Author's Note: Okay, so first of all, this story is not a one-shot. It just couldn't be. Something about this prompt just exploded and I swear I never expected that at all. It's going to have a part two, so be on the lookout for that. That said, I enjoyed writing this one and the words just flew from my fingers like magic. I can't wait to see what you think and to write the second part, although that might take a few days. Nevertheless, it will be available before Christmas! Thanks as always for the wonderful feedback and for sticking around with me through my crazy writing antics!

Thank you to starrnobella for beta reading and SquarePeg72 for alpha reading! Much love, xxDustNight

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.

Holmes for the Holidays Playlist: htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . .

Light the Way
Rated: M (for part two)
Written for GaeilgeRua who has been one of my favorite authors for ages and is now one of my very closest friends. This prompt was brilliant and I have to thank you from the bottom of my heart for inspiring me. I love you! I truly hope this is everything you wanted and more!
Prompt: After being attacked in Muggle London just before Christmas, Hermione finds herself being treated by Dr Watson in his home. Over the next few days as she heals, his acerbic flatmate catches her eye.
Song Recommendation: "Underneath the Christmas Lights" by Sia
Summary: In which Hermione is attacked and John brings her to 221B Baker Street to heal, only Sherlock isn't as welcoming as the good doctor…at first.

. . . .

"You're all I need tonight,
Here by the Christmas lights."
- Underneath the Christmas Lights, Sia

. . . .

Consciousness returned to Hermione slowly, her head aching something fierce. Vaguely, she recalled being tripped into the road and then dragged into an alley. As pain flared within her chest, she also remembered being kicked multiple times, as well as her hair being pulled and her neck being choked. That explained the soreness when she swallowed. What she didn't recall was ending up on a random sofa, her wounds seemingly tended to and a warm blanket under which to lay.

Hermione had been attacked and for reasons unknown at this point, but that still didn't explain why she was here. Squinting into the early morning darkness, she tried to figure out her surroundings, but it was difficult. Still in London, by the sound coming from outside, Hermione wracked her addled brain to figure out what may have occurred.

She remembered not reaching for her wand like she normally would, not sensing a magical core from her attacker. He'd used surprise to his advantage, the suddenness of the fall startling her entirely. She'd been on her way home from work, wanting to stop by Speedy's for a quick meal to take with her. Only, she'd never made it. She recalled the stench of the man's breath as he beat her and then kicked her too. She'd tried to fight back, but it was no use. If the doctor hadn't shown up when he did, she could only imagine what would have happened.

That's when she remembered the doctor. John, she believed his name was. He'd taken down the attacker with ease, effectively breaking the man's leg and spraining his arm. Hermione had tried to get up but her body wouldn't allow it. John had been kind, saying she was safe and that he was a doctor who would take care of her. Right before she passed out, she recalled him saying he lived nearby and asked her name. She didn't remember giving it to him before passing out.

Now, she was apparently in his flat, but she needed to get home. She needed to find her wand and figure out why she was attacked. Harry would worry when she didn't show up for work in the morning. She never missed a day. Her head ached and so did her body, but she tried to move. Unfortunately, she never got the chance. At that moment a door was thrown open and slammed closed downstairs before the sound of footsteps echoed on the staircase. Quickly, Hermione feigned sleep, still unsure about this entire situation.

Hermione turned her head away and half covered her face with the blanket a split second before the person reached the top of the stairs. "John!" the man shouted, not bothering to be quiet in case other people were sleeping. "John! Where are you?!"

More footsteps sounded, this time coming down from the upstairs. "Shhh!" John hissed in apparent irritation. "Lower your voice or you'll wake everyone up."

"Mrs. Hudson's been awake for hours, John. I know because I woke her to ask where she-" Still talking rather loudly, Hermione heard the man grunt as if John had smacked him on the arm or someplace else.

"Not Mrs. Hudson, you dolt. Her," John explained, probably pointing to where she was 'sleeping' on the sofa.

