*Hello lovelies! A few things before you read. First off, this is the second to last chapter. The next chapter I will finish Stealing His Heart and move on to the sequel. Secondly, my cat broke my laptop. So I'm having to write everything at the office. It may take me a few days to post the next chapter, so please be patient. Finally, I am putting in a bit of a warning as there are discussions of PTSD, rape, and a violent scene as well. So if you're sensitive to any of those topics, I'm warning you now. I hope everyone enjoys this and I'll do my best to get the last chapter out before Friday. As always, reviews are welcome and thank you all so much!

Chapter 17: His Case, Her Nightmares

I walked beside Sherlock up the stairs, my arm looped through his to help steady him. John and Mrs. Hudson followed behind us, in case Sherlock should stumble and fall and I'd need help catching him. He'd finally been released from the hospital a month and a half later. It would have been sooner if he hadn't been so stubborn with trying to solve the case.

I had been glad when John and I had gotten the call to go and pick him up. I'd missed having him around the flat. That and I was getting tired of walking to St. Bart's and back every night after work and classes. I stifled a yawn as we made it to the doorway.

Sherlock took three steps inside before freezing, looking around. "You've cleaned up."

"Yes. Used what free time I had to do it. Between visiting you, teaching classes at the school, and helping out at the clinic, I managed to find the time. Took almost all of the time you were in the hospital to clean and organize everything. Mrs. Hudson helped when she could of course and I'm grateful for it." I watched as he stepped to the middle of the living room, inspecting everything.

"You cleaned it."

"Yes, I did."

"Why? Why did you clean? Now I don't know where anything is!"

I sighed, knowing where this conversation was heading. "You'll learn it quickly. I organized it by case, importance, and I color-coded everything. Honestly Sherlock, you should be glad I did. I mean, I found a dead rat underneath all of the papers under your desk!"

"Oh my! Sherlock, why would you do that?" Mrs. Hudson asked in horror, covering her mouth with her hand.

"It was a study in decomposition. Tell me, Lila, before you unceremoniously threw him in the trash, did you at least observe what he looked like?"

"No. We didn't," John answered for me, going to sit in his chair. "How long had it been under there?"

"Long enough. I didn't kill it if that's what you're all worried about. I bought it frozen at the pet store. Kept it in the cage because it seemed like the easiest thing to clean."

I shook my head, going to the kitchen to make some tea for all of us. I put the kettle on, listening to the conversation in the living room.

"Did she get new drapes? Please tell me that she didn't get new drapes." I chuckled. "Did she...did she steam my rug?"

"Yes," I called, trying to stifle my laughter. "And yes, I did replace the drapes. I also polished the leather on the sofa, dusted the furniture, organized your books, and got us a new bedding set."

I heard Sherlock get up from his chair, storming down the hallway. I could hear the despair in his voice when he said, "You changed it!"

"Yes. Needed new sheets and a comforter. The old sheets had holes in them and that comforter had a musty smell I couldn't get out, as well as a couple of stains."

"And you didn't think to ask me if I was alright with it?" Sherlock shouted even as I poured the tea. "What else did you change?"

"I think that's about it. Oh. I replaced your toothbrush, got rid of some of the expired food in the cabinets, and I had the leak under the kitchen sink repaired." I carried the tray into the living room, serving John and Mrs. Hudson before sitting on the couch, taking a sip. "Come on now, drink your tea before it gets cold."

"You...you've changed things." Sherlock spat out, going to curl up in his chair. "Why? Why did you change things?"

"Sherlock, this place was filthy. My asthma and I couldn't deal with it anymore. Plus, scientifically, a clean and clear space allows for more productivity and allows your thoughts to flow freely."

Sherlock kept silent, only glaring at the wall. Mrs. Hudson looked around the flat, a smile on her face. "I think it's lovely in here dear."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson. And thank you again for your help, I doubt I would have accomplished as much without you and John, especially with my hand being the way it was."

"You've worked very hard," John quipped. "You should relax for a bit and-"

"What is that smell?"

"What smell?" I asked, taking a deep sniff. "I don't smell anything."

"It's an overly chemical fake citrus smell. It smells-"

"Refreshing," I interrupted Sherlock, raising an eyebrow.

"I was going to say headache inducing."

I frowned at him. "Well, if I'd known you'd be this impossible about it, I wouldn't have wasted my time. Sorry."

