A/N: Sorry for such the long wait, other fandom kept creeping into my brain. Anyway thanks so much for all the fabulous reviews and adds, they really do make my day! This is a little short, but after waiting for so long I figured nobody would mind :D Anyhow I hope you enjoy, as always let me know

-Shelly

Rubbing Salt in the Wounds

Sherlock slept most of the way back. From the looks of things he had taken quite a beating. A wave of guilt washed over me, knowing that I was to blame for his condition. It wasn't an easy task; cleaning the grime away from his body with only a bowl of water and what was now a dirt ridden rag. The gash on his leg had small bits of what looked like rock and possibly some remnants of sticks from the woods. The wound was a good size and under normal circumstances would have definitely needed stitches. But that wasn't likely to happen here. Besides it was far too late for that. I would wait until we reached the farm to clean it out thoroughly; if Addison so much as hit a bump in the road, Sherlock would be hit with a sudden jolt of pain. Hopefully a doctor of some sort would be able to come out and do a much better patch up job than I. Then again, we were smack dab in the middle of nowhere, lost in the fifteenth century. Maybe my little bit of first aid knowledge was enough to spare him from some ridiculous diagnosis. I wouldn't want some doctor that looked like he just walked off a museum set up telling Sherlock he needed some ridiculous procedure done; as in a botched amputation. Now I know I shouldn't think things like that. Who am I to judge? The only thing I had to go on were fairy tales and vague memories of television comedy sketches.

Groggy still, Sherlock managed to make it up the stairs with Addison there to support most of his weight on the left side. He was now lying in the bed that I had attempted to sleep in the last few days, taking deep ragged breaths and continuing to slip in and out of consciousness.

"I shall call upon Mary to bring thee a basin of water," Addison said softly, resting a hand on my shoulder; clearly noticing the deep lines of worry etched into my forehead.

My eyes wandered back down to the wound on his leg. Remarkably, other than being dirty, it seemed to have escaped infection.

"How about a doctor, Addison? How long would it take for you to get me a doctor? I'd feel better if he had some sort of look over by a professional," I said.

"If you wish it, I shall take thee on the morrow."

"No." I shook my head and ran a hand through my hair, rubbing my scalp. "I don't want to keep moving him. I think it's best to try to keep him comfortable."

Addison nodded. "Perchance I can request a visit from the town physician. Yet he is a man with little time on his hands."

"How long?" I asked.

"Two days time, mayhap three."

See that Samantha. Seems you know a bit more about your surroundings than you thought. My mind spoke up in what seemed to be some sort of rare compliment. Looks like you'll be playing nurse to your beloved detective…good luck with that. I scoffed, shaking the thought from my head. I should have known better for my twisted thoughts to actually tell me I had done something right for once.

"I suppose that's better than nothing," I said to Addison. "Until then I'm going to need something clean that nasty cut out better."

"I shall have Mary bring thee some vinegar with the water, as well as some new clothing."

"Thank you Addison," I whispered, looking sadly down at Sherlock; whose breathing was finally starting to

normalize. Addison nodded in my direction and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

"Good god Sherlock, what on earth have they done to you?" I said as I ran the cloth down the scrapes on

his arm. I had managed to get most of his exposed wounds cleaned up; saving the worst for last. It would be

easier to deal with that one while he was awake, or at least I hoped it would be.

"I believe, madam, the proper term would be bludgeoning," came a raspy reply. I looked up to see him

peering at me through half lidded eyes, a weak smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I'd ask you how you were feeling, but that would be pointless now wouldn't it."

"Indeed my dear, it would," Sherlock said, groaning as he pulled himself up onto his elbows so he could sit upright.

"I need to clean out that gash," I said with a grimace. "I wanted to wait until you were awake. God knows it's going to be uncomfortable enough, I didn't want it to come as a shock and have you injuring yourself further."

Sherlock nodded and took a deep breath; preparing for what was about to come. Propping his leg up above the bowl I poured the vinegar over the width of the cut. Sherlock hissed and tensed the muscle in his leg but other than that did not move. I froze and looked back to him; his lips pressed into a tight thin line and his eyes wide and full of pain.

"I have to get the debris out now. If I don't there is a good chance it will become infected."

He nodded again but said nothing.

Carefully I took the corner of a clean cloth and as gently as possible ran it along the inside of the gash. His leg would tense each time I paused to work out a small piece of rock or stick, but aside form the occasional his hiss he kept himself quiet. I rinsed it with the vinegar once more before wrapping it up with a fresh bandage.

