I'm so sorry for the long wait! And the length of this chapter but okay. I'm having some troubles figuring out how the story continues (as there is a lot to fit in and not that much time and I'm trying to keep it somewhat realistic). Anyway,

Enjoy!

The white of the bedsheets make her even paler than usual, her red hair a stark contrast, Melissandre muses. It isn't how she planned to spend her New Year's Eve, sitting next to Kiara's hospital bed, waiting for her friend to wake up. She isn't sedated anymore, just sleeping, her breaths change every few minutes from calm and deep to shallow and fast ones.

Melissandre looks at her watch and sighs. Five in the afternoon, she'd have to go to her parents soon, the obligatory dinner. It was torture every year, but at least she had been able to escape the Christmas dinner this time.

The door clicks and Sherlock enters. It still feels strange, being in one room with the detective, whose pale eyes seem to see her deepest soul every time he looks at her.

Sometimes she doesn't know why Kiara likes him. He's rude, to both Kiara, Mel herself and the staff of the hospital, arrogant, and cold.

But sometimes, rarely, she can also see the side Kiara must see. The little twitch of his mouth when he thinks something is amusing, his smirk, when Kiara laughs about something he did or said, the concern he shows when she is hurt.

Sherlock nods at Melissandre who smiles quickly as a response and gets up. Sherlock is there if Kiara wakes up and Mel knows that she really needs to leave.

"Tell me when she wakes up, okay?" She raises her eyebrow, hoping he'll comply. Mycroft had only told her about Kiara hours after it happened – of course, she could understand how stressed he must have been, but still, it would have been nice.

Sherlock nods once more and plops down in the chair she just left. Mel smiles once more and leaves.

"You feel guilty, don't you? After all this time. Why?" Her voice is slightly rough, but even, and Sherlock realises that she must have been awake for some minutes. He turns towards her and checks her over, taking in her tired eyes and the purple marks on her neck, and then looks back to the white door, which had been closed by Mycroft only minutes ago. He had left after checking in quickly, giving Sherlock a good view of the back of his neck and his hands.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock prides himself in his even voice, in the calm, almost boredom it displayed.

Her mouth twitches slightly and for a moment he wonders whether he should have tried asking her how she feels. But no, she'd look through that within seconds as well, he just isn't that social.

"You couldn't have prevented it, Sherlock. None of us knew about Anthea's real -" She pulls him out of his musings, but he can't listen to her. She's so understanding, he made a mistake, he shouldn't get understanding.

"I should have seen it, Kiara! The clues were there, the clues were everywhere!"

"Mycroft didn't see it, I didn't see it. She was clever, Sherlock, and she knew us. She knew we wouldnt suspect her!"

He shoves his mask, his protector, in front of himself again. Clenching his jaw, he closes his eyes for less than a second, shutting the hateful emotions away in his mind-palace, even though he knows the thick wooden door won't stand for long – he just needs some time, needs the few minutes the door can give him.

"That is why sentiment is dangerous, Kiara. It hides the truth from us, makes us want to believe any and every lie."

"Yet you care for Dr Watson." Her voice is calm, too understanding.

"And sometimes I wish I wouldn't!" He raises his voice, and then curses himself mentally. He's not exactly helping the door right now.

"But you only said sometimes. Caring isn't always bad, Sherlock. Don't blame yourself too much for what happened to Mycroft. He doesn't blame you and neither do I, if you want to, you can start blaming me."

"You didn't do anything wrong – well, not with Anthea." He watches her smile slightly as she understands his horrible attempt at a joke.

"I could have seen it as well. You forget, I lived with criminals most of my life, am a criminal myself, and might have heard her name some day or another. She must have brilliant, being in that position for so long and besides, she probably worked with Father – I believe she might even have helped him plan your meeting on the rooftop."

Sherlock narrows his eyes a bit, but then shakes his head and relaxes. Kiara hasn't changed his mind, but he has a few more minutes peace because of the door.

Kiara pushes her blanket of her hip, she is already rather sitting than lying down, and pushes the fabric of her pyjama-trousers slightly down so her tattoo is visible.

"Caring is an advantage." Sherlock looks at the elegant writing, I believe in Sherlock Holmes, and then quickly leaves the room.

When he enters again, the nurses and doctors are already nearly finished. Kiara looks tired, even though she has slept a lot, and is rather compliant, hoping to get it over with quickly.
Pulling the chair from next to her bed slightly further away and sitting down, he pulls his phone out and ignores the protests of the hospital staff. It doesn't matter if one person uses a phone, it only gets problematic if twenty persons used their phones, he knows.
Only minutes later the doctors and nurses are gone, and Kiara looks at him expectantly.

"Who did you text?" her voice much stronger than before.

He holds up the phone so she can read the message he sent to Melissandre: She's awake.