There was silence in the room and Mrs. Hudson got to her feet. "Well, my show is about to come back on. I'm so glad you're home Sherlock. Thank you for the tea Delilah."

"You're welcome Mrs. Hudson. I'll probably be down a bit later, look at some wedding gowns in the catalogue." I gave her a smile. "I could always use another woman's opinion before I choose my dress for the big day."

"Of course! Now, you three behave. Especially you, Sherlock, you don't need to overdo it."

She left the room and I looked between John and Sherlock. "What would you all like to do? I mean, there's still a case we need to work on."

"Yes, there is."

"Sherlock, you've only just gotten home. Can't we all take a break and rest?" John protested. "I mean, Delilah has been running herself ragged, I've been...well, dealing with other things, and you're still healing. Take a day off."

"Unfortunately, John, our case doesn't allow for a day off and I've taken quite a few of those already," Sherlock replied, folding his hands in front of him. "If you two would like to take a break you can, but I'm going to be working."

With that he opened his laptop, no doubt studying the layout of Appledore, trying to formulate a plan to break in. I finished my tea before looking at John. He shrugged, going to stand behind Sherlock to look over the floor plans. I situated myself on the couch, closing my eyes and going to my mind palace.

Well, it was more of a library than a palace, but in the past month I'd become more proficient in accessing it. Now I stood in my library, smiling as I took it all in. I'd nearly filled in the entire first bookshelf on the left. It was my goal to sort through the memories and organize it.

I'd also created a meditation area, a place where I could go and think without being surrounded by the hundreds of books I was collecting. I'd made a garden, a cross between the one at John and Mary's wedding and the one my grandparents had kept on their property in Ireland. Whenever I had found sleep difficult, I'd gone there, at least relaxing my mind before I had to get up. I was able to access it through a set of ornate French doors.

I looked at the shelves, sighing heavily. I'd already put in so much information and I didn't know where to begin.

"Might as well start at the top," I muttered, grabbing the rolling ladder and dragging it over. "I feel like all I do nowadays is clean and organize."

"What's she doing Sherlock?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask her? You've been around her more than I have."

"Not really. I wasn't joking when I said she has been running herself ragged."

"Hmmm."

I tuned out the conversation, going back to my books. I hadn't realized how much I'd already stored away until I was staring at it. I pulled down an armful, climbing down carefully before sorting through them.

"Birthdays, family trips, conversations with Mother." I set those three on the table. "Let's see...John's blog, injuries and how I received them, taekwondo. But where to put you all?"

In the flat I could hear the doorbell ring. Neither Sherlock nor John seemed to move to answer it.

"Oh, come on you two, answer the damn door. I'm doing something kind of important." I put the books containing birthdays, family trips, and conversations with mother on the last shelf on the right. "Are you serious right now?"

The doorbell rang again. "Do you think we should get it?"

"No," Sherlock replied. "It's probably another woman convinced that her husband is cheating on her."

I sighed, opening my eyes to find Sherlock and John still in the same positions as they were before. "Don't worry, I'll get the door. Not like I was trying to do anything important."

"What are you going on about?"

"Nothing Sherlock," I said, getting up from the couch. "Nothing at all. I'll go and get the door."

I headed down the stairs. "I'm coming, I'm coming. Good Lord, people are so bloody impatient these days."

I threw the door open to find the porch empty. I glanced down the street, but couldn't see anyone suspicious wander around. As I looked down, I spotted a small brown paper package tied with twine. Across the front of it was my name printed neatly, but I didn't recognize the handwriting.

"Huh. How odd," I murmured, bending down to pick it up.

Whatever it was, it was very light. I took it up the stairs, shaking it as I walked in. John glanced up at me. "Who was it?"

"I don't know. There was no one there, only this." I held up the package. "It has my name on it."

"Well open it up then," John encouraged. "Let's see what inside."

I looked to Sherlock. "Aren't you the least bit curious as to what it is?"

He glanced over at it briefly before returning his attention to his computer screen. "No. I'm not interested in what your students give you for your birthday."

"Wait, it's your birthday? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because my birthday isn't for another week and it's not that big a deal. I'm going to be thirty-two. Not much of a milestone, is it?" I asked, sitting on the couch.

"Well, we've got to celebrate it a little bit at least. I mean, it's your birthday after all."