"It needed stitches," I said quietly when I was finished, wiping my own hands clean. "It's far too late for that now, it'll scar." I sighed and replaced the bowl under his leg with a few pillows, shaking my head at the yellow and purple bruising on the top of his leg. "As far as I can tell you've bruised the bone. Keep off of it for a few days all right?"

"Am I to call you Nanny now as well dear?" Sherlock quipped. He was fully alert now; who wouldn't be after the hell I just put him through. His look softened as he read my features. It was pointless trying to hide anything from him now, there was no need be throwing him into a frustrated mood on top of everything else.

"It is not as bad as it seems, Samantha," he said, placing his hand over mine.

"You shouldn't have done it Sherlock."

"Done what, princely darling?"

"Don't toy with me Holmes," I coolly replied.

"What was I to do then? Let them drag you off with me as well? That wouldn't have done much good, would it?" he snapped. So much for keeping him out of a pissy mood.

"Yes as a matter of fact you should have!" I shot back, my voice just as stern. "At least then we would have some idea of where they were keeping the girls."

"And if they're dead? Than what Samantha? They could have killed you on the spot, without a second thought."

"But you don't know that," I argued, my knuckles white from gripping the side of the bed.

"Well I sure as hell wasn't about to find out!" he yelled. "We knew nothing of where we were or who those people were, nothing at all. I was not going to risk loosing you!"

"So you risked yourself? Send me off with some stranger?"

"Obviously you were in good hands," he said through gritted teeth.

"You didn't know that at the time. He could have been just as eager to get a hold of me as the others."

"Come now Samantha, you know perfectly well I was able to deduce what type of man he was before I hoisted you on back of that horse."

"Oh yes, how could I forget that I was in the presence of the great Sherlock Holmes. Tell me detective, what am I thinking right now?" I narrowed my eyes and tapped the side of my head. Sherlock sat there glaring at me through stormy dark eyes, saying nothing.

"Of course, now you go all quiet." I scoffed, rolling my eyes. Picking up the used rags and placing them in the now pink and brown stained water I turned to leave. I was stopped by his hand firmly grasping my wrist and tugging slightly.

"Samantha," he said with a much calmer tone.

I didn't budge. I stood still with my arm being held behind me as my eyes stayed glued to the door.

"Samantha, I really do not want to do this. As becoming as anger is on you I hate to be the cause." Sherlock gave my arm a few more pulls. "I want you to listen to me Samantha, please."

Sighing I placed the bowl back on the table and turned to face him.

"Thank you," he said softly. "Now, what you are thinking darling is irreverent-"

"Sherlock, what-"

"Please allow me to finish," he said, interrupting my interruption. "What you're thinking is irreverent because I know what you are feeling. I know the worry and despair that went through your mind as you rode away because I felt it as well. I knew your stubbornness would only lead you to be angry with me for my actions; but understand this Samantha," he sighed and enclosed my hand with both of his. "I cannot loose you. As long as I knew you are out there waiting for me I will stop at nothing to get back to you."

"And what if death comes knocking at your door?" I asked with a whisper, brushing his unruly hair from his eyes.

"Nothing." Sherlock squeezed my hand and the corners of his lips slowly turned upward. "Besides, my dear, I'm rather difficult to kill."

I couldn't help but laugh at his smugness as he lied there beaten and bruised. I leaned in and lightly brushed my lips against his rugged cheek.

"I think you can manage to finish cleaning yourself off. Change and rest, I'll be back soon enough."

"Mmmm I certainly could do with some new clothes couldn't I?" he smirked, tugging on the gaping rip in his pants. "And I suppose a bit more sleep couldn't hurt; I've often been told I don't get nearly enough."

I just smiled and shook my head, once more turning to leave. I stopped and looked back before closing the door.

"And Sherlock?" I said with a playful tone.

"Hmmm?" He looked up at me, already shuffling out of his shirt.

"I found M.A."

"From the handkerchief?" he asked. His eyes were now bright and filled with both curiosity and excitement. "Who is it? And how did manage-"

"Shh." I placed a finger to my lips and grinned. "Later. Stay off the leg and rest."

"How can I possibly force myself to sleep after such a fascinating discovery!"

"You'll manage, I'm sure." I said, smiling widely as I let the door shut behind me.