"Who's that?" This was spoken in a mere whisper, filled with curiosity. "A client?"

"No, I rescued her from some petty criminal last night. The man was beating her in the alley across the way." John's voice was soft, full of concern. "He didn't do anything else besides that, but I think he may have taken her belongings. I couldn't find any when I brought her back here."

"No identification then?"

"None."

"Then who is she?"

"When I asked, before she lost consciousness, she mumbled something that sounded like Harmony, but it was hard to tell." There were footsteps then, as if both John and the other man crept closer to examine her a little more. Hermione tried not to cringe at the name, wishing she could just tell them who she really was, but that would force her to admit she'd been eavesdropping the entire time.

"How extensive are her injuries?" the other man asked, his footsteps moving away slightly.

"Enough that she shouldn't be transported anywhere right now. I didn't want to call an ambulance and have her lost in the system." John too walked further away. "Now, can you be quiet? She's sleeping."

The other man hummed in a way that was condescending. It was almost as if he knew something John did not and with a start, Hermione realized he probably knew she was awake. Before she could roll over, however, the man simply said, "Fine. I'm going to catch a few hours sleep. Are you staying here?"

"Yeah, I'll be upstairs so I can check on her when needed." And then as an afterthought, he added, "And don't bother her. I'll check on her when I wake up later."

"Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight."

Once both their footsteps had faded away, John's upstairs and the other man's down the hall, Hermione opened her eyes and rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She really needed to be leaving but moving was not the best right now. In fact, Hermione shifted in an attempt to sit up. Pain erupted in her chest. Broken ribs were not conducive to making a quick and quiet exit. As her head gave another throb, she had to concede that with a possible concussion as well, she was going nowhere. With a heavy sigh, Hermione closed her eyes, pulled the quilt around herself, and then allowed sleep to claim her once more.

. . . .

A light tapping on her shoulder woke her a few hours later, and as she opened her eyes, she had to admit to feeling slightly better. John was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, blue eyes warm with concern. He smiled as she yawned and returned the gesture. "Morning," she mumbled before attempting to sit up. A groan left her as she remembered her possibly broken ribs.

"Whoa," John said gently, immediately reaching forward to aid her in sitting up. "Easy, now." He put one hand behind her back and then hoisted her so that her chest didn't ache as much as it would have had she tried to do this on her own. "There you go. I take it that you're not feeling any better than last night?"

"I'm conscious," she pointed out with a smirk. He laughed and then she added, "Thank you, by the way. For both helping me just now and saving my sorry arse last night in that alley. I should have been more aware of my surroundings."

"You're welcome, and it could have happened to anyone," he replied with a shrug. "It's just lucky that I happened to be walking by when it was going on or who knows what would have happened." He visibly shuddered and she frowned, unwilling to admit that the thought had crossed her mind as well.

"Yes, well, I owe you." She reached out and patted his knee gently which earned her a warm smile.

"I'm John, by the way. Dr. John Watson," he told her then, turning to grab something on the coffee table. "I told you last night, but I wasn't sure if it registered. You were really out of it." He handed her two medicine tablets and a glass of water which she took gratefully. "And I'm sorry I don't have anything stronger, I can't really keep that sort of thing here at the flat but I will make sure to bring you something later."

Popping the tablets into her mouth, she drank some water to wash them down and then handed the glass back to John. "Thank you. I remembered your name, but I should probably introduce myself. I'm Hermione Granger."

"Not Harmony." He laughed, shaking his head. "I wasn't sure if that's what you said last night or not. Well, either way, I'm glad to meet you, even under such circumstances. Here," he muttered, returning the glass to the table and handing her a hot mug of tea instead. "I'm sure you could use this. Sorry I don't have anything for you to eat, but Mrs. Hudson said she'd bring you up a late breakfast a little later."

Hermione took the tea and held it between both hands, relishing the warmth is radiated. "This is lovely, thanks. I'm not much of a breakfast person, so that's okay. Who is Mrs. Hudson?" Hermione asked canting her head in question.