"Yes, we can celebrate it with a quiet night in," I replied, untying the twine. "Have a few people over, order a couple of pizzas. Relax." I frowned as I pulled the paper away, revealing two discs. "Interesting."

"What is it?" John asked, going to sit next to me.

"They're discs of some kind, one labelled His, the other Hers." I handed them to John, letting him look at them. "Oh. There's a note!" I unfolded it, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Sherlock was staring at me. "'Dear Ms. McKinley. Enclosed are two discs one for you and one for your betrothed. I do hope you enjoy them. I went to a lot of trouble acquiring them. Enjoy your engagement present. Warm regards...CAM."

All three of us froze. The letter was shaking in my hand and I set it down slowly on the coffee table. John did the same with the discs. My leg began to bounce up and down. What could he have sent?

Sherlock picked up his disc from the table, opening the disc drive on his laptop and popping it in. I felt my face pale when I recognized the voice coming from his speakers.

"Come on Livvy, it'll be fun!" A younger version of myself said. "Why do you have to be so afraid of everything? We can see all of London from up there!"

"Fine. But first, Del, I have a present for you. I thought that you might like it when I saw it in the store."

I got up from the couch, going to stand behind Sherlock. I watched as I took the teddy bear from my sister, holding it tight against my chest. The tape skipped forward and in the bottom corner I could see the date. 9/7/12. My heart sank as I realized what day it was in the video.

"No...no she can't have. How would...how would he have access to these?" I asked, watching as the minutes ticked by quickly.

"Because he made a deal with the Devil," Sherlock murmured, making the video full screen. "He got those tapes from her. But what was the price?"

As past me stepped into the shot, I felt myself falling backwards in time, once more in that old flat on that fateful night. I was walking down the hall quietly, heart racing in my chest. Something didn't feel right, not at all. But why?

'The message.'

That was right. I'd received a text message from an unknown number and it had woken me up from my restless sleep. All there had been were two words. Look outside. So I'd gotten out of bed and gone to see...what exactly?

'Your father's car,' the voice in my head whispered again. 'You looked outside to see your father's car sitting outside your flat. But, according to the police report, it was three blocks away and nothing but a burned out shell, your father dead in the street.'

'So how could it have been in two places at once?' I asked the voice as I slowly walked towards the window.

'Because it was moved after your father was killed, as was his body.'

My blood froze in my veins. 'But that's-'

'Not impossible. You've seen Scotland Yard in action. They can miss something like that. Watch and remember.'

I looked down, spotting my father's car sitting right outside my flat. I could make out his figure, back to me, staring at someone else in the vehicle. There was a flash of light and I watched as the window behind my father grew dark. He slumped over and I was turning to go downstairs when I spotted the dark figure standing in the shadows.

'How come I don't remember this?'

'Your mind blocked it out due to the trauma. It served you no purpose up until this point when you're re-watching it. You needed the tape in order to remember. You never would have otherwise.'

I stared into those dark, manic eyes in that pale face, dark brown hair slicked back as he pointed his gun at me.

"I thought you didn't get your hands dirty with your work?" I heard myself ask.

"And normally I don't," he replied, pulling the trigger of the silenced gun. White hot pain rushed through me and I was falling to my knees, staring up at him. He pushed me onto my back with his foot, grin widening as he did. "But this was my wedding present to my bride. This was all she wanted, for me to kill you. Your sister is very easy to please."

I gasped for air as the pain overwhelmed me. I pressed against the wound with my fingers, trying to get the bleeding to stop. He kicked my hand away, his foot lightly pressing against the wound. I let out a scream of agony.

"Now, now. No screaming allowed. I mean, what would your father think of you being so weak? Oh...that's right. He can't anymore, seeing as his brains are splattered against the window of his car." He pressed a bit harder on the wound and I only managed a small moan. "Now, say you love your sister." When I hesitated, he dug the toe of his shoe into the wound. "Say it!"

"I...love you Livvy…" I managed to choke out.

"Louder!"

"I love you Livvy!" I screamed as he dug deeper into the wound.

"There we go. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" He blew a kiss to the teddy bear that Livvy had given me the previous week. Those black eyes turned down to look at me and he smiled. "Now, why don't you go ahead and die already?"

