Raging Fire

She came to him that night. Purple and blue bruises still covered her arms, peeking out from beneath the cast and she still hobbled with the pain of her ex-dislocated still healing ankle. There was a gentle knock on the door. No answer. She knocked again, this time slightly harder. Still no answer.

"Sherlock?" she whispered, pushing the door open slightly. The room was pitch-black except a tiny light flickering in the darkness. Karen pushed the door open and took a step over the threshold. She could see the defined features of Sherlock's face being lit up as he flicked the switch on the lighter before closing the lid and extinguishing the flame, plunging himself back into darkness. The room flickered 3 more times.

Sighing, Karen used her good hand to turn the light on. Sherlock blinked, the sudden light blinding him. He turned, his face falling even further in shame as he saw who it was.

"Go away Karen" he muttered, looking back at the lighter. Karen took two small steps into the room.

"I wanted to see if you were ok" she whispered. Sherlock audibly growled.

"You've seen me, I'm ok, now will you please just go away!" he snapped, his face angry and contorted. His eyes were dark in anger. He stood and glared at her.

Karen took a sharp step back and whimpered as all her weight went onto her healing ankle. Her eyes filled with tears both with the emotional and physical pain. Sherlock face softened.

"Come and sit down" he whispered. Karen hobbled across the room, placing herself lightly on the bed. She winced and straightened out her leg. Sherlock peered at her with dark eyes, before going back to his lighter.

"How your wrist, Sherlock?" she asked without looking at him. Sherlock looked down at the strapped wrist, hanging limply and useless. His eyes narrowed. Weak... he was weak. Injured... Useless. Like his hand.

"Shit!" he yelped as the fire singed his fingers. He stuck them under his arm, dropping the lighter onto the bed. Karen quickly grabbed it, snapping it shut. She reached for Sherlock's hand. He pulled away from her sharply, falling backwards. She reached for him again, her eyes warm and inviting.

"Please... Sherlock" she whispered. Sherlock's eyes surveyed her as he gently placed his hand in hers. She ran her fingers over the burnt fingers, eyes trying to ignore the other burns from earlier on in the day. She pressed against a shiny, red burn in the centre of his hand. Sherlock winced.

"I'm sorry" she said, relieving the pressure slightly. She knew where he had gotten it... when he had raised his hands to shield her from the blast. She looked up from his hands to his face. There were small cuts and bruises littering his otherwise perfect face.

"Sherlock... you do know" she paused collecting her thoughts.

"What Moriarty's men did to me..." she said her voice no more than a whisper. Sherlock screwed his eyes shut not wanting to hear what she said next. They had only taken an hour to get to the school, but it had been enough. And he had seen it... he had seen it in her eyes, that dejected, defeated look that she had hidden so well when John and he had entered the building, that bravado that Sherlock himself often hid behind. They had found out exactly what had happened in hospital, whilst Karen was still unconscious. The doctors had found the brutal marks of violent beatings, torture... Strung up and beaten, leaving hundreds of fist shaped bruises over her body and neck. Welts. Burns, from where they'd stuck a red hot poker on her ribs.

Torture. The word in his mind, made his feel physically sick. Which is what had happened when they had found out, Sherlock fleeing the room and promptly being sick in a nearby flower vase, John going pale and beginning to cry at the though and Lestrade sinking into the beside chair, head in hands, heaving. The doctor at the hospital had tried to explain how it could have been a lot worse but had left the room quickly when he had 3 sets of furious eyes turn on him.

He looked to his side to see Karen looking at him. There it was again... that look, the pain. This time pure and open to the world. Here it came... Karen blaming Sherlock. Screaming at him. Telling him how she never wanted to see him again. Moving out of Baker Street. Losing her.

"It wasn't your fault" she said gently, squeezing his hand. Sherlock looked at her. That couldn't be true. Lestrade and John had both screamed at him, saying that he should have got there sooner. John had apologized since but Sherlock could still see the blame in his eyes. Lestrade hadn't spoken to him since. And here Karen was... the victim comforting him... The reason why it happened.

Sherlock shook his head violently, fighting back tears.

