And we've reached the final chapter I'd finished prior to uploading this. I've finished maybe half of the next chapter, but I'm going to type out and publish the next chapter for Hound of Hell first because A- it's already written and B- it hasn't had much attention from me recently and I don't like neglecting my charaters. Anyways, fucked up shit due to occur in the next couple chapters, resulting in ample amounts of fluff!

Waking Up to a Nightmare

"You said she needed rest." Someone argued quietly.

"I also said that she needed to eat." Came the not-so-quiet rebuke.

"She'll wake soon." He whispered stubbornly.

"Holmes, you've been lying there for hours." My hands subconsciously gripped at the fabric beneath me. Everything seemed blanketed in a blissful haze.

"I find it quite comfortable." He dismissed.

"Holmes?" At first, I didn't believe the uncertain voice was mine, but the man beneath me instantly responded. He met my blurry eyes and shifted his arms slightly. In a brief moment of clarity, I realized Holmes had acted, not only as a buffer to soften my fall, but also a cushion while I slept. "'m sorry." I muttered, unable to properly articulate my words.

"It's quite al"

"Ms. Alansry," Watson interrupted, earning a glare from Holmes, "I am sorry to disturb your sleep, but you really must eat something." My stomach flipped. I ground my teeth to force it into submission. "Mrs. Hudson can prepare a tea that does wonders for an uneasy stomach." I gave a serious effort to turn my head that I might see him, but my muscles simply didn't have the strength. Breathing slightly labored, my body went limp against Holmes. "Ms. Alansry?" He called.

"Allia?" Was that a touch of concern in his voice? I briefly met those chocolate eyes before letting my lids fall back.

"Tired." I whispered.

"Holmes, she must eat. Her body is starting to shut down." Watson warned. I felt his jaw muscles ball. With a sigh, he cupped my hand with his cheek and lifted my gaze to his.

"Allia?" The gentleness in his voice; I couldn't help respond, though all I could managed was to open my eyes. "Allia, it's time to eat." Though it wasn't a question, he spoke softly. I struggled to clear my mind of the empty fog, but I couldn't retrieve the logic to which I so often clung. "Just a few bites; alright?" I didn't want to eat. It wouldn't stay down; I knew it wouldn't stay down.

"Stomach." I whispered, begging him to understand. He carefully sat up; holding my almost ragdoll body against his warm chest. The movement sent a twinge of pain from the cuts and abrasions and gashes decorating my body. A quiet grunt betrayed my attempts at hiding it. Instantly, his touch softened. I closed my eyes and waited for the burning ache to recede. A gentle hand touched my head.

"She doesn't feel feverish." Holmes said over his shoulder. I weakly brushed his hand away.

"No fever," I mumbled through the darkness shrouding my mind. "Tired" Watson's jaw twitched.

"Just a few pieces of fruit, at least. And a glass of milk." The Doctor added. With a touch of irritation, I realized he wasn't talking to me.

The door suddenly flew open. Even half comatose, my body flinched. Holmes' arms tightened, quieting my alarm as a women burst into the room. She was carrying a number of things and speaking far too quickly for me to comprehend anything other than distress and anger. She pointed an accusing finger toward me and shouted an order. Though part of me assumed she was motioning at Holmes, my hands clenched his shirt in terror and my body pressed against him; anything to distance myself from the incorrigible thing storming towards us. I felt his chest rumble from speech, but couldn't hear his hushed attempts to quiet her. After a moment of her continuing to berate everyone in the room and placing the seemingly random assortment of things on the bed, Watson added his voice to settle her, but to no avail. My heart raced fiercely, flooding my veins with adrenaline. The arms around me tightened absently.

"Shut up!" Holmes suddenly shouted, making me flinch violently. My head instantly ducked against the assault that was surely coming, and I hid my face against his chest as my body trembled. Silence. "While your assistance would be greatly appreciated," His voice was strained with an attempt at masking his irritation, "if you cannot lower your voice, then pray leave; for you are doing more harm than good." I could feel their eyes bur into my back, and subconsciously curled into a tiny ball; so tiny that they wouldn't see me; wouldn't hurt me. I knew the impossibility of such a desire, but still I tried.

Someone sighed; feminine. Gentle footfalls; schooled sternly in the proper ways of women. Tsk, tsk, tsk; like one accustomed to dealing with children; not her own, though. Younger siblings, perhaps. Something touched my shouldered. In a panic, I shied violently from her, regardless the burning of my wounds as the taunt skin was pulled and torn muscles used. The protective arms tensed. Please; I wanted nothing more than to be left alone; to sleep.