I stumbled backwards as the memory ended, finding myself grabbed by Sherlock. I stared into his eyes, feeling my heart racing in my chest, my breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. I realized I was still clutching my abdomen where I'd been shot. I pulled my hand away, half-expecting to see blood.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock's voice was calm, but I could see the worry on his face.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. What...what happened?"

"Well, once you came into frame, you started acting bizarrely," John answered. "Began muttering to yourself, re-enacting what had happened. Sherlock paused it when you began to stumble around so that he could make sure you didn't fall."

"So...none of that happened?"

"It happened," Sherlock said, brushing a curl away from my face. "But not right now. You had a flashback. More than likely you didn't remember what happened until you saw the tapes and it unlocked itself in your mind. What did you see?"

"Watch the rest of the video and you'll find out," I muttered, feeling myself begin to tremble. "I can't go over it again. Not yet. Please don't make me Sherlock."

Sherlock stared at me for a few more seconds before he sat in his chair, picking up the laptop and hitting the play button. The three of us watched as I was shot, as Moriarty tortured me. We couldn't hear any sound and for that I was thankful. Moriarty looked directly into the camera, blowing a kiss to it. I heard John's gasp of horror as he recognized him. Sherlock stiffened in the chair.

The minutes ticked by in the video. Nearly five minutes had gone by when my old neighbor opened the door to my flat. As the light fell on me, I could see the blood staining my old carpet. My stomach turned, but I kept watching. She rushed to my side, quickly trying to rouse me before calling emergency services. By the time that paramedics arrived, my neighbor was performing chest compressions. I had to look away after that.

I was getting myself under control when I heard it. My scream echoing all around as men laughed. "SHERLOCK HELP ME!"

"Turn it off," I whispered. "Sherlock, turn it off!"

Sherlock exited out of the video and I fought the memories that were trying to overwhelm me. I could tell that the other two were also shaken by what had been playing. I let out my breath slowly, focusing on the rhythm of it and getting it under control. I was doing my best to keep myself calm.

"Well...that was...that was...yeah. Let's not watch that ever again," John said, rubbing at the back of his head. "Jesus Christ that was awful. I'm so sorry."

"Save it. There's another video to watch."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock murmured, frowning at me. "I mean, who knows what could be on your tape."

"It'll probably be footage of you getting shot or something. How bad can it be?" I asked as I pulled my own laptop out from beside the couch. "I doubt it could top that."

I opened the disc drive, popping it in. As I waited for it to load, I reached for my headphones. I froze when I recognized the voice that I hadn't heard for four years begin to speak.

"Livvy? Wh-what happened? Where am I?" My father asked, sounding groggy. "What's going on?"

"Oh father," my sister sighed. "You always were so blind when it came to what our family was doing. So blind and foolish."

I heard the telltale click of a gun being loaded and watched as she placed the barrel between his eyes. My father's eyes widened as he seemed to realize what was happening. I observed the trickle of blood down the side of his face, coming to the conclusion that she had pistol whipped him when they'd parked in front of my flat to get me.

Once more I was falling into the video, viewing everything through the lens of the camera my sister was holding in her hand.

"Livvy, what...put that gun down!"

"Oh no. I don't think I will. You see, you know a little too much about my organization. And I can't have anyone in the way, which is why you will die and then Delilah will die." I could hear the smile in her voice. "Oh, what a wonderful family reunion. How exciting."

"No!" My father shouted. "No! Kill me, but not her."

"Awwww, how sweet. You always did prefer her over me. Why? Why couldn't you love me as much as you loved her?"

"Sweetheart, I love both of you. You two are my world, my life. I would do anything for you girls." I watched as my sister rested her finger on the trigger. "Please, Livvy, listen to me. Whatever you've done, whatever trouble you're in, we can get you out of it. I love you. I've loved you since the day I found out your mother was pregnant with you. Please. Put the gun down!"

"It's too late for your pathetic pleas and excuses. I've got a world to shape and remake. Now...any last words?"

I watched as the tears began to slip down his face. "Delilah...my sweet little Del, if you somehow get this video, I want you to run. Run as far away from London as you can. It's not safe here. If you choose to stay...remember the things I taught you. You'll need everything you've learned to survive."

"Come on old man, hurry it up. My arm is getting tired."

