Author's Note: Hello there! If you're revisiting this chapter, sorry for the mess that was posted earlier. The site was being funky and the formatting came out wrong hopefully this is much better. Sorry again!

In the cab Sherlock studied Samantha and delved deep into the depths of his mind palace, searching for any kind of information on what do to do in this situation. From the looks of what was happening when he'd arrived, Sam's "date" hadn't gotten very far. Hospital visit may not be needed. He studied her hands, they were scraped up on the tops. He'd pushed her against a wall so she couldn't get her hands free.
He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard a sound. It had come from her. It was the same sighing noise he'd heard the night she'd fallen asleep on the sofa. He still couldn't escape the feeling that her silence wasn't permanent.

The lights of London passed over her face changing the color of her pale skin over and over and over. Heat rose to his face as his anger grew. When she'd first arrived she'd seemed like the kindest person he'd ever met. Whenever he'd try to spit out some kind of insult like he would to John, one look at her would make the biting words melt away. Seeing that man hurt her had done something to him. Something unfamiliar and almost wrong. When his fist had made contact with his skin he felt a sort of power, but not like the power he felt at a crime scene or when deducing. The power he'd felt was laced with danger. This guy had made him angry, he had made him feel hate. Confound it, he was one the greatest thinkers in all of London and this person, this incredibly ordinary person had managed to hurt this innocent girl and almost get away with it! How could he have not seen the warnings? Having never seen him before tonight I couldn't have made a deduction, he reasoned, You didn't try hard enough! You knew she was going out! He argued. Waving away the dueling Sherlocks he refocused on the person in front of him. She was asleep, wrapped up in his coat, head resting on the back of the seat. She was facing him.

He felt tired all of the sudden and began resting his head on the back of the seat as well. Not taking his eyes off Samantha as if when he looked away she would be taken again. Sam looked broken, the curl in her hair had diminished into limp pieces resting on her cheeks and shoulders. The little makeup she'd had on was smudged around her eyes and there were tear stains on her cheeks. Sherlock remembered how hopeful and nervous she'd looked earlier that night. He mentally kicked himself again for not realizing what was going on.

The cab came to a halt, he turned to see that they had arrived at Baker Street. When he turned back he saw that Sam had sleepily opened her eyes and knew where they were.

Sherlock exited the cab and walked around the help her out of the other side. He let Sam in first and she began climbing the stairs to the flat. Sherlock paused momentarily at the bottom of the stairs to check if Mrs. Hudson was asleep. He didn't need any unnecessary puttering around. When he was certain he went up to the flat himself.

Sam was sitting on the sofa staring out the window at nothing particular. Sherlock lingered in the doorway. A floorboard creaked and she turned. For once she hadn't jumped when he'd made an unexpected entrance. She stood still clutching his coat around her. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Uhm...you should go get yourself cleaned up."

She nodded slowly and stood, passing him to pad off to her room. Sherlock crossed to his chair and sat down with a sigh that seemed to let out all the tension he'd ever felt in his body.

Samantha sat down on her bed still clutching Sherlock's coat tight around her. She knew she had to give it back but right now she didn't want to move. She didn't want to think and she didn't want to face the world. In large situations like this, where one was left somewhat numb she'd found that staying still made everything seem less catastrophic. One move and that wall of protection she had created for herself would crumble. Sam kept staring into space. Into nothing. Sherlock was just down the hall and she knew she had to acknowledge that and just the thought of standing up made everything seem too big.

After a few moments of wrestling with herself she managed to snap herself out her fuzzy state. She slowly removed Sherlock's coat from her shoulders, shivering a bit as the warmth left her body. She went to her mirror and forced herself to look up. Her face had lost most of its color. Everything she'd worked so hard to make perfect looked completely disheveled. The red dress which she had secretly thought looked stunning before now had dark spatters of early winter slush and streaks of dirt. Her hands had dried blood on the knuckles where they had scraped against the brick wall.

She quickly grabbed the makeup remover she rarely ever used and scrubbed at her face hard. Wiping away the grey, mascara filled tear stains, and the smudges around her eyes. She changed out of the dress and into her pajamas. Immediately feeling a little more normal once the dress was in the hamper. She brushed out her hair and the deflated curls settled into soft waves.

Running her hands over her, now clean, face she sat cross legged on the bed. Stretching her arms above her head. When she set them back down again her hands found Sherlock's coat.