"Poor thing; she's shaking." No. Please, no. My entire body tensed. Poor thing.

"Allia?" And the whip cracked. She's shaking. No more. The icy blade carved along my skin. Please; just make it stop. "Allia." It's alright. God; please no more; please. I'm not going to hurt you. Their hands shook with anticipation, jarring the knife. Jagged. Don't move. Don't pull against the restraints that dug into your wrists and ankles. "Allia!" It's always worse when you struggle. The blade goes deeper. Blood. Everywhere blood. Something rough touched my cheek, trying to get my attention. My arms shot around my head and a weak whimper sounded in my throat. No! No more! Please, no more!

"Watson?" Uncertainty. Fear, almost.

"Her mind is relapsing to her time in captivity." Hurried words. Men. Everything, hands. No; don't touch me! I gave a sudden, violent attempt to rid myself of the touch, but the hold tightened. Panic. Couldn't breathe. Muscles rigid. No; don't move. They like it when you move. And they want more. More pain. Please, no more pain.

"I know that. How do I stop it?" Annoyance. Anger. They were angry. A whimper sounded in my throat.

"Come on, dear. Open your eyes." A woman. Lies. Don't believe them. Women caused hurt too. A soft hand on my shoulder. No! Don't touch me! I cried and thrashed in vain. Couldn't escape. Can't escape. No, I could fight. I had to fight!

"I don't know." He struggled, stumbling over quickly chosen words. "Try doing what you did before." Alcohol. I could smell alcohol; faint but present. Aim for the kidney.

"All I did was hold her, which I am already doing." He retorted; irritation clear in his hurried voice. And run. I had to run.

"Speak to her. Make her feel safe." Three. I could fight them. I could beat them. I could escape.

"Because you were so successful." He shot back. Move, damn it! Terror froze my muscles, regardless how I demanded them to work.

"Just do it, Holmes." A twitch. Just a twitch of my finger, and the trance was broken. In the lapse of a single heartbeat, I drew my fist back and struck the thing that restrained me. His sudden cry of pain and surprise fell on deaf ears and I flung myself from his hold, making a mad dash for the door. A slender hand caught my arm. Slender wrists; slender ankles. I kicked her feet out from under her and she dropped. Someone cursed. Rushed footsteps. Voices. Someone called my name.

My hand reached the knob and threw it open. Again something latched around my arm. Without a moment's hesitation, I turned to face them. Throwing the momentum into a hard punch to his jaw. His arm came up just in time to guide it harmlessly away. He was talking. I could see his lips move, but could hear nothing over the frantic pounding of my heart. I pulled back desperately, but his hold only tightened. Weak left leg. I tried to kick the favored appendage, but he pulled just enough to rob me of my balance. I quickly arched my arm in a big circle, rotating his hand until he was forced to release me. But just as soon as one hand was gone, another appeared. I kicked him hard in the stomach, but he showed little signs of noticing. Too strong. Angry shouts. I couldn't escape.

For just a second, he glanced over his shoulder to shout some rebuke. Taking full advantage of his momentary distraction, I swung my foot into his injured thigh. Assuming such a blow would weaken his grasp, I flung myself back, but his grip remained steadfast. In a panic, I kicked at him. I don't know where I struck him, but suddenly I was falling back. Someone shouted my name. Forever I seemed to fall, past the point of where the floor should have met me. Stairs.

I don't remember the agonizing descent as my body struck so many hard corners. I was merely suddenly lying on the floor. And it was cold. My lungs burned, screaming for oxygen, but I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. Agony raged through me, robbing me of my senses. I couldn't see. I couldn't think. A hesitant warmth caressed my cheek.

"Don't move her." The order would have made me flinch were I capable of it. Something pressed against my throat. Different than the other touch. Precise. "Ms. Alansry, can you hear me?" Sharp and clear, as though spoken to a child.

"Allia?" Something about the gentle desperation. Blindly, I sought him. Soft brown. Like chocolate laced with silver and gold.

"Allia, can you move your toes?" Without looking away from those eyes, I forced the appendages to wiggle, if only a little. Someone sighed with relief. Tiny wisps of air flowed through my lips, but I could feel the darkness coming. I'd done it again. I'd hurt them.

"'m s'ry." I muttered, knowing how incomprehensible the syllables were. His jaw tensed, but a gentle hand touched my forehead and he gave a sad smile.