My father's eyes met the camera and I felt as if he were looking directly at me. "Delilah, I love you so much. I'm sorry...you've made me so proud. I-"

I let out a scream as the gun went off, dropping the laptop to the floor. But it wasn't fast enough as the image of my father's brains splattering against the windows and his blank blue eyes staring up at the ceiling imprinted on my mind. I began to shake, the panic and hysteria overtaking every rational thought I might have in that moment. My stomach heaved and I ran for the bathroom, but was unable to make it. I instead stuck my head in the sink as I vomited.

My hand searched for the handle, cutting the water on to wash the vomit down the drain before Sherlock or John saw it. The initial shock was beginning to wear off, instead getting replaced by a red hot fury that I'd never felt before. It blinded me, consumed me in that instant as I staggered upright, clutching the sink for balance. I heard Sherlock's footsteps stopping a few feet behind me.

"We get Magnussen," I growled, looking out the window to the streets. "We end him. And then we get Olivia, the murdering bitch. Agreed?" Sherlock remained silent and I whirled on him. "Sherlock, we have to get them. We can't just let them roam the streets, especially not her. We have to get them!"

"I know."

"Then why aren't we doing anything? Why aren't we out there searching for them? We need to go now, get out there!"

"No."

"What?" I whispered, feeling my body begin to shake again. "What do you mean no? You're the great Sherlock Holmes. This is what you do! This is what you live for. This is what you're good at! Getting the bad guys, solving the cases."

"Yes. I am good at solving cases. But not yet. We're not ready yet. I need more evidence."

"How much more evidence do you need?" I shouted. "He blackmailed Mary and hundreds of other innocent people! She killed my father! She killed him in cold blood, shot him...shot him b-between...between the eyes...oh...oh G-God!"

I felt my knees give way, a cry of anguish ripping from my throat. I'd thought that the possibility of losing Sherlock was the most painful thing I could feel, but I was wrong. This was ten times worse, the image of my father burning in my brain, his words echoing around in my head, drowning out any and all other noise that I could hear. I watched as again and again his head snapped back, his eyes went wide, the blood splattered against the window. I clutched at my head, shaking it back and forth as I rocked.

A hand touched my back and I realized that John had come to kneel beside me. "Come on, deep breath for me now. Come on, it's alright. You're safe. Take a breath for me."

But I couldn't breathe. My lungs were locked up as I silently screamed my anguish and pain. All these years, all those emotions shoved to the side, locked away and now they were flooding out of me as I remembered that night, as it burned into my brain as brilliantly as the fire that I'd thought killed my sister.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, she's turning blue. Delilah, I need you to breathe, come on now. Breathe for me!"

The darkness was infiltrating my vision, but I was glad for it, as it was blocking out the sight of my father being murdered. A hand struck me hard between my shoulder blades and I took an involuntary gasp before coughing. It struck again and I took another breath, my vision coming back to me. John was holding me up on my knees and I could see out of the corner of my eye, the dark color of Sherlock's trousers. The howl of anguish that had been silent now came ripping from my throat.

"John, help her to bed. I'm not strong enough yet to carry her."

An arm wrapped around my waist and John was dragging me up off the floor and onto my feet. I couldn't get my legs to work or my mind to function. I was a sobbing mess, trapped inside my own head. John managed to get me to stumble my way down the hall with him, Sherlock following behind. I collapsed on the bed as John let go, curling into a ball, burying my face into my pillow.

"Delilah...easy. You're okay. It's okay." John sat down next to me, rubbing my back. "Sherlock, I could use some help here." I felt a sharp prick of pain in my neck. "No, not that kind of help!"

"John, she is hysterical and is going to make herself sick. You said yourself that she is exhausted. It's a mild sedative I've given her. She'll be fine in about four to six hours."

My eyelids were already beginning to droop. "No...I'll be...trapped...Sherlock…"

I was unconscious before I could form the next words.

I felt as if I were floating in darkness, weightless and swimming forever without any idea where the surface would be. I thought I saw a glimmer of light to my right. I began to swim in that direction, determined to find my way out. I could only hope that I was going up, because going down meant memories of blood and screaming and lost hope. I saw another glimmer and I began to swim faster now, knowing that I was nearly there, nearly free of the darkness.

My head burst through the surface and I gasped, sitting upright in bed. Hands pressed gently on my shoulders and I tumbled back into the bed, heading cracking against the headboard. I rubbed against the sore spot, looking over to see Sherlock next to me, sitting cross-legged as he watched me.

