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They might still be facing off had not Lissie' s phone rang.
"It's snowing so's I can't see the road," Sherlock heard Ms. Houston's voice over the phone.
"I can stay here, I've got my old room," Lissie replied, shooting a questioning look at Sherlock, who nodded.
He could hear the doubt in Ms. Houston's voice. "Well, I really can't get through - they shut Westminster tube, the blizzard' s rare for a London February...rare for London at all ... Will you be quite safe there?"
"Ms. Houston! Sherlock is my father and saved my life when I was kidnapped. I'll thank you to remember that."
So Lissie would still defend him. Curious.
"Lissie, love, don't be impertinent. If you're alright I think I'll let you stay."
Sherlock awoke with a start. Had the heat went off? It had.. was that what woke him? He tested a switch. Yes, the power was out. Pulling a robe on to combat the cold darkness, he slipped to the living room to make a fire in the fireplace.
"Mum, please."
There was the noise that had woke him. It sounded like a lost child sobbing. Quietly he padded down the hall and listened. It was Lissie in her sleep.
"I didn't mean to hurt you..." Her quavering voice cut through him.
He gingerly opened the door and made his way to her bed, shaking her tossing figure awake.
"What's the matter," he asked briskly but not unkindly.
Her hair was plastered over her face and her skin was cold.
"Did I talk again? I'm sorry..." She shivered and he led her to the living room where it was warmer.
"The electric's out. Now, tell me what's wrong." The digital clock was blinking midnight, but the regular clock read one a.m. No wonder it was so cold, the power had been out an hour.
"Just the Dream," she said in an almost whisper, jaunty self assurance of the afternoon gone.
"The Dream? Capital D?"
"Mum, I guess...my mother... At first she's with me, then she's dying, slipping farther and farther away," there was a sob and then a rush of words. "And when I try to grab her everyone pushes me away because I'm the one who made her die, caused the complications. I've been having it more often lately."
Perhaps the late hour made him unusually tender. He studied her face.
"It's all over now; you know I don't believe you'd intentionally hurt Elsie."
She looked up hopefully.
"I've said it twice now and I mean it -Elsie loved you. She didn't blame you; I don't blame you... that damned Raymond is the only one to blame."
Her look of teary thankfulness caused him to fetch her a blanket, which he wordlessly passed to her.
She took it and curled up, resting her head on his uninjured shoulder. This reminded her of something, but what? Oh, when Sherlock had given her his coat in the dungeon at Moriarty's. "She'd be so cold, and I'd give her my jacket..."
He did not say anything more, but his presence was enough. It was so comforting, in the warm dimness lit by orange glow. And suddenly she knew.
"Sherlock!"
He had risen to stoke the fire, but he came rushing back with a worried look.
"Sherlock, I want to live here. With you."
"I knew you'd come around," he smiled, relief washing over him. "What changed your mind?"
"This is home," she said simply.
His brow clouded suddenly. "Lissie, the Houston's have gotten rather attached. They may not let this go."
"You mean court? But you can't have the publicity! Look, I'll talk to them, tell them that they can't possibly understand me the way you do. They are kind, but smothering. Sherlock, we've had our problems, but ever since you gave me your coat in that dungeon I think I've known."
"Known what?"
"That I belong with you. I didn't remember it ; I was stubborn, and felt lied to. But I shouldn't have run away."
She whispered something and he had to lean close to hear. "I don't want to lose you, too."
He squeezed her hand and sat there with her until she fell asleep.
He watched her as she slept, tear stains drying on her face and rhythmic breathing slowly evening from ragged gasps to steady breaths.
He wished he could shelter her from every cruel thing, every harsh brightness the world shone in her face. But he could not, and there were so many lessons she would have to learn on her own. But for this short time, while she was still 'his', he would keep her safe, so help him God. He moved quietly to his laptop.
Moriarty, if he was still alive, would not stand a chance.