that night. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to solve this case so he could move on to another and possibly even give the woman a reason to leave. John had been more than a bit angry when he suggested they take her to the closest hospital and just leave her there until she could be picked up by her family or friends. It's not that her presence honestly bothered him, but the fact that he knew she was keeping something from them about who she really was.
He thought about that wooden object he'd procured from her jacket the night of her arrival. She hadn't asked about it, but Sherlock could tell that she'd moved her coat at some point and replaced it on the chair. He hadn't yet told John about his findings, knowing that his friend would reprimand him for going through her belongings and then keeping it from her. It may be valuable, but Sherlock knew there was more to it than that. Just like Hermione. There was indeed more to her than meets the eye.
She was in her late thirties, single, and childless. From the few times, he'd had the opportunity to observe her, he deduced that she was never married, was typically more inclined to her job (whatever that may be), and that she lived alone. If he had to garner a guess, he suspected she worked in some sort of government office by the excellent state of her attire. One does not wear a suit and fancy robe unless they work for the government or law. She seemed a bit too honest to be a lawyer, so she had to work for the government. If only her purse had been recovered. Surely her identification and other personal items would help.
Groaning, Sherlock moved away from where he stood staring out his bedroom window to sit on the edge of the bed. He blatantly ignored the fairy lights that Mrs Hudson has strewn up around the room. He was already irritated enough as it was, he didn't need reminding that Christmas was just around the corner. John sent him a text earlier stating that Hermione would be staying until at least after the holiday and that he should allow her to feel comfortable because she was bound to be missing her family and friends.
Sherlock hadn't pried, but he found it odd that she was staying there rather than being retrieved before the holiday. Why would she choose to spend the holiday with strangers rather than go home? Glancing at the closed door, he suspected it had something to do with her attack, but the only way to find out more about the woman and this strange situation they were in was to talk to her. After having been so rude as John told him, he suspected she wouldn't be as willing to have a conversation with him.
Rolling his eyes, Sherlock knew that he could be rather blunt at times. Typically, John would be there to reel him in, but he'd been alone during that first proper conversation with Hermione. It would probably take some sort of apology or the like to get her to forgive him. Annoying. It was only mid-afternoon now, and luckily, Mrs Hudson had finished decorating and returned to her own flat. Hermione was probably napping. Now was the time Sherlock needed to slip unnoticed from the flat to do some more investigating for the case.
Standing, he reached for his coat and slipped it on while continuing to ponder what to do next. He hated that Hermione was always on his mind, but there was nothing to do about it. She was a mystery to be solved, and Sherlock would do his best. If she continued to keep secrets, Sherlock would just need to get clever. Eventually, she would break, he thought. Being apart from one's loved ones was typically a trigger for emotional people, and he suspected Hermione was just that. A couple more days separated and she would be as easy to read like an open book.
Adding his scarf, Sherlock opened his door and quietly made his way to the stairs. Sure enough, the quiet snores of the woman could be heard from the front room. Easing open the door at the end of the hall, he observed Hermione for a moment as she slept on the sofa. Her bruised face seemed so gentle and relaxed in her sleep, her hand clutching at the blanket she had overtop of her frail body. Something pulled at his heart, and he didn't know why. Swallowing back the insipid emotions, Sherlock vowed to try and make right how he wronged her and then left the flat.
. . . .
"If we know where she is, then I don't see why we can't just go and get her!" Ron practically shouted, slamming his fist down on the dinner table.
Across from where Harry sat, Ginny rolled her eyes. "Come on, Ron. Listen to reason."
"She's been attacked!" Ron continued to rant, now running both hands through his hair in frustration. "She's hurt and alone, and it's practically Christmas!"
"I swear to Salazar, brother, if you wake the kids, I am going to murder you," Ginny hissed, reaching for her wand on the table.
Luckily, Harry grabbed hold of it before she could. Clearing his throat, he tried to mediate before things got too heated. "Look," he began, giving Ginny a look when she tried to reach for her wand. "That's exactly why we need to leave her where she is. Whoever is leading these attacks is more dangerous than we know. Bringing her back now would only cause her stress."
"She's going to want to jump right back into the fray," Ginny pointed out, crossing her arms and glaring at Ron. "You know how she is. She's going to want to try and stop it even if it kills her."
"We don't know the extent of her injuries," Harry continued, giving Ron a meaningful look. "But we do know she is staying where she has access to a doctor. Besides, she's essentially off the map which gives us an advantage."
"What if whoever attacked her is still lurking around there?" Ron questioned, relaxing a bit despite hating the fact that one of his best friends was hurt and not there with them.