"What happened?"

"I sedated you."

"Why?" I asked, frowning. "What-?"

Then it all came flooding back to me. I felt the tears spring to my eyes and I took in a deep breath, working to try and get control. Sherlock's fingers intertwined with mine and he gave it a gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over my knuckles before resting on the ring.

"I am sorry you had to see that and that you're upset now. But I need to know that you're going to maintain your composure while working on this case." His voice was soft and his eyes serious. "I can't have you flying off the handle when we go for Magnussen. If I feel that you can't handle it, I'm taking you off the case, no questions asked. I may need your expertise on breaking and entering, but I am not risking losing him. Understand?"

I nodded slowly, looking down at my hands in shame. "I do. What makes you think I won't be able to handle it? I've been doing fine with it, studying the floor plans and the security systems like you asked."

"Because I watched you break down today, which was exactly his goal. He wanted to shake you." Sherlock lay down next to me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "I don't want to put you in harm's way mentally, as he'll use anything he can to get you to break as he thinks that's a way to get to me."

"Isn't it?"

Sherlock gave me a small smile. "I compartmentalize, remember? You and all feelings I have for you go into a box when I'm on a case. That way you can't be used against me."

"Oh. Makes sense. So it's like flipping a switch in your brain."

"Essentially. Like, right now, while we're talking, I can allow myself to feel something for you because I know you're not in danger. But once we start working on the case again, I'll have to turn those emotions off. It keeps both of us safe."

"Alright. What did you give me by the way?" I asked, sitting up in bed. "I mean, that was some fast acting stuff."

"Something that a friend left for me a while ago. I've been holding onto it for an experiment, but I thought that you could use it more than I could. You need to lay down and rest."

"I'm fine. We've got floor plans to go over." I was swinging my legs out of bed, stumbling for a second. "Come on. What are you waiting for?"

"I'm waiting for you to get back in bed," Sherlock said, getting out of the bed to stand in front of me, blocking my way. "I did the math after talking to Mrs. Hudson and John about your schedule. You've only been getting two to four hours of sleep a night. And from what John says, a lot of that was broken. So in the past month and a half, you've gotten ninety to one hundred and eighty hours of sleep, which is not healthy."

"I don't want to sleep Sherlock. I can't, especially not now."

"Why not? What's the matter?"

"She's having flashbacks," John said from behind Sherlock. "I've seen it before. I've experienced it before. Isn't that right Delilah? It's why you were constantly doing something or checking up on me, why you would fall asleep in bed and end up on the couch. It's why you made your mind palace or library or whatever it was that you told me about when I found you lying in the middle of the living room floor. So you can escape and get away and try to control it."

"You've been learning from Sherlock, haven't you? How to observe?"

John shook his head, leaning against the doorframe. "What was it you said to me at my wedding? The funny thing about being suicidal is that we can see it in the others around us? The same goes when it comes to PTSD. I've wanted to confront you about it for weeks, but now...now I need to."

"I'm fine."

"You're not," John said softly. "You barely eat, you hardly sleep and when you do I can hear you shouting. You've been under a lot of stress lately, so it's no surprise. You need help Del. Sherlock, back me up on this."

"Lila...look at me," Sherlock murmured, taking my face in his hands. I averted my eyes from his gaze. "Lila. Look at me."

Slowly I looked up at him, staring into those galaxies, getting lost in them. It was the first time I'd felt peace since Sherlock and I had started this case against Magnussen. I immediately relaxed.

"Pale skin, dark circles, bloodshot eyes suggesting lack of sleep. Inability to make eye contact, nearly a stone lost." Sherlock stepped back to look me over. "Clothes are a size too big, doesn't look like they've been washed for at least two weeks. Hair is slightly greasy, signs that you haven't bothered to shower. Given what John has said as well, yes, Lila, you do need help."

I looked between the two of them before sighing, running a hand through my hair. "I thought I was doing so well at hiding it too."

"Come sit down in the living room. We'll talk about it in there, see what we can do." John offered me his hand and I took it, following behind him like a naughty child.

Sherlock stared after us, lost in thought. I caught a brief glimpse of the ring still on his finger and I felt a phantom of a smile tug at my lips. At least through all of this I had him.

"When did they start?" John asked as I settled in on the couch, a half-empty plate in front of me.

