A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but I haven't slept in 2 days and I wanted to make sure you got an update. Thanks to , gwilwillith and everyone else for the lovely reviews. We're nearing the end of our story, but that doesn't mean the roller coaster is over yet!

Once again, I don't own anything but Ri and the story!

Ri was very confused when she opened her eyes. She didn't know where she was and her whole body hurt. She tried to look around the room to discern her location, but even that small movement made her groan in pain. Suddenly she remembered what happened to her and panic raced through her. She tried desperately to sit up, to escape.

A hand lightly caressed her own. She followed the arm attached to the long fingers stroking the back of her hand, up to Sherlock's face. She could see the bags and dark circles under his eyes and the thick layer of stubble around his chin. His normally perfect ebony curls were out of control, as though he had been running his hand through them for days. He looked as though he had aged 10 years.

"Sherlock," she croaked, her throat raw and dry. "Where am I?"

"Shh, love. You're safe. You're in hospital."

"Moriarty?"

"Dead," he answered flatly. "And this time, he won't be coming back."

She relaxed at his words, her brain becoming fuzzy and eyelids suddenly heavy from the pain medication.

"Thank you," she murmured before slipping back into the blissfully dreamless sleep.

He watched her sleep, grateful for relief provided by the combination of medication and his words. She looked so small and delicate and helpless in the hospital bed. Sherlock almost wished John hadn't killed Moriarty, so he could make the man suffer - like Ri had suffered. He wished that the death had been slow and painful, and at his hands. He let out a frustrated sigh.

How had this happened? Sentiment was for fools, attachments were dangerous. Hadn't that been Moriarty's point? First the threat against John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade that made him fake his own death. Now, somehow this woman had found his way into his life. He hadn't lost her to Moriarty, but it was time to be honest. He was losing her anyway. Case closed and, as soon as she was well enough, she would be on the first flight back to the States. Back to her life. He lay his head down on the bed next to her hand, which he was still grasping for dear life.

The next time she woke, Ri saw Sherlock, asleep with his head resting near her hand. She disentangled her hand from his and ran it through his hair. He stirred, looking up at her drowsily.

"Go home," she said, a faint smile on her bruised lips. "Eat something, take a shower and get some sleep. Considering the amount of guards Mycroft has certainly stationed around the hospital, I'll be safe."

"No," he answered. "I'm not leaving."

"Then at least have someone bring you a change of clothes and find a shower!"

"Fine."

Sherlock pulled out his mobile and texted John, asking that he go by Baker Street and bring him a change of clothes and his shower things.
He felt surprisingly better after the shower and shave, and he definitely smelled better. He returned to Ri's room and saw that she had managed to convince the doctors to remove her IV.

"Better," he asked.

"Much," she replied. "You still need to eat something and sleep for something close to a week though."

He noticed her wince slightly as she moved over on the hospital bed. She looked at him expectantly, but he was at a loss to understand what she was waiting for.

"Come here," she ordered.

"I can't," he replied, finally grasping her meaning. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Please," she said, looking away. "I feel...I feel safer if you're with me."

Sherlock nodded and gently lay down beside her. They slept peacefully, his long fingers tangled in hers.

Ri was released from hospital two days later, with strict admonishments to stay in bed for at least the next week and to take it very easy for six weeks after that. The hospital tried to give her a list of home-nurses that could care for her while she was recovering, but Sherlock flatly refused to let anyone besides himself and John near her.

"I am quite competent to handle your recovery," he insisted. "Besides, we have our own personal physician on call."