"She's the landlady. Lives in the flat downstairs," John told her standing and brushing the wrinkles out of his trousers. "She insists she's not the housekeeper, but she pops upstairs to clean and cook now and then."

"Oh," Hermione replied, finally taking a sip of the tea. She felt it beginning to warm her from the inside out and smiled. "I don't want to be a burden. I could just leave."

"No way, Hermione," John said, the tone of his voice changing from concerned stranger to strict doctor in an instant. She quirked an eyebrow at the difference but he ignored her. "You're in no condition to travel right now, and I'd like to examine you again later. Unfortunately, I have to go to work for a few hours. I should be back by five or so if we don't get too many walk-ins."

"Do you work at a hospital?" she inquired, taking another sip of tea and not bothering to push the subject about her leaving.

"It's more of a clinic, really. My wife, Mary, works there too." He slid a hand into his pocket and then pulled out a mobile phone. "Speaking of that, I never asked; do you have someone you need to call?"

Hermione frowned. She knew he was insinuating that maybe she had a boyfriend or a husband that would be looking for her, but he was wrong. The only person who'd be looking for her was her best friend and coworker. "I am meant to be at work today so I should probably get in touch with Harry. He's my best friend and works with me."

"Here," John said simply, handing her his mobile. "You can give him a call with that."

Biting her lip, Hermione realized it was well after the normal start time at the Ministry. While they did carry mobiles, they were unable to receive calls with all the magic at the Ministry. Texts sometimes made it through, though. "Uh, is it okay if I text? It's just that, we're not supposed to receive calls at work and I don't want him to get in trouble."

"That's fine. Go right ahead. I'm going to run upstairs and grab a few things before I head out."

He left her then, disappearing out the door and up the stairs to where she suspected his bedroom was located. Her face crumpled in thought as she stared at the mobile. If he was married, where was Mary and why did they live with another man? Figuring it really was none of her business, she set about trying to figure out what to tell Harry so he wouldn't panic. She was already late, something entirely out of character for her, so she could only imagine what was going through his head.

Harry, I was attacked last night walking home. Luckily, there was a doctor nearby to help me out. I'm safe at the moment but 'all' of my belongings were taken. I'm staying with the doctor until I'm healed enough to travel. If you need me, you can reach me at this number.

It was the best she could do without confusing John, who she assumed would probably read the text when she gave the phone back later. She really couldn't say Muggle London, her wand was taken, or that she couldn't floo or apparate just yet. That would really set off alarm bells for the doctor, who would probably assume she needed a mental hospital instead. Yeah, Harry was just going to have to worry a while until he could give her a proper call later on.

John appeared with his jacket already on but as she held the mobile back out to him, he shook his head. "No, you go on and keep that today. I don't really need it. The only people who really call me are Mary and Sherlock."

"Okay…" She set the mobile on her lap and then bit her lip looking around. "Uh… Is it okay if I move around a little later, I might need the loo." She wanted to ask who Sherlock was, but thought that might be too forward.

"That slipped my mind, but yes. Just be really careful. I wrapped your wounds as best I could, but you need to be easy. Don't push yourself too hard." Clearing his throat, he turned and pointed down the hall, "The loo's down there. Door on the left, actually. The last door is Sherlock's room. Best not to go in there."

"Sherlock?" Hermione asked, remembering the voice of the man who was speaking with John earlier that morning. Craning her neck, she ignored the aching from where her attacker had tried strangling her so she could catch a glimpse of the closed door. Sherlock was a mystery to her, one she intended to solve before she left this flat.

"Yeah, my former flatmate. I used to live here before I married Mary and we had Rosie. Now, I live elsewhere but still occasionally stay the night if Sherlock and I are working a case." Clearing his throat, John glanced at his watch and made a face. "I'm sure he'll tell you all about himself once he's awake later. I have to go, but make yourself at home."

"Thank you, Dr. Watson," Hermione said sincerely, pulling her gaze from the door to smile up at him.