She padded out into the sitting room holding the coat aloft so it wouldn't drag on the floor. She saw him sitting in his chair, resting his cheek on his hand. Sam couldn't tell if he was asleep or not. She slowly entered the room, he turned and saw her and stood. She held his gaze and limply held out the coat. He walked to her and took the other end of it. He looked down at her hands.

"We should probably get those looked at," he said reaching for her other hand and turning it over, "at least get them bandaged."

Sam nodded and dropped her hand to her side. Sherlock let her. Her leaned over set the coat down on the sofa, his feet not leaving their location. When he stood upright again and looked back to Sam he found a pensive expression on her face. Neither of them said anything. She was clearly thinking, debating something. The pensive expression left and was replaced my a tentative one as she slowly walked towards Sherlock and looked him in the eye. He held her gaze trying to read her thoughts through her eyes. She leaned over and gave him the lightest of kisses on the cheek, gave him a long exhausted look and turned to leave. Sherlock caught her hand before she could get far.

She turned and Sherlock saw a look of terror flash in her eyes. He loosened his grip on her. Her face was clear now. She looked so clean. The mess and the ugliness of the earlier part of the night had been wiped away. She looked like she did before she left. Like herself. Sherlock stroked the top of her hand absently with his thumb and adjusted his position so his body was facing her. Cautiously he closed the gap between them. The look of terror was gone now. She was waiting. Watching, to see what he would do next. Slowly, carefully, he bent down and kissed her gently, she began to kiss him back. When they pulled away they looked at each other for a what seemed like ages. Not staring into each other's eyes like lovers but studying one another, like the skeptics they were. Sherlock because of his natural instinct to analyze everything around him, and Sam because she'd never been able to trust anyone. Experimenting they both pulled in for another kiss. This time Sam's hand migrated to the side of Sherlock's face as he pulled her closer around her waist. When they pulled away for a second time Sam offically closed the gap between them wrapping her arms around Sherlock's waist and resting her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair and felt her body grow heavy with fatigue. They managed to make it to the sofa. Sam was half dozing leaning on him when they sat down. Sherlock waited until she was truly asleep to carefully manuever himself so he was lying down with her head on his chest. Then for the first time in weeks, he fell asleep with ease.

Sherlock awoke to sunlight streaming in through the window. Squinting he tried to see where he was. After concluding he was in the main part of the flat, he turned his attention to the girl resting on top of him. As last night's events began coming back into his mind he felt her stir. He paused and tried to remain perfectly still. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to face her just yet. Not before some proper analysis. After all when had he ever been in this position before? What was the protocol? What if Sam wanted something similar to the millions of dead end relationships he'd seen John involve himself with? Sam stirred again and his mind raced frantically. The worst thing to do in this sort of situation is panic. If she saw him flustered she'd assume she'd done something wrong because she hadn't, really. When he'd kissed her he had done it because he thought that was what he was supposed to do, but once he'd done it it felt right for different reason. It felt unfamiliar.

Sam stirred for the third time and Sherlock looked down at her, he expression was distressed. She stirred again and this time Sherlock sat up a little when he heard a whimper. Another sound. Nightmares.

Sam turned her head to face the back of the sofa, and in doing so, woke herself up. Sherlock made sure to remain very still while she got her bearings.
First she opened her eyes, when she noticed she was staring at the back of the sofa she lifted her head to look down at what she had been lying on. When she saw who it was she let out a gasp and tried to scramble backwards but Sherlock was too quick.

"It's okay, you're okay!"

She looked up at him, eyes wide.

"Nothing bad happened to you last night I promise."

Here at least... he added silently.

He watched the memories of the night before come crawling back. She nodded slowly and her body relaxed.

Just then Sherlock heard humming. He checked the clock, he was up earlier than usual, Mrs. Hudson was probably bringing in his tea. Sam heard it too and gave him a frantic look. He held up his hand to tell her not to move.

Mrs. Hudson entered the room, still humming until she saw them.

"Oh! Sherlock, I assumed you'd be asleep you're never up this early, and Samantha you're usually still out too. How did last night go?"

Sam had reluctantly written out a confession after Mrs. Hudson had spotted the red dress one day.

Sherlock interjected quickly, "Uneventful, the man she was with turned out to be your run of the mill man's man, with stories about football matches and drinks with his mates. She decided he wasn't her type."

Mrs. Hudson stood there a minute trying to grasp Sherlock's quick fire speech.

"Well...too bad then. Enjoy your tea."

Sam waited until she was all the way down the stairs to mouth, "Thank you."