"Can you get her back to bed?" Holmes said nothing as he gently lifted my limp body to his chest. I could feel the stiffness of his abdomen, but never once did he jar me as he started up the stairs. I was asleep before he'd reached the second story.

Warmth. Safe. I felt safe. My eyes slowly parted, knowing what I would see; that my head rested on his arm; that he held me protectively against him. His chest moved ever so slightly as he slept. If he inhaled too deeply, his face would cringe with pain. My fault. My fingers laced around his shirt and I pressed my forehead against his chest. I'd hurt him. Guilt stabbed through my chest. He gave a small sharp inhale and his arms tightened subconsciously.

"Allia?" he breathed groggily. What could I say? How many 'thank you's to truly convey my gratitude; how 'I'm sorry's to make it better? A small hiccup sounded from my throat. Without another word, he held me. His arms crushed me against his chest, and I clung to him as silent sobs shook me. I sobbed because of the horrors I had seen. I sobbed because of what had been done to me. I sobbed because my family had been murdered. I sobbed because he understood. Because he had helped me and I hurt him.

Rough lips pressed against my forehead. Sharp scruff tickled the suddenly sensitive skin. I froze. Not from the terrible fear that so often immobilized me; what was it? Shock? Disbelief? Trembling, I looked up at him. So much seemed to be said in that silence. And he kissed me. Just a tiny, fleeting caress. A quick gasp and he pulled back; gaze averted, jaw taunt. No; don't turn away from me. Shaking, my fingertips touched his chin. I was scared; yes, but I couldn't stand to see that hurt in his eyes. Hesitant, I returned his touch. His embrace tightened, but his kiss was never anything but gentle, tender; as though he knew how near to falling I was.

"Holmes," The door opened. As quickly as he parted from me, still a gasp sounded from the man now standing in doorway; mouth agape.

"Morning, Watson." Holmes greeted with a failed attempt at nonchalance.

"I'm, I'm… terribly sorry." He stuttered and nearly ran from the room. Holmes tried for only a second to maintain the silence before allowing his warm laughter to ripple through his chest.

"Why, I don't think I've ever seen him so flustered." He explained. I bit my lips as my cheeks flushed. And for a moment, the silence wavered over us. Finally, he flicked his eyes to mine. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that." My face burned scarlet, but I didn't turn from his gaze.

"I seem to recall kissing you back." I whispered. Almost in shock, he stared at me; taking in my words, digesting them. My heart fluttered. The distance between us slowly diminished. Someone shouted in the other room, but I paid it no mind as I tilted my chin slightly. Just a butterfly's breathe away.

Again the door opened, but this time with such force, I was certain it would shatter. Almost instantly, Holmes' was on his feet.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" He shouted.

"You. Out. Now." The women ordered.

"I seem to recall this being my room." He rebuked. My body cringed back. Yelling. Fighting. Angry.

"Now!"

"No!"

"So help me, Sherlock Holmes, if you don't leave this room this instant, I will beat you over the head and drag you out." He was silent a moment before he looked at me. I couldn't have hidden the terror from my face if I tried. His jaw tensed and he leaned toward me.

"She may seem scary," he whispered in my ear, "but she means well. I'll be just in the other room." Subtly, so the women wouldn't see, he touched his lips to my cheek and left, giving her a glare on his way. She sighed wearily once the door closed. I subconsciously gather the blankets around me as I looked at her. She seemed to age before my eyes; such a front she put on around Holmes; such exhaustion she hid. Still, she had a strength to her that I simply couldn't fear; a determination that fueled her every move. Her mind was strong, but her body possessed only the necessary strength for the everyday tasks of womankind. Even in such a state, I was certain of my ability to subdue her if the need arose.

"Dear me," she murmured, "I am sorry for that." I watched her carefully as she sat down in the chair still situated before the bed. "But I must speak with you… before things get out of hand." She seemed to struggle with her words. "You must understand, Holmes is… he's not like other men." She wet her lips and her hands moved absently. "You see, he's never opened himself to anyone before." Her discomfort stiffened the air. "I don't want him getting hurt." She finally admitted. I nearly laughed. She was asking me, who had been a prisoner in a sex scandal for nearly a year, not to hurt him.

"I am twenty-four years of age," My voice was rough, but understandable, "and I have told not a soul the things I have told him." There was a touch of insult to my words, though I meant to conceal it in a blank tone. "I have no intention of hurting that man." It shocked me how protective I sounded, but it seemed only to reassure her, for, with a nod, she left. Not a second later, Holmes returned with a glass of milk.