"Theo's hacked the CCTV and is keeping track of the area. If anyone suspicious tries to get near 221B, we'll know it," Harry explained. He took a deep breath and then said, "And he also added a few undetectable protection spells to the flat."
"As long as Hermione stays inside that building, she'll be fine," Ginny said, snatching her wand before Harry could stop her. Pointing it at her brother, she added, "And don't you dare go there. If any of us are seen by the attacker, then her safety will be compromised."
"I don't see you working for the Ministry," Ron snapped in irritation.
"You don't work there either, Ronald," she snapped right back, standing and grabbing his empty dinner plate. "You left to work with George so just let Harry, Theo, Kingsley, and the rest of the department do their jobs."
"How can you just sit here knowing she's not going to be with us for Christmas?" Ron asked, looking more than a bit put out by his sister's comment.
Sighing, Ginny sat the plate back down and placed her hand comfortingly on her brother's shoulder. "I miss her too, but I really want her to be safe. After this mess is taken care of, we'll celebrate with her. Besides, we still have a few days. They might solve it before then."
"I know I don't have much of a say here," Pansy piped up from where she'd been sitting silently observing the argument. "But I have to agree with Harry and Ginny, love."
"You're my wife," Ron complained, giving Pansy a look of pure exasperation. "You're supposed to be on my side."
"Really?" she replied dryly. "I'm not allowed my own opinion?" When Ron stuttered, she held up a hand but smiled at her husband. "Look, I adore your face, but when you're wrong, you're wrong."
Ginny sniggered which caused Harry to smile and Ron to glare. "You know that's not what I meant." When Pansy merely quirked an eyebrow, he sighed heavily and tried again. "Alright fine. Maybe I am wrong, but it still sucks."
"Of course it does," Pansy said folding her arms across her chest. "We all want our friend home safe, but sometimes we're safer someplace else. I have no idea who is behind the attacks, but there are still some pretty dangerous Pureblood enthusiasts out there. The Ministry will get them in good time."
"Thank you, Pansy," Harry told the witch. "She's right, Ron. This is a dangerous time. We have to be careful. All of us," he added, meeting everyone's eyes and then standing from the table. "It's getting late, and I have to be back at the Ministry before dawn. You mind if we call it a night?"
"Not at all," Pansy replied getting up from the table and moving to stand next to Ron. "Come on, love. Let's go home."
"Alright, alright," Ron conceded. He too stood, wrapping his arm around his wife and kissing her on top of her head. "I just worry about Hermione. I'll try to relax, but I'm going to need you to keep me posted, so I don't lose my mind."
"I can do that," Harry told his best friend, clapping him on the back. "You two be safe getting home."
"We will," Pansy said. She hugged Ginny once and then grabbed Ron's hand. "Let's go rescue my mum from the kids, shall we?"
"Can't they stay the night?" Ron suggested as they headed toward the door.
"I like the way you think," Pansy replied, shooting a saucy wink at Harry and Ginny as they exited the house.
"Those two still act like newlyweds," Harry pointed out, helping Ginny clear the remaining dishes from the table. He followed his own wife into the kitchen and loaded the sink.
"I'm glad for it. Pansy is good for my brother." Ginny waved her wand, and the dishes began to wash themselves.
"She is… I just wish Hermione had someone too." He frowned, unsure why he thought to say that right now. "Sorry, I don't know why I said that."
As if sensing his thoughts, Ginny curled herself into his chest and relished the warmth of his arms as they wrapped around her. "It's because you worry about her. If she had someone then maybe she might not have been attacked… We'll never know, of course, but I had the same thoughts."
"I hate that she has to stay there."
"I hate it too," Ginny said, leaning back to look up into Harry's face. "There's nothing to do about it tonight though. Let's call it an early night, okay?"
"I like the sound of that." Harry kissed the tip of her nose and then lead the way upstairs. Tomorrow he would jump back into the case, but tonight he would relax in the comfort of his wife's arms. He only wished Hermione was feeling comfortable and safe too.
. . . .
"John?"
"Yeah?" the doctor asked, glancing up from the newspaper he was reading. He was sitting in the red chair by the fireplace, one foot slowly rocking the baby carrier his daughter, Rosie, was resting in on the floor.
Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her lifeless curls. She was in desperate need of a shower, or a bath, which she noticed was the only option in the loo. "Do you think that you'd help me get into the bath?" Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, hating that she had to ask for help with something so simple. Only, she knew she'd never been able to get into the old-fashioned bathtub on her own right now. Her broken ribs were still giving her trouble, but there was no way she could go another day without bathing. "I was going to ask Mary earlier, but she didn't stay."
