*****Usual disclaimer, I don't own any of the characters except Ri. Please leave me a review. I should have the next chapter up tonight or tomorrow night. More sexy time coming soon ;) ****
Sherlock reveled in the euphoria of his exhausted body. Drugs were the only thing he had ever experienced that calmed his mind and focused his senses like this. He could hear Ri's soft breathing and feel the expansion and deflation of her lungs as she lay pressed against his body. It seemed like he could feel each strand of her hair tickling his chest. The scent of her shampoo wafted pleasingly to his nose. He could still smell himself on her and it was intoxicating.
His mind was too active to sleep, but for once it wasn't because of a case. It was because of the woman lying next to him.
He lightly ran his fingers along the smooth skin at the back of her neck. She stirred.
"Careful," Ri said sleepily, raising her head to look at him. "I warned you how sensitive that area is, and I don't know that you've recovered enough for another round."
Sherlock leaned down and gently kissed her.
"Go to sleep," he chided her. "I only require a minimal amount to function efficiently, but I've seen the result when you don't get enough."
"Was your experiment successful," she asked in a mocking tone.
"I'm not sure. The best experiments require extensive testing to properly form a conclusion."
With that, she lay her head back on his shoulder and was asleep nearly instantly.
Sherlock thought back to his previous sexual encounters. The first had been mostly to see what the fuss was about. The experience had been clumsy and awkward, leaving him less than enthused about the entire process. There had only been two other women and he had been high, using them as objects to satisfy himself, then leaving them in whatever den of inequity he found them as soon as he was finished. None of his meager experiences compared to the intimacy he found with Ri. He desired her body and her mind.
Generally Sherlock found touching another human being distasteful. A quick handshake or the rare hug from one of his friends was endured, rather stiffly and churlishly, and contact was ended as soon as possible. He knew his friends found this behavior childish and petulant, but he couldn't, or wouldn't, change for them. What was it about this woman that made him break every rule he had for himself?
Even with the buzzing of his mind, the physical exhaustion took over and Sherlock drifted into an uneasy slumber.
In his dream, Sherlock stood on the roof of Bart's Hospital. Jim Moriarty laughed in his face, placed the gun to his mouth, and pulled the trigger. Suddenly, the body on the ground was John's and he was falling. Then he was standing outside Appledore, pulling the trigger on Charles Magnussen. This time, Mycroft didn't have time to call the hold fire and a hail of bullets tore through his body and John's. One by one, Sherlock saw the bodies of his friends, lifeless because of the danger he put them in. The sniper's bullet in Mrs. Hudson's head, Molly in the morgue with her throat slashed. Always Moriarty, laughing at him. Mycroft admonishing him about caring. He reached out to the people he loved, to shake them, to force them to be alive. He screamed, not only in the dream, but in the darkness of his bedroom.
Ri was was awake instantly. Sherlock's body was convulsing in terror as he fought the demons in his dreams. She put her arms around him, holding him like a child. She cooed soft words of comfort into his ear, trying too soothe him, but nothing she did pierced through the veil of sleep.
Ri was becoming more concerned by the moment. She tried to rouse him forcefully from his slumber, but the stress and exhaustion of the past few weeks had broken him.
In a slight panic, Ri did the only thing she could think of. She picked up Sherlock's mobile and dialed John's number.
"Sherlock?"
John's voice on the other end of the line was half asleep and confused. Sherlock never phoned, only texted.
"It's one a.m. and I have to work in the morning. What are you playing at?"
"It's Ri," she said shakily. "Something's wrong with Sherlock. How quickly can you get here?"
The confusion vanished from John's voice.
"What's wrong? Is he doing drugs again?"
"No, he's having some sort of nightmare and he won't wake up. I'm afraid he'll hurt himself."
"I'm on my way now. I'll be there in 30 minutes."
The line went dead.
Sherlock still thrashed about on the bed, moaning and crying out at the phantasms that haunted him. Ri resumed her earlier position, trying to keep him from moving too violently. As she held his sweat-slicked skin against hers, she remembered that she was also naked. The thought of John seeing her was of little concern, but she wasn't sure Sherlock would want his friend to know about their earlier tryst. Besides, it wasn't her place to inform him. She gently let him go and picked up one of the towels from the floor, trying to erase as much evidence as possible.
Ri's dressing gown from earlier were still in the bathroom. As long as she tied it tight, it would do to disguise the fact that she had been naked in his bed. She sat helplessly at his side, stroking his hair as he battled the fiends in his head.
Thank God John still has a key, Ri thought as she heard him bound up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
"How long has he been like this," John asked, setting down the small valise he brought with him on the nightstand.
"Maybe 5 minutes before I called you. I tried to wake him up, but it's more like he's hallucinating than dreaming."
Ri was biting her lower lip, trying to keep up the charade of flatmate when all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around Sherlock and hold him close.
John immediately transformed from concerned friend to confident medical professional while examining Sherlock.
John lifted each of Sherlock's eyelids in turn, shining a light in them to check for responsiveness.
"Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?"
There was no response. Ri left the room, unable to bear the pain of her lover any longer.
John found her in the kitchen a few minutes later.
"I've given him some Haldol. That should calm him, but I'll stay to keep an eye on him."
John took a seat at the kitchen table and passed his hand tiredly over his eyes.
"Would you like some tea," Ri offered. "I'm rubbish at making it, but isn't it the thought that counts?"
"That would be great," he answered gratefully.
Preparing the tea gave Ri an opportunity to turn away from John, to hide the worry she was sure was etched on her face. Her shoulders sagged wearily as she put the kettle on.
She poured the hot water into two mugs and added the teabags. Earl Grey for John and chamomile for her. As much time as she spent in the U.K., she had never learned to like tea.
Ri winced slightly as she sat down, not noticing that her dressing gown had gaped slightly, exposing the top of her chest. She was a little sore from the evening's earlier activities.
John noticed the wince of pain and the deep purple bruise that had formed on her breast.
"Did he hurt you, thrashing about like that?"
She looked down at the bruise, her face turning a shade that could only be described as vermillion, and pulled the dressing gown closed.
"No," she stammered, refusing to look at him. "That was from something else."
"You should go to bed," he urged. "I'll look after him."
"No, I'll look after him. You should go home. You have to work in a few hours and your wife is probably wondering where you've got off to. I can call you if I need to."
John looked relieved.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I went to university. It wouldn't be the first time I've had to look after someone who'd been incapacitated."
"Ok, but call if you need anything. Thanks for the tea."
He grabbed his coat and left.
Ri stumbled into the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes and her hair was snarled from writhing on the bed. She reached for the flannel next to the sink and ran it under the cool water, using it to wash her face.
She left the bathroom and returned to the kitchen. She found a bowl, filled it with cool water and took it to Sherlock's bedroom with the flannel.
He looked much more peaceful. His curls were damp and his body was still beaded with sweat. She took the cool cloth and gently washed his face, then his neck and chest.
His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and dazed. Sherlock's throat was raw. His eyelids felt like stone and he wasn't sure what was reality and what was dream. He tried to focus his thoughts, but the images kept jumbling together.
"Ri?"
"Shh," she whispered. "I'm here."
"What happened?"
"Nothing, go back to sleep."
She slipped out of her robe and hung it on the hook at the back of the door. Exhausted, Ri crawled into the bed next to Sherlock. He turned and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
"Don't leave," he whispered in her ear..
Ri entwined her fingers into his, brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it.
"I won't," she promised.