"Watson has threatened to feed you with a drip if you don't ingest something." He joked. My stomach churned, but I took the glass as he sat on the bed. Just a tiny sip, and my stomach convulsed in retaliation. Holding the milk far from me, I pressed my hand to my mouth and ground my teeth. A hand gently caressed my back and the glass was taken from me. With a shuddering breath, I opened my eyes. Though uneasy, I was again in control of my digestive system.

"A little at a time." He murmured and was silent a moment before adding, "Watson seems to think I've put you in a uncomfortable position. If this is the case"

"No," I interrupted, "Strange though it may sound, the only time I am uncomfortable is when you are not holding me." I could only whisper the words as my cheeks burned. A smirk touched his lips; almost affectionate.

"Then, by not holding you, I am causing you discomfort?" he ask in a joking manner. I met his gaze with a tiny smile and his arms immediately wrapped around me. My hand grasped his shirt and I hid my face in his warm chest.

"I didn't use to be like this." I whispered into the worn cloth. He said nothing as his fingers gently caressed the mangled flesh of my back. "Contempt was the only feeling I harbored towards men."

"And I to women." Holmes commented with a chuckled. "Their tendency to place exaggerated value on worthless things, while ignoring articles of the utmost importance confounds me. And I shall never understand the reasoning behind their motives."

"Nor I." I joked, earning a rich laugh from him. "One looks to men and finds drawling simplicity, and to women finds controversial perplexity bordering on chaos. And yet, always, the end goal is one of very few." He merely nodded with a chuckle.

"Holmes," I breathed after a moment of silence. He looked at me, but didn't pull back. "How" the words didn't want to come. They tried to catch in my throat and hide away. "How long?" I begged him to understand, because I couldn't finish the question. He sighed quietly.

"Fourteen months, approximately." Fourteen months. I had, indeed, lost over a year to that monstrous man. Stolen. He stole it from me.

"I will find him." He whispered with such strength, such certainty it sent a chill down my spine. I wanted to find him. I wanted to but a bullet in his head and watch his wretched brain paint the back wall. I wanted to find everyone, every doctor, every policemen, every clergymen, every judge that had taken part in such a horrid affair as that and bath them in acid.

"Holmes." Watson called from the other room. "Holmes, I must speak with you." A touch of annoyance brushed across his face, but was instantly devoured by the affection following it.

"You are more than welcome to entire, old friend." He called back.

"In private, if you please." He replied impatiently. Fret turned my blood to ice. What had he to say to Holmes, that he would not want me to hear? I was certain it was about the case. With a sigh, Holmes dismissed himself and left, promising to return shortly. For a moment, it was quiet, but the quiet was suddenly broken by an exclamation from Holmes. Without a second's pause, he reentered the room in a frenzy, almost blindly grabbing such things as a coat, a lock picking kit, a magnifying glass, and a few things I didn't have the chance to see clearly.

"I must leave for a time, but I shall return as soon as possible." He explained quickly. "Pray, stay in bed. If you should have need for anything, alert Mrs. Hudson and she'll care for you." Just before he left, he placed a quick kiss on my lips, as though such a thing was a long set routine. He had taken several steps before stopping suddenly and looking back at me, something like humorous confusion in his eyes. Finally, he scoffed and left.

As though he had told me in no uncertainty, I was certain a girl had been taken. The instant the front door closed, I was on my feet, however unsteady they proved to be. The room dipped beneath me, but, ignoring it, I made my way across the room to his dresser. I absolutely refused to simply lie in bed while that man continued the atrocities I was so terribly familiar with.

I opened the first drawer and my heart dropped. A silver revolver gleamed brilliantly atop the cloth. Watson surely had his service weapon, but Holmes was unarmed. With little thought, I adorned a pair of black pants, a dark grey shirt, and a navy blue vest. Several socks almost made my feet fit snuggly in a spare pair of his shoes. The clothes were baggy enough to mask my gender and, with a brown cloak, would provide warmth in the late-winter evening. With the pistol safely in my pocket, I took a walking stick that had been carelessly tossed in a corner, and headed toward the door.

With a sideways glance, I ground my teeth and forced the remainder of the milk down my gullet; knowing how desperately my body needed the nourishment. I was still for a long moment, until I was certain it would stay down, before leaving the room. As I reached the bottom step, I heard the door open above me, followed by a women's frustrated exclamation.