"Call me John, and really, it's no problem," he told her before disappearing down the stairs.

Sitting quietly, Hermione contemplated her situation for a while as she sipped her tea. Glancing across the room, she noticed a few shelves with books and found that she might as well get up and use the loo and grab a book to read before getting comfortable on the sofa for the day. It was bound to be long and tedious, a completely different change from the usual hussle and bussle of her regular schedule. In the meantime, she could ponder more on the elusive man who was still asleep behind the door at the end of the hall.

. . . .

It was well past one when Sherlock finally appeared. Hermione heard him before she saw him, his door quickly opening, followed by the shuffling of feet as he made his way into the kitchen. Resting her book in her lap, Hermione waited patiently for a glimpse of him. Mrs. Hudson had brought up lunch a little while ago, spending some time with Hermione before disappearing back downstairs. She seemed nice enough, a bit nosy, but definitely kind hearted. Now, Sherlock, he was the one Hermione was most interested in getting to know.

Random sounds echoed from the kitchen as he prepared himself some tea and then, finally, there he was. Hermione's eyes went wide seeing him wrapped in nothing but a white sheet from head to toe. He made no sign of noticing her where she sat still as a statue. Sherlock shuffled his way to a well-worn chair by the fireplace and curled up to thoughtfully sip his tea. A grin tugged at her lips knowing she was about to disrupt him from whatever thoughts held him so captivated.

"You must be Sherlock," she said simply, enjoying the way he stopped mid-sip to turn and stare at her with narrowed eyes. "John told me that this was your flat." When still Sherlock did not swallow his tea or make an effort to speak, her grin widened. "I'm Hermione," she prompted, hoping he would get the point and finally say something.

Something must have clicked in his head because he swallowed his mouthful of tea and set aside the mug. Slowly, Sherlock unfurled himself from the chair and walked toward her, his hands gripping his sheet tightly as if to keep it from falling from his obviously naked body. He stopped once he stood just on the other side of the coffee table, his sea-colored eyes examining her as if she were a specimen on the microscope she noticed he kept on the kitchen table. Although she was not the one wearing little to nothing, Hermione suddenly felt entirely exposed under his scrutiny.

"Do you often walk around in nothing but a sheet?" she inquired, earning herself a sniff in response. It made her smirk, but she refused to break their stare.

"Sometimes I wear a dressing gown," Sherlock informed her, promptly stepping onto the coffee table and then off of it to sit at the other end of the sofa. She gave him a disgruntled look, but he ignored it to gesture at her with one hand. "Do you often spend the night on stranger's couches?"

Though she knew he meant it innocently enough, it still caused her to blanch. "Uh, no… Normally, I make it home in time to sleep in my own bed." Biting back a rude retort, she tried again. "I take it you'd rather I wasn't here?"

He gave her a once over again, his eyes lingering on the cut under her eye, the bruises around her neck, and the way she held her chest stiff to keep it from aching as she sat against the arm of the couch. "John felt you were not well enough to be taken to the hospital. I trust his judgement. You may stay as long as you may need." He stood and turned away, forgetting about his tea. Pausing halfway to his bedroom, he swiftly turned and gave her a curious glare. "Just stay out of my way."

As Hermione's mouth popped open in surprise, Sherlock whirled back around and then vanished into his bedroom once more. She certainly hadn't been expecting that kind of response from John's friend. Frowning, she glanced back at the book in her lap, suddenly wondering if when Harry finally called she wouldn't ask if he could get a cab to rescue her from this place. Obviously, Sherlock didn't want her in his flat, and she truly had no idea why.

. . . .

John came home before Harry called, meaning she still hadn't been able to make a plan of escape. She'd spent the afternoon sitting on the couch reading through a few books and listening for signs of movement from Sherlock's room. There were a few times she heard thumps or shuffling, but other than that, she'd been left completely alone. The silence was starting to really get to her so she was thankful for the company once again.

