Old Habits

(Holmes)

I should have said something to prevent her from going in the first place. The moment that Allerdice woman mentioned going off on their own I had a twisting feeling in the depths of my stomach. Not that it would have mattered. Samantha would have gone whatever my opinion was on the matter. At least she had made it back to me with only minor injuries. Injuries she had said were mostly of her own blame, of that I was not convinced.

I had made it half way up the stairwell when Samantha caught up to me; her arm casually slipping around my middle and taking on part of my weight.

"You're getting slow old man," she teased.

"Oh, how you wound me, darling," I mocked, placing a hand over my chest as I stole a glimpse of her out the corner of my eye. Even through the dirt and scrapes her eyes shone and lit up her face from within when she chuckled.

"Soon enough this leg will be right as rain and I'll feel as young as ever," I breathed once we reached the top of the stairs and I pushed open the door to our current room.

"Good, because I want you back," she stated plainly, entering the room and making her way over to the chair beside the bed to begin un-lacing her boots.

Perhaps it was meant as an innocent comment, she said it with little emotion, and then again she was very good at that. So what exactly did she mean that she wanted me back, I hadn't gone anywhere; I was practically confined to a room all day until recently. I sat on the bed beside her, resting a hand on her thigh.

"I'm right here, Samantha."

Her grey eyes turned up and found mine and she gave me a small smile, "I know," she whispered, "It's just-" she stopped, closing her eyes and licking her lips. "I'd like to get cleaned up."

Something had happened today, something that had obviously struck a chord with her; it had hurt her somehow in more ways than one. I wasn't going to press her on the issue, well, not too hard anyway, it was in my nature to be curious, after all.

"Of course," I nodded.

She stood and I brushed the dark waves of hair out of the way and undid the buttons at her back, slipping the dress down from her shoulders. There were few scrapes on her back, most of the damage had been done to her fore arms and the one deep one on her knee. Retrieving the water basin, I wet a rag and ran it over her body. Samantha's breath hitched at my touch.

"Cold," she said softly, crossing her arms in front of her. "I'd kill for a warm bath," she scoffed.

"When we get back, I'll draw you one myself," I assured her, moving on to her arms. She kept her eyes on either on the window or the floor boards as I rinsed away the day's mess, making it a point to avoid my gaze. What was she hiding? What had upset her so?

I slid one of my shirts around her shoulders.

"Thanks," she murmured, stuffing her arms through, still keeping her eyes away.

"Samantha," I said softly attempting to coax her out of her shell. Her hard silver eyes met mine for hardly a moment before she looked away again.

"Darling, look at me," I tried again.

She simply shook her head no, closing her eyes in a failed attempt to stop a tear from escaping. I sighed, wiping away her tear with the pad of my thumb and pressing a kiss to her temple. "Then sit, so I can take a look at that knee."

Samantha sat upon the bed and I beside her; she turned to her side, tucking one leg under her and letting the other run the length of the bed and over my lap. It wasn't bad; she hardly even flinched as I brushed out the dirt that lined the outside of the cut. My hand slid down and tenderly rubbed her slightly swollen ankle, an old injury, but one that still bothered her and would for most of her days.

"Are you sore?"

"A little," she bleakly replied, "but nothing that won't be gone by morning."

She looked at me then, her usually vivid eyes full of pain and sorrow. She chewed her bottom lip and took a shuddering breath, "It was the man with the whip, the same one that had you, Rowan," she said quietly.

"I suspected so, dear, but that is no reason to be so upset. Unless-" the mere thought of him getting near her was enough to drive me mad, I grasped her hands in mine. "Did he hurt you; in anyway, what did he say?"

"No." Samantha shook her head. "I saw a boy, in the market, like they had you." More tears fell from the corners from her eyes as she spoke. "He looked at me, Sherlock, he had Stephen's eyes, that boy has done nothing and now will most likely be dead within a day or two," she cried.

"Samantha, that boy was not your brother, I assure you," I stressed.

"I know that, Sherlock, it's just…just," she paused, running a hand through her dark waves, her sorrow transforming to anger as she stood from the bed, knocking over the chair in the process. "When they took you, I heard everything, every cry of pain, every yell, each pound they delivered on your body. It broke me, Sherlock! That boy and his brother do you know what they did? They stole a loaf of bread and from the looks of it they hadn't eaten in months; does that deserve death? That man feeds off pain and suffering and it needs to stop."

My chest tightened, I still found it strange after all this time how her words could make me feel, she was driven with such a passion. Not the passion that I had to solve the puzzle, but the passion to fix it because it was wrong, but we hadn't the time to take on everything. I held out my hand to her and she returned to my side.

"Samantha, the task at hand is to find Mycroft's house maids," I said, brushing a curl behind her ear. Her look locked onto mine and the anger faded from her features with a sigh.

"I know," she said sadly. Samantha moved closer, placing both her hands on the side of my face and running her fingers through my hair. "The quicker we find those girls the quicker we can find a way back home." She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on mine.

