Chapter Thirty Five

When Cassia returned to the living room, she noticed the difference straight away.

The heavy, cloying atmosphere had been lifted, and all was calm and peaceful, the tension dissipated.

Watson gave her a wink of approval, silently indicating that he had overheard every word of the exchange between herself and Holmes in the kitchen, and the look on Sherlock's face told her that John had also given him a piece of his mind and chipped in his two pence worth about his behaviour and the way that he had treated Cassia earlier that evening.

For what it was worth.

Holmes was now sulking, as he sipped his cocoa and nibbled on a biscuit, but he managed to raise a weak smile as she walked across the room to the tray of drinks.

That was probably the closest thing to an apology she was ever going to get from him.

She smiled back at Holmes as she accepted her cocoa from John and then the three of them sat in companionable silence as they nibbled on biscuits and sipped their cocoa like old friends coming together at the end of a busy day.

It was a stark contrast from earlier in the evening.

Holmes put the television on for the news at 11.00pm, but there were no new headlines and so he took it off again at 11.30pm and by mutual, silent consent, after turning off all but one lamp, they all settled down in their respective places.

It had been a long day, for all of them.

Cassia lay back on the couch and pulled the soft blanket up around her chest, resting her head back in the deep, fluffy pillows that rested against the arm of the couch, closing her eyes and trying to block out the unfamiliar sounds of the room and the street below, as she tried to relax, using the meditation and relaxation techniques that she had used for most of her life.

As she lay there, eyes squeezed tightly shut, willing herself to sleep, Cassia could not deny that she was terrified by the prospect of what was to come, but she had accepted that it had to be done.

Yet, try as she might, she could not seem to make herself relax.

It didn't help that all her pleas to the spirit world were going unanswered.

She comforted and reassured herself with the fact that she was not alone, and she knew that Sherlock, and in particular, John, would not allow her to endanger either one of them, or herself.

Even though she had her eyes closed, she could feel both Holmes and Watson's eyes upon her, and the weight of their expectation was like a vice tightening around her chest.

Holmes' headache was also still throbbing away in the background, nagging away at her, and her mind was far too active as she kept changing position on the couch, trying to get comfortable.

"Cass, stop fidgeting and go to sleep," Holmes deep, baritone voice, along with a heavy, impatient sigh suddenly filled the room.

"It's no use, Sherlock..."

She pushed off the blanket raised herself up on one elbow, squinting in the soft yellow light of the only lamp still illuminating the room.

"Stop fighting it."

"I'm not fighting it," she retaliated. "I want to go to sleep."

"I could get you one of Sherlock's sleeping pills, if you like," Watson repeated his offer of earlier.

"No!" Holmes barked out, making Cassia jump.

"Sherlock!" Watson admonished.

"She might not dream," Holmes pointed out succinctly.

"I won't be doing much dreaming anyway..."

"What do you mean?"

"If I can't fall asleep, I won't dream will I, twit."

"You just need to relax, and give it time..."

She gave a deep sigh of frustration.

"I tried to tell you earlier that you might be expecting too much, Sherlock. I'm too tired. I can't sleep."

"You have to try," Sherlock sounded angry now, and she could not blame him.

She wasn't happy about it either, but she was powerless to change the situation.

"This is our last chance..."

"I know that, dummy! It's not my fault!" Cassia shot back impatiently now. "But if I can't I can't!" she wailed miserably. "I told you there were no guarantees, Sherlock, even if I do fall asleep. If spirit don't want to co-operate, I'm blind and deaf. Utterly useless! I see what they allow me to see, Sherlock, and if they think that they are protecting me they don't think that I am strong enough to resist him, they will block me. That's it, Finito. Nothing that I can do about it."

"Nothing at all?"

Holmes sounded incredulous now, his tone implying that there must surely be something that she could do, that she must not be trying hard enough to make her friends on the other side see the importance of this.

"I already told you, it's non negotiable. I keep asking for their help, their guidance, but they're not answering me," and she knew all too well that that meant.

There would be no dreams or visions tonight.

"You know what this means to me, and you must know I'm not doing it on purpose. I already told you ..."

Far from feeling relieved, Cassia felt devastated.

"Oh God, I want this over every bit as much as you do, Sherlock! Maybe more than you do!" Cassia moaned softly. "I don't want to have to wait for another night, when you won't be there to watch over me, but I can't help feeling that they have other plans."

Her voice caught in her throat now, an indication of just how upset she was at the situation and how weak and useless she felt.

"Ok, let's just try to calm down, shall we?" John Watson, ever the voice of reason, stepped in to the fray now. "This isn't achieving anything..."

"I'm sorry. Wanting doesn't always mean you get..." Cassia spoke in a small voice now.

Sherlock Holmes recognized the truth in her words, and the genuine sorrow and regret in her voice, and he hefted another deep sigh of resignation, as he realized that for her the suffering would continue, whether he was there to help her or not.

It appeared that it was out of their hands.

It had been something of a long shot anyway, no guarantees that she would dream, or that she would dream about the killer, or, indeed, that she would be able direct her dreams to Holmes' requests.

She was absolutely right in her observation that she would not dream if she could not fall asleep, and it was becoming obvious that she was far too wound up and tense to succumb to the arms of Morphious any time soon.

Holmes was not completely without sympathy at her plight.

Cassia needed her rest, and a respite from the horror of her night terrors, and a small part of him was just a little bit glad that she might just get some small reprieve.

But it didn't help them progress the case any further, and he was disappointed about that, to say the least.

"Go to sleep," he commanded, but not unkindly.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Cass. Go to sleep."

"Goodnight, Sherlock. We'll find another way... If anyone can, you can."

Cassia settled back down on the couch and began the relaxation technique all over again, and soon, she could begin to feel her limbs growing heavier and her mind slowing down.

"Sweet dreams."

It was Holmes' voice once again, low and soft and reassuringly gentle, obviously aware that her breathing patterns had changed and she was now on the brink of sleep.

Realizing that the pressure that she had been feeling had suddenly been lifted, Cassia began to hope that she might indeed be able to sleep now.

She also found herself hoping for pleasant dreams, or, indeed, ideally, no dreams at all, just deep, peaceful, restorative sleep.