***I do not own any of these characters, excepting Ri.***

As the weeks passed, Sherlock and each fell into a routine of sorts. Sherlock would disappear to meet with his homeless network or to visit Molly Hooper in the morgue at Bart's hospital, begging for spare body parts the way a panhandler begs for spare change. Ri would spend hours on her computer, scouring the digital world for signs of Moriarty. Sometimes she would spend days out of the country, meeting contacts in the shadowy alleys of cities that had few vowels in their names.

Occasionally, they would be unoccupied at the same time. Ri would cook and try to convince Sherlock to eat. They discussed literature and music and scientific discoveries. Sherlock had to admit he found his new flatmate to be a more cerebral companion than John, and an able assistant for some of his more difficult experiments. He still couldn't completely deduce her, and that irritated him.

Ri returned to the flat after a very disappointing meeting in one of the former Soviet republics. What she thought was a promising lead turned out to be a wild goose chase, and she wasn't in the best of moods. She thought the flat was deserted and decided to go to bed. I'll start again in the morning, she thought. I'm too tired to deal with this crap right now. She walked up the stairs to her bedroom, shedding her clothes as soon as she was properly in the room. The night was warm, so instead she forewent her normal sleep attire of yoga pants and opted to just sleep in a tank top and panties. She was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

What seemed like a lifetime of danger had left Ri a light sleeper, and the walls of 221B Baker Street weren't all that thick. She didn't know what had initially awoken her or what time it was, but quickly realized that the sounds were coming from downstairs. She was on her feet and in the sitting room before her brain had time to decipher the noise. As she got closer, Ri realized the sounds were of a man moaning in terror, and they were coming from Sherlock's open bedroom door.

Silently she made her way down the hall, keeping alert for signs of danger. Cautiously she slipped into Sherlock's bedroom. The dim light from the hallway fell across his bed. Ri allowed herself to relax when she ascertained there was no one in the room but Sherlock, in the midst of what seemed like a hellish nightmare. He was thrashing about, tangled in the sheets, crying out.

Sherlock was running through the streets of London. From every window, Jim Moriarty's face laughed at him. He could hear someone behind him, chasing him. As he turned a corner, Moriarty became Charles Magnussen, standing in the middle of the street. Magnussen held a gun to John's head and pulled the trigger. Then John was replaced by Molly Hooper and Magnussen pulled the trigger again. Over and over Magnussen pulled the trigger on all of the people he cared about. Mycroft stood on the sidewalk, glaring disapprovingly at the scene.

"Caring is not an advantage," Mycroft scoffed.

"Noooo," Sherlock moaned.

If there was one thing that Ri understood, it was nightmares. Not all of her work happened on a computer. In the darkness there were times her mind betrayed her, recalling ghosts of people she couldn't save. Or people who's lives she had to take.

"Sherlock," Ri ventured softly.

She moved closer to the bed, leaning down to put her hand on the writhing man's shoulder.

"Sherlock?"

He didn't wake, but seemed her voice seemed to calm him a bit..

She sat down on the side of the bed. He looks so afraid, she though, as she reached across to push a stray curl off his sweaty forehead. Now, instead of his entire body undulating, only his head moved from side to side, he was still moaning incomprehensibly.

Ri continued to stroke his forehead, trying to soothe him out of the nightmare, but it wasn't working. Sherlock started to thrash wildly on the bed again. Instinctively, she lay on the bed beside him and wrapped her arms around him, holding him still. His breathing was still ragged and he still mumbled incoherently, but he finally grew still, turning toward her in his sleep and settling against her.

She held him until his breathing was calm and regular. Once she was satisfied the nightmare had passed, Ri tried to untangle herself from Sherlock so she could return to her own bed. When she attempted to move her arms from around his body, he pulled her in closer, refusing to let go.

"Stay," he murmured sleepily. "Please?"

Sherlock slid his arm under the pillow Ri had her head on and placed his other arm around her slim waist. Ri turned over so that her back was against him, perfectly mirroring his body. She could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck as he pressed up against her, pulling her tight. As if she was the lifeline that had been thrown to a drowning man.

The last conscious thought Ri had before falling asleep in his arms was the realization that Sherlock slept in the nude.

**Author's note - Please leave me some reviews! This is my first fic, and I want to know what all you lovelies think!