"Oh…" John looked slightly embarrassed as well, but then his doctor instinct kicked in, and his face resumed its natural calm. He cleared his throat and stood from the chair to set the paper on the side table. He gave the sleeping Rosie a quick glance before making his way over to where she was still stuck on the sofa. "Sure, that's not a problem. It never even occurred to me that you might want to clean yourself up a bit."
"I'm well enough right? I just can't stand another day like this," she told him, pointing at her dirty hair. "I'm used to taking a shower every day at home."
"I'm sorry, and yeah, let's ease you up." He helped her to stand, although she'd become used to doing so on her own. He led her to the bathroom and then they both stood there awkwardly. "So how do you want to do this?" he asked finally, not quite meeting her eyes.
"How about you turn around while I take off my clothes? Then I can stand in the tub wrapped in a towel," she offered, biting at her lip as she tried to keep her cheeks from colouring again.
"Right. Then I'll just help you to sit, and you can run the water and do whatever you need to." John grabbed for a towel, again not looking her in the eye. This was way more awkward than she was hoping for, but they were both adults, and he was a doctor. He'd examined her two days ago while she was unconscious. Sure, she wasn't entirely nude, but he must have seen her chest at some point.
"That works for me," she replied quietly, accepting the towel and waiting for him to turn around. She undressed carefully, setting her button-up shirt, dress pants, and undergarments on the counter before wrapping the towel around her. "Ready."
John turned around and then they began the difficult task of getting her in the bathtub. It took more effort than they thought and was a tad more painful than she'd hoped. By the time she was settled, her chest had ached, and she was breathing heavily. "Are you alright?" he asked, giving her a worried look.
"I'll be okay. The hot water will help, I hope," she said, not entirely wanting to admit how much pain she was currently experiencing.
John exhaled slowly and then looked around the bathroom. "I'm going to take your clothes to get washed. I have a few of Mary's things upstairs that should fit you." He made for the door, grabbing the handle so he could close it for her privacy.
"Thank you," she muttered, causing him to stop and give her a smile.
"You're welcome, Hermione. Just give a shout when you're ready to get out." And then he left her, the door clicking shut behind him.
Hermione set about getting the water in the tub. She took care of her hair first, knowing that would take most of her energy. When that was taken care of, she quickly washed the rest of her body and then settled back to just relax in the warm water. Closing her eyes, she thought about her strange predicament and wondered what was happening in the Wizarding world. She was so relaxed that she didn't even hear the door open at first. It wasn't until she heard the scuff of a shoe and an intake of breath that her eyes flew open and she found herself staring at the startled face of Sherlock.
She blinked at him once, then twice before he finally averted his gaze. "I apologise, Ms Granger," he mumbled, already backing toward the door. Apparently, he hadn't known there was anyone in the bathroom, or he was too distracted to notice. Having already been off to a rough start, Hermione wanted desperately to try and rectify that.
"Please," she said, stopping him from leaving. "You can call me Hermione." She wasn't worried about him seeing her naked, the water full of bubbles from when she'd shampooed her hair covered all of her parts. He still seemed so uncomfortable as he looked briefly at the door and then back to her. His hand dropped from where it held the doorknob as he apparently decided to stay for a moment.
"I am sorry then, Hermione. I did not know that the bathroom was occupied. I'll leave you to finish your bath," he informed her with a single nod. This time, he met her eyes, and his own were not unkind as they previously were when speaking with her. Actually, this was the first time she'd seen him for longer than a minute since that first encounter. He'd been scarce, obviously coming and going when she was asleep.
"It's okay. I probably should be getting out anyway before my skin gets all wrinkly." She made a face and then laughed but stopped short as her chest gave a pain. She moved one hand to rest over it, the water sloshing slightly,
"You should be careful," Sherlock warned, taking a step toward the bath as his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Your fractured ribs are still fragile right now. Do you need help getting out of the bath?" He stopped by the edge of the tub, his head turning to search for what, she did not know.
"Well, actually, John said that he would come and get me when I needed out," she began to explain, but Sherlock quickly cut her off.
"John's feeding Rosie and she's fussy," he stated simply and then stormed from the room. Hermione sat there in shock again, blinking stupidly as she wondered where he had gone and if she should call for John, after all. Before she could, however, Sherlock returned with the clothes John had promised and set them on the counter. Turning his back to her, he snapped, "Let the water out, dry off, and then wrap yourself in the towel. I'll help you from the bath. I've already let John know."