"Hey," he called out as he dumped a few bags of groceries on the table in the kitchen after shoving Sherlock's things aside. "I grabbed a few things to make dinner. How are you feeling?" He shrugged out of his jacket as he walked into the living room, his face pink from the cold but still there was a smile on his face.

"I'm feeling okay. Still really sore, but I can breathe a little easier," she informed him, setting aside the book she'd been reading. She would have been feeling a lot better if she had access to her wand, but after checking the sleeve of her jacket earlier, she was disappointed to find that her attacker really had taken everything she had on her. Frowning, she looked at her lap. "Actually, I'm hoping my friend calls soon and can come and get me."

"What?" John asked, sitting down on the sofa. "Why? Did something happen?"

"I feel like I'm putting you out… I know you don't typically live here and I'm not sure I'm really welcome…" She glanced briefly at Sherlock's closed door and then back at John, who frowned.

John twisted around to stare at Sherlock's door too before glancing back at her. "Did Sherlock say something to you?" He sounded concerned, and a bit annoyed, if she was honest.

"Well, he told me to stay out of his way," she admitted, picking at the quilt. "It's not like I'm really in the way stuck here on the sofa. It's okay, though, Harry will come and get me if I ask."

"Absolutely not," John replied, jumping to his feet and already marching toward the back bedroom. "You're welcome here for as long as you need to heal. You're not going anywhere until those ribs of yours have healed enough to walk up and down stairs. Just give me a minute. I'll be right back and then I'll make dinner."

Hermione didn't say anything in reply before he was pounding on Sherlock's door. She tried to peek and see what was happening as the door cracked open, but John forced his way inside and slammed it shut. Hermione blinked in surprise as the shouting started, mostly John, but she could hear Sherlock's baritone interjecting now and then. This went on for nearly ten minutes all while Hermione sat idly on the couch, feeling more embarrassed than before. She didn't want to cause a rift between the two friends, especially since she could easily have Harry come and heal her enough to take her home.

She couldn't admit that to John and Sherlock, though, not without violating the International Statute of Secrecy. Instead, she sat there awkwardly until John came back out, slamming the door again, before pausing to smile down at her on the couch. He clapped both hands together and smiled. "Right, then," he began, "I'm going to make dinner and then we'll check your bandages and give you some real pain medicine."

"Okay," was all she could manage in response before he was turning and heading back to the kitchen.

There was no more noise from Sherlock's room that evening, but when she woke sometime in the middle of the night to use the loo, she found the bedroom door wide open. Looking back and forth briefly to make sure she was alone, she snuck a peek into the room to find it empty as well. Where was Sherlock and why was he so against having her in the flat? Whatever the reason, Hermione was certain that it wouldn't matter for much longer anyway. Surely, Harry would get back to her in the morning and then she could be free of this place and then Sherlock could go back to having the flat to himself.

. . . .

Morning came, and with it, the realization 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 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 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. The tree looks beautiful."

"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 bad 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 simply 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 truly welcome at all.

. . . .

"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 be 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 bath."

"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 coloring 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 see 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 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 quite 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 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 simply 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 apologize, Ms. Granger," he mumbled, already backing toward the door. Obviously, 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. 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 obviously 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. He did meet her eyes this time, and his were not unkind as they previously were. 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 her 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 from 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 being 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 agistation, 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 under 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 easier. Once free of the tub, he helped to settle her on her feet and swifty turned from her once more. "Go on and get dressed. I'm going to 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 sighed in irritation. "Of course you can. Now, do hurry up. You've moved around far more than you ought to be doing this evening and 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 demeanor toward her so drastically? Just yesterday he was snapping at her to not get in his way and now… Now, he was willing 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 lead 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, the wall above Sherlock's bed 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 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 thicker 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?"

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 unraveling with each passing moment. Maybe he wasn't as cold as she originally thought he was? 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 pursue these tonight."

"Thank you," she replied, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. After the way Sherlock treated her before, his change in demeanor 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 more. "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 apologize. 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.