"It was!" he gasped. "I should have got there sooner... I should have figure- it out"

Karen looked at him, fighting back tears herself. He looked at his hands entwined in hers unable to meet Karen's eyes.

"Sherlock look at me" she whispered. He shook his head. She repeated herself, her voice slightly sharper.

He forced himself to look into her eyes.

"Sherlock... you got there in one hour... 1 hour... 60 minutes. You know how long it would take the average person to work that out? Probably only when the building had gone up in flames... and besides it would of mattered. People like them... they would do something like that even if they'd only had me alone for 5 minutes... it could have been a lot worse" she whispered, echoing the doctors words. Sherlock knew what she meant. He gagged and looked away ashamed. Karen looked deep into his eyes. A single tear appeared on his cheek.

Karen gently wiped the tear away. Her hands cupped his pale and tear stained face. She pressed her forehead on his. Leaning up she placed her lips against his forehead, eyes closed, trying desperately not to cry.

Sherlock quivered beneath her lips at the contact. She moved backwards, her eyes opening to meet his.

Sherlock reached out as one would try and touch ghost, running just the tips of his fingers down her cheekbone. He cupped her cheek and found himself short of breath as she nestled into it.

"Karen..." he whispered. She looked at him her eyes wide. Without thinking she leant forward and placed another light kiss on his neck, just in the hollow above the collar bone.

Sherlock breathed heavily through his nose, his eyes becoming darker with desire. He nestled into her neck, peppering kisses down it, paying particular attention to the smooth skin beneath her jaw. She moaned breathlessly, her eye closed and her head tilted back.

Sherlock felt a squirm in his stomach as he looked at the woman before him. Her cheeks were tinged pink, her chest was rising and falling raggedly in anticipation and her eyes were almost black with desire. Sherlock leant up on his elbows and leant forward.

There first kiss was warm, tender and comforting. Sherlock led it, moving her arms around her back, pressing her close, feeling her body against his. They broke apart. Karen looked at him, lips pink. This time she made the move. The second kiss was more urgent, quicker but still with the tenderness of before.

"Sherlock" she purred against his lips, leaning up to take his dark curls into her hands. She pulled him closer, her voice urgent and passionate. Sherlock kissed the point below her lips. It was now her turn to quiver under the others touch. She flushed furiously, flooding her cheeks with colour. Sherlock lips were beautifully soft and warm on her face.

Sherlock's path continued down, lips, jaw, neck, collar bone, he breathed into the hollow that she had kissed only minutes before. She moaned again, the noise going straight to his stomach. Sherlock pressed forward, pinning her beneath him.

Soft fingers were running up his arms, caressing the muscles, trying to push his suit jacket from his shoulders. It fell to the ground; fingers almost immediately began work on her shirt. Hands came up to meet his.

"Sherlock" she mumbled once more against his lips. He pulled away from her, his face and body hovering over hers. He nuzzled his lips against her neck, but found him being pulled away again.

"Are you sure about this?" she whispered, her voice raggedy. Sherlock didn't even bother to think again, his only words a whispered yes as his lips dropped to meet hers once again.

Sherlock stared, his eyes roaming over the woman sound asleep beside him. Eyes closed, lips swollen and pink from the friction of the night before, chest rising and falling steadily, her breath just touching his face as she breathed out. Sherlock hadn't slept a wink that night, content merely to watch her sleeping in his arms.

Gently as not to disturb her, he eased his arm from underneath her. She moaned in her sleep at the sudden loss of warmth, rolling over before settling her head against the pillow. Sherlock smiled down at her beautiful, warm and his. He pressed his lips against her forehead, causing her to squirm and smile.

"Go away-"she murmured sleepily nestling into the pillow. Sherlock chuckled, before faltering. What was expected of him in this situation? He could safely say that he hadn't been in this situation before. Tea seemed like the appropriate offering.

He slid his body from the bed, shrugging on his suit, discarded the night before and the worn old slippers, which he'd had for as long as he could remember. He made for the doors, only stopping to look back once at the woman lying in his bed. If he'd have known how the tables would have turned in 5 short minutes, he would have watched longer.