Sherlock had insisted that I eat before they began to question me. I'd protested, but they'd ordered food for me anyway. Now I was feeling a bit sick to my stomach as I sat on the couch looking between John and Sherlock. I shifted uncomfortably in the seat.

"When did what start?"

"The nightmares. When did they start?"

"After I was shot."

"And have they grown in intensity?" I nodded. "Scale of 1 to 10."

"They used to be a two to a three...now they're about a six to a seven."

"Have you been going to see your therapist?" Sherlock asked, leaning forward in his chair, hands clasped together.

I shook my head. "Not since right before the wedding. I...I thought I could handle it."

"And when did the dreams start again?" John questioned and I noted that he was jotting things down.

"Erm...right after I moved upstairs into your old room when Janine was staying here. They weren't so bad and again, I thought I could handle them." I craned my neck to see what he was writing and Sherlock smiled. "What, are you psychoanalyzing me or something?"

"Yes," John replied. "Now, how many times a week do you have these nightmares? And are there times when they're not as bad as others?"

"I have them every night. And...well, whenever Sherlock and I...well, when we share a bed, they're not as bad. I feel safe."

"Any triggers? Anything that makes it worse?"

"Stress. Talk of rape makes me uncomfortable. Men describing sex in detail also makes me uncomfortable. I don't know of anything else." I looked to Sherlock, who was staring at me. He offered me a small smile. "Really, I'm fine. We don't need to go to any great lengths."

"You're not fine," Sherlock said calmly. "Let John help."

John wrote something else down before looking up at me, smiling. "I'm not a psychologist or a psychiatrist, but I've been practicing medicine for a while. I'm going to get you a prescription for sleeping pills that you need to take whenever Sherlock isn't around. I'll also give you a prescription for an anti-anxiety pill. I want you to take it whenever you feel panicked or if you begin to have visions of what happened. I'll bring it home tomorrow from the clinic."

"I don't need them," I said flatly. "I don't want them, I don't need them."

"Delilah, don't be stubborn."

"No! I don't want to be medicated! I can handle it on my own."

"Lila." I looked to Sherlock sitting calmly in his chair. "At least take them one time and see how you feel. I...need you at full strength."

I frowned before sighing. "Fine. One time. If I feel like I can't function like a normal human being I'm not taking them anymore."

"Thank you. Now, why don't we look at those plans for Appledore again?"

I got up from the couch. "I think I'll take a shower and go to bed. I'm still a bit groggy from that sedative you gave me."

"Alright. I'll try not to wake you when I go to bed. Good night."

I began to walk out when John grabbed my arm. "I'll be needing your pistol from you."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're a woman under extreme stress and don't need a one way ticket out of this life at your fingertips."

I sighed. "Fine. I'll go and fetch it before I take my shower."

I went to the bedroom, grabbing my holster with my pistol. I looked at the gun, frowning. I hadn't even had the thought of suicide cross my mind until that moment. Now it did seem like the easy way out, get rid of all the memories, all the pain. I got to my feet, going back down the hall and handing it off to John. He nodded and gave me a small smile.

"Thank you Del."

"No problem. Now, I'm going to go and take a shower and then I'm going to bed. Wake me if there's a major breakthrough in the case."

I went to the bathroom, closing and locking the door. I took in a few shaky breaths before looking up in the mirror. There was that haunted look again that I'd thought I'd dealt with. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I'd only suppressed it, doing the same thing that Sherlock did with his feelings, shoving them into a little box and hiding them away. I turned the water on, letting it heat up as I stared at myself in the mirror. Why now? Why was all of this coming up now?

'Because you've been trying to hide it from yourself, using anything and everything as an excuse to not deal with it. But those videos are making you have to deal with it. Two choices. Face it head on or let it consume you.' The voice in my head piped up. 'Now, which one will it be?'

"I'm no quitter," I muttered to myself. "I'm going to beat this."

I stripped out of my clothes, stepping under the hot stream of water, letting it run over my head and down my body. For the first time I actually looked at my body and all the scars and marks that had been left there. I realized I'd been avoiding it for months. Now I looked down, inspecting my skin. There were the burn marks on my sides, the old gunshot wound scar. There were quite a few lash marks from where they'd whipped me and drawn blood. Cigarette burns dotted my upper and inner thighs, and there was also the scar along my belly from where Desmond had sliced me out of my jumper and caught my skin.