"My home or yours?" I asked teasingly, but also curious as if her answer would still be to remain with me after the problems we had come to encounter.

"Sherlock," she sighed.

Her eyes opened and I was greeted with soft blue irises staring back at me. I couldn't help but smile as she continued to look into me.

"You promised me a warm bath," she grinned

I nodded.

"And a warm bed?" she asked, her lips inching closer.

"Whatever you desire, Samantha," I murmured.

"You," she whispered, kissing me softly.

"Always," I replied against her lips, cradling her back as she played with the hair at my neck. When she pulled away she curled into my side, resting her head on my chest while my fingers idly stroked the length of her arm.

(Samantha)

It had been two long days; my body needed to sleep, my mind was driving me insane (as if that were any more possible), yet every time I closed my eyes I would either see that poor boy with my brothers eyes staring at me. With his bleeding ankles shackled with rusty chains and his beaten body. If it wasn't the boy it was Sherlock's cries of pain and that broke me more and more. Clearly, sleep, was a battle I would be losing tonight.

I sat up and ran a hand through my mussed hair and looked back at Sherlock, lying there with an arm tucked under his head and staring at the ceiling.

"Seriously, do you ever sleep?"

"Sleep is such a petty obstacle." He blinked, once, twice and then looked at me on the third and chuckled. "We are both well aware of my sleeping habits, Samantha. They are not what one would call…normal."

"Yeah, sorry," I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose, "just a little frustrated, that's all."

"Mmm, really, I hadn't noticed," he deadpanned.

"Oh, shut up!" I laughed and gave his leg a light thwack. "I need some air. How's your leg?"

"Well enough."

"Walk with me, don't want to take my chances getting snatched up by a dragon." I pulled on my khakis and tossed him a shirt.

"Samantha, there, are no such thing as dragons," Sherlock groaned, scrunching up his face.

"And you are a fictional character," I said poking him in the chest, "and we traveled through time by way of a magical wall."

Sherlock only stared at me through blank eyes.

"Just saying, I wouldn't be completely surprised if by this time next week we were tied together to a post awaiting a fiery death," I grinned.

"Highly unlikely, darling." His tone was almost mocking as he sauntered over to the door and held it open for me.

"And why would that be, Mr. Holmes?"

He stepped behind me, bringing his face down by my neck and pressed an open mouthed kiss on my exposed skin before whispering into my ear.

"Wrong century."

There was a light breeze keeping the night air cool and the moon was well lit; a much better place to be with my thoughts than in that stuffy room.

My chances of going back to the market without Addison were pretty much shot; Rowan would be watching, waiting, for me to return and would waste no time in snatching me up. That man reeked of nothing but bad news. Then there was that building that we came across; the one that Mary didn't seem too keen on talking about and I had yet to tell Sherlock. I'd tell him tonight, after we walk awhile and find a place to- "Oof!" My foot sunk in a shallow hole and I stumbled forward, Sherlock grabbed my upper arm and quickly pulled me back by the waist.

"Well," I shrugged and looked around, "I suppose this'll do."

"I quite agree."

We had wandered out to a grassy area past the barns, overlooking a small creek. I slumped down into the grass and stared up at the night sky, letting my eyes slip close to the sound of the water trickling over the rocks. Sherlock sat down beside me and I shifted so that my head sat in his lap, his fingers weaving into my hair.

"I'm ready for sleep now," I teased."

"Far too dangerous."

A nearby cow mooed softly.

"Sherlock, did you hear that," I whispered.

"Mmm, must be some sort of dragon of bovine descent."

I opened my eyes to see him smiling down at me, eyes crinkled in the corners. I loved that smile, my smile. I laughed, reaching back and taking one of his hands in mine, lacing our fingers together before resting it on my chest.

He was healing much better as well; barely had a limp when he walked, we could finally get a move on finding these girls and go home, back to Baker Street. It all boiled back to that damned building and what it was; deep down I knew it was key.

"That ditch we hid in, the day at the market, it was by a building."

"As are most ditches, darling," he replied.

"No, Sherlock," I sat up so I could face him. "Something was wrong; Mary was scared to be close to it."

"What was it, do you think?" His eyebrows furrowed and that long lost curiosity that had been missing in his eyes for so long had begun to flow.

"I don't know, but the scream I heard when we were leaving was enough to let on that it's not exactly a hotel."

Sherlock folded his hands together and allowed them to hover in front of his face, his fantastically curious eyes boring into mine as the corners of his lips began to slowly turn up.

"Well then, we'll just have to find out."

A/N: Wow It's been a looong time since I've written as dear old Holmes. Did you miss him? I sure as hell did. So I'm really Hoping a lot of people were busy for labor day weekend and that you didn't think the last chapter didn't suck. I was hoping for a few more reviews, but I know you're reading, and hey I gave you some fluff here, well a little, and I love you all!

type something lovely in that little box and make my Samlock happy :D

-Shelly