Hermione snorted in disbelief. Was he serious? When she heard him sigh in agitation, she got to work, removing the stopper and waiting for the water to drain. It took longer than she wished, but when it was gone, she quickly dried off, trying not to irritate her injuries. After wrapping herself so that not a single indecent part of her was showing, she exhaled and informed Sherlock she was ready. He turned around quickly and inspected her and the bathtub as if calculating the best way to get her from inside. Muttering, more to himself than her, he said, "It's the only way…"
Then he swooped forward, leaned over, and slid one arm under her bent knees before sliding the other behind her arms. Before she could ask what he was doing, he was lifting her from the tub as if she were his newly wedded wife. She let out a little yelp, but he told her to relax. She did, and it made the transition much more manageable. Once free of the tub, he helped to settle her on her feet and swiftly turned away from her once more. "Go on and get dressed. I will take you into my room so you can sleep on a proper bed tonight. You'll never heal properly if you continue to sleep on that lumpy, old sofa."
"What?" Hermione asked, her hand pausing as she reached for the lounge pants and t-shirt John found for her to wear. "I can't sleep in your bed."
"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione," Sherlock said as he sighed in irritation. "Of course you can. Now, do hurry up. You've moved around far more than you ought to this evening. You need to relax, or those fractured ribs will never heal."
Staring at Sherlock's back, Hermione found herself speechless. What had John said to him to change his demeanour toward her so drastically? Just yesterday he was snapping at her to not get in his way and now… Now, he was willingly giving her his bed to use until she was healed. Something inside of Hermione warmed at that, and she smiled, finally reaching for the clothes and getting dressed. When she was finished, she tapped Sherlock lightly on the shoulder. He turned around and gave her a once-over, nodding when he found her acceptable. Carefully, he placed his arm around her waist and began to guide her from the bathroom without saying another word.
Christmas lights twinkled along both sides of the hall outside the bathroom, and Hermione smiled as they helped light the way into the bedroom. She was still uncertain as to whether or not this was a good idea, but she didn't say so aloud. Sherlock's arm around her waist felt strong and comforting, something which she never would have guessed considering his cold outward appearance. When they were inside the bedroom, she turned and grinned so hard the cut on her cheek pulled, but she didn't notice the pain.
It appeared Mrs Hudson had decorated every room of the flat because the wall above Sherlock's bed was adorned with a haphazard strand of Christmas lights. Hermione couldn't help the giggle that left her lips when she saw it. The lights turned Sherlock's otherwise drab room into something a little more...special, as it were. Not bothering to comment aloud on the lights, Hermione allowed Sherlock to help her sit on the edge of the bed before he moved to adjust the pillows against the headboard. She watched without saying a word, both unsure what to say and afraid of breaking their amicable silence. When he was finished, he nodded, and she understood that she was meant to get settled.
When she was comfortable, Sherlock lifted the thick quilt over her legs. It was much more substantial than the one she was using on the couch, and she smoothed her hands over the soft surface waiting for him to speak. She didn't have to wait long.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked, a single eyebrow quirked in question.
She nodded. "I am, thank you; although, now I get to feel bad about taking your bed too." She bit back her grin, watching as he rolled his eyes and walked over to the window. He fiddled with the latch, making sure it was secured before facing her once more. Was he concerned for her safety too? He turned around and ran a hand through his dark curls.
"It's nothing. I hardly use it." Silence settled around them again, and Hermione found she didn't quite want Sherlock to leave the room yet. She was just starting to get to know him, his mystery unravelling with each passing moment. Maybe he wasn't as cold as she originally thought him to be. Sighing, Sherlock clearly came to some sort of conclusion and walked back over to the bed. Reaching underneath it, he pulled out a box of books and placed it on the nightstand. "I noticed that you like to read. Feel free to peruse these tonight."
"Thank you," she replied, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. After the way Sherlock treated her before, his change in demeanour was throwing her for a loop. Clearing her throat, she decided she might as well push her luck and ease the tension between them even further. "I really do want to thank you for allowing me to stay here," she said softly, placing one hand on his forearm before he could move away. "I know that you'd rather I left, but I do want you to know I appreciate this all the same."
Sherlock peered down at her hand, his face softening ever so slightly. Sighing, he removed her hand from his arm and backed away. He stared at her for a long moment as if unsure what to say next. Eventually, he inhaled, exhaled, and then met her unwavering stare. "You're welcome. You may stay for as long as you need. I am the one who should apologise. Your presence here is not nearly as horrible as I originally feared it would be. Goodnight, Hermione." And then he slipped from the room, leaving Hermione sitting underneath the Christmas lights with more questions than answers about the man known as Sherlock Holmes.