Hope you all enjoyed the last chapter. It was something different than the rest of the story up until this point. There is some angst in this chapter and next few also. Time to explore more of Addie's past few years. Thanks again for the reviews/follows/favorites! They make my day :)

Chapter 9

The first thing Addie was aware of when she woke up was the terrible pounding in her head and the extremely hard pillow she seemed to be sleeping on. She thought it very rude to give her such an uncomfortable pillow with her head in such a state of misery. She groaned and attempted to open her eyes.

She could barely see through her half open eyes but she quickly realized she wasn't on a bed and the pillow she was sleeping on was someone's leg instead. Spotless, tailored, and fancy trousers. Had to be Sherlock. She blinked up at him and let out another groan when he shifted his leg a bit.

"Uhhhg. Where're we?" she asked thickly. "Are we movin'? Why do I feel like we're movin'?

"We're in a car headed back home from the pub," Sherlock explained.

"Uhhhg…I don't feel good Lockie. Feel sick," she whined childishly.

"I'd imagine so," Sherlock replied.

"Make it stop Sh'lock. Please!" she pleaded with him.

"Nope. You decided to get completely smashed and you have to face the consequences."

Addie let out a pathetic whimper and clutched Sherlock's trouser leg. "Dun feel well. Feel like I'm on a roller coaster. I dun wanna ride it anymore. I wanna get off. Get me off Sh'lock!"

"Wish I could, but unfortunately it's just going to get worse," Sherlock replied, something akin to sympathy in his voice. He brought his hand to rest on her head in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

John was dozing on the seat next to him, attempting to sleep off his own hangover before they had to tend to Addie's later on. Sherlock was hoping John would feel better soon. He didn't think he could handle two hung over flatmates. Addie's would be a struggle in itself.

Addie's drunken voice spoke up again. "My head hurts. And I'm all wet."

"That's what happens when you drink too much and wet yourself," Sherlock said, slightly amused.

"I did?" Addie asked confused.

"Yes."

"Oh," she said fuzzily. "Sorry Lockie."

Addie looked so pathetic and vulnerable with her vomit stained jacket, her jeans soaked in urine, and tears gathering in her eyes that he couldn't bring himself to say anything else cheeky and condescending.

She was now sniffling and attempting to bury he head in his leg, grimacing at any slight jostle from the car. As weird as it sounded, in that moment Sherlock found himself overwhelmed with fondness towards his little sister, recalling the many times she was sick or hurt and clung to him for comfort. He would never admit it, but he missed her trust and her reliance on him to make things better. It was nice to be needed again.

Sherlock felt her deep even breaths against his leg and he ran a hand through her hair in a soothing gesture before bringing it to rest on her back. "It's alright. I'll take care of it. I'll take care of you," he said softly.

Both were unaware of John's small smile as he watched them from his "sleeping" position. It was a rare sight indeed to see Sherlock so gentle and comforting, giving in to the sentiment he claimed he didn't have. John thought to himself that if anyone could find and bring out the human in Sherlock Holmes, it was most definitely Addie.

As expected, Mycroft was at the flat waiting for them when the car pulled up. Sherlock shook John awake then they worked on getting Addie inside. Sherlock grimaced at the wetness soaking through the arm of his shirt as he carried her up the stairs, thinking of the dry cleaning bill Addie will be paying in the near future.

He set her on the couch, assured that Mycroft would watch over her for the time being while he and John went to their rooms to clean themselves up. Sherlock was in desperate need of new clothes and a shower.

Mycroft sat and watched Addie, taking in her pale complexion, her tussled hair and her completely filthy clothes and he shook his head sadly. He was eerily reminded of the times he spent helping Sherlock during his withdrawals and the same vulnerable and pathetic look he had at those times.

Addie shifted and a pained expression crossed her face. She whimpered and groaned in her sleep. Mycroft put a hand on her arm to comfort her but it did little to help. She was now twisting and tossing her head back and forth, muttering quietly. He put his ear close to her mouth to hear what she was saying.

" 'M sorry! I didn't mean to. Please, don't!"

Sherlock and John walked back into the room then, looking refreshed and more relaxed, ready to take on Addie and her hang over. They stopped when they saw her moaning on the couch, Mycroft trying to soothe her.

"Mycroft? What's going on? What happened?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know. She just started writhing around and muttering. It's not making much sense," Mycroft said, wide-eyed and confused.

"What's she saying?" asked John

"She keeps saying 'I'm sorry' and 'please don't' over and over again. I can't get her to stop," he said, frustrated and panicked at not being able to help.

"She's in a deep state of sleep right now, basically an alcohol induced coma. She's not aware of anything around her and the effects of the "drug" in her system are adding the confusion," John explained.

"Yes, yes, but how do we get her to stop?" Sherlock asked, looking worried.

"I'm afraid we can't. We've just got to let it run its course and offer as much comfort as possible," John explained.

Sherlock let out a frustrated growl and perched himself on the arm of the couch by Addie's head.

"No! Stop, please stop! I'm sorry! I'll do what you say! Just leave 'em alone! Please!" Addie begged as she tossed and shook her head.

"Shhhh! It's alright Addie. No one's going to hurt you. You're ok," Mycroft muttered as he moved closer to her and took her hands in his. He looked scared and helpless, looking to Sherlock and John, completely at a loss of what to do.

"What's she saying? Who's she talking to?" Sherlock asked angrily as he nervously brought his fingers to his lips.

"Do you…do you think it's possible that she's remembering? That it might have to do with what happened five years ago?" John asked.

"I think that is very possible John," Mycroft responded gravely.

Addie now had tears running down her face and her breathing was becoming more labored by the second. "I…I can't. I won't! Let me go, please! NO!" she screamed before jumping up and gasping for air. There was no warning when she vomited forcefully on the floor in front of the couch. Mycroft caught her before she could face-plant into the mess and guided her back to lie down.

Addie was now sobbing and shaking and she threw herself at Mycroft and squeezed him around his middle. She didn't seem intent on letting him go so he maneuvered himself on to the couch with her and waited for her to fall back into her drunken sleep.

Sherlock silently got up and started playing his violin. Lost in his thoughts and escaping the reality he didn't want to face. Eventually the sound of the violin soothed Addie back to sleep and thankfully her night terrors abated.

Mycroft would have left at that point, her being calm and peaceful once again, if it weren't for the fear and worry he felt after witnessing her fit. He decided comforting her and staying close by was more important than getting her out of her soiled clothes since he wasn't quite sure how stable she was and if she would remain that way.

He settled himself more comfortably on the couch with her still clinging to him tightly and closed his eyes. Sherlock was still playing and Mycroft hummed along to the tune as he rested his head on the back of the couch.

John, being the doctor and the one with the least aversion to bodily functions, set to work on cleaning the mess Addie made of the floor, not wanting it to set into the carpet.

The soft melody of Sherlock's song eventually lulled Mycroft to sleep as well and John covered him and Addie with a blanket from the back of his armchair.

John was suddenly aware that the music stopped playing and he turned to look at Sherlock. Sherlock's expression was blank as he looked at his siblings asleep on the sofa. He saw his mouth twitch into a satisfied smile and he set the violin down in its stand. John suddenly understood. Sherlock, being so frustrated and at a loss on how to help take care of Addie, and Mycroft for that matter since he seemed to be panicking as much as Sherlock, decided to offer comfort in the only other way he knew how; through music.

"Go to sleep now, John," Sherlock's deep voice rumbled from behind him. "I'll take it from here." And he settled down in his armchair to watch over his siblings.