I didn't even want to see my back, but I knew that I had to. I grabbed the compact mirror off the back of the toilet, stepping out of the shower and going to stand in front of the steamy bathroom mirror. Even despite the steam, I could still see the pink lash marks, some of them raised and bright pink. I winced. I could count seven that I could see in the mirror while I stood on tiptoe. I frowned. How was Sherlock not repulsed by all of the scars and markings on my skin?

I got back into the tub, scrubbing my hair with shampoo and conditioner. I watched as it circled the drain and I closed my eyes, picturing my library. I walked past all the shelves of books, going directly out to the garden. Out there it was dusk, the sun setting blood red on the horizon, winking out from behind the branches of the tall pines. I wandered down to the pond, staring into the water.

"Why? Why does it have to be this way?"

"It doesn't have to stay this way." I whirled around to see my father standing behind me, a smile on his face.

"What? How are you here?"

"You imagined me here. I'm not real. Well, you saw the disc." He frowned. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"So...you're what, a part of my subconscious mind that I conjured up?"

"Essentially. And I'm here to give you a bit of advice. Don't let your emotions cloud your judgement and don't miss anything. You're smart. Put your feelings aside and act like it. Work first, love after."

I sighed. "Fine. As soon as this case is done, I'm planning my wedding. No more cases until after I'm married."

"Good girl."

I heard a knock on the door to the bathroom. "Delilah? Are you alright in there?"

I looked to my father. "I wish you weren't dead."

"I know you do. Remember your training and keep practicing."

"Delilah? Delilah open the door. Sherlock, I can't get her to answer."

"I feel as if I'm missing something. Something important about the plans. What is it?"

"Uncloud your mind and push away the emotions. You'll see it."

"Lila, open the door."

"I'm going to kick it down!"

"Don't!" I snapped, looking around the shower curtain at the door. "I'll be out in a minute. Sorry. Must have dozed off."

I cut the water off, stepping out of the tub, wrapping a towel around my hair before using the second one to dry my body. I dressed quickly, opening the door to find Sherlock and John standing outside. "Sorry about that boys. Didn't mean to frighten you."

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, a look of concern on his face. "We heard you talking."

"Talking? Oh, I don't know about that. Like I said, think I dozed off. Anyway, I'm off to bed now. See you in the morning?"

They both nodded, but I could feel Sherlock staring at me as I walked down the hall to our room. I closed the door most of the way, leaving it open a crack. I took the towel off of my head, placing it on the corner of the door to dry. I stripped out of my clothes, climbing under the blankets. I was asleep before I even knew I was in bed.

I felt him climb into bed next to me and I said nothing. His warm body pressed up against mine and his arm draped itself over my waist. I moved closer to him and he pressed a kiss to the side of my neck.

"Did I wake you?" Sherlock murmured in my ear.

"Maybe. But it's alright. I don't mind. What time is it?"

"Two-thirty."

"Early for you."

"Hmmm?"

"Well, before you were in the hospital, you were in bed really late, around four o'clock some nights. So two-thirty is early for you."

"I wanted to come and join you and John has to be at the clinic early tomorrow."

"Ah. Makes sense. Well then...with John upstairs why don't we-"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" I asked, confused.

"About the nightmares. Why didn't you tell me you were having them again?"

I rolled over to look at him, resting my hand against his cheek. "Because, Sherlock, it wasn't important. You needed to heal, not worry. I'm fine. Or I'll be fine."

Sherlock frowned. "Do you not trust me?"

"I do," I said. "I wouldn't have given you my father's ring if I didn't. But there are some things in this life that you can't protect me from. I have to solve this mystery on my own Sherlock."

"Fine...but if you need help-"

"If I need help I have the number of the world's greatest consulting detective." I gave him another smile before pressing a kiss to his lips. "Now, I believe we have some other business to attend to."

"And what would that be?" I was flipping him onto his back, straddling him. His hands rested gently on my hips even as he looked up at me with a mischievous grin. "Ah. That sort of business."

"Yes Mr. Holmes. Unless you'd like to reschedule for a later date?"

I gasped as he slid inside me. "No. I think that this appointment is just fine at this moment in time."

"Well then Mr. Holmes, let me show you how much I've missed you since you've been away."