Fight for Me

Chapter 56

Lydia dropped her bag next to the couch in 221B, taking a moment to breathe in the familiar scents and sights of her former home. She let herself collapse onto the couch, immediately allowing the leather cushions to help her feel safe. Sherlock walked in after her and took a seat in his armchair, watching her as she let her eyes close. Bringing up the rear, John finally made his way inside, having taken a moment to let Mrs. Hudson know that Lydia was back, to which the old woman had an enthusiastic response. Tea was to be expected in the next few minutes.

"You don't happen to have anything to drink here, do you?" Lydia finally spoke up causing Sherlock to perk up.

John frowned at her question, "Mrs. Hudson's on her way up with tea, it will only be a moment."

Lydia sighed as she swung her legs back onto the ground instead of resting on the couch, causing her to wince as the wound on her side was exacerbated. "I'm more interested in something stronger than tea, but I doubt there's anything alcoholic here."

"You're going to have to kick that habit," Sherlock spoke up as John began to answer that they may have something leftover from a Christmas party. "John doesn't like alcoholics."

"I'm not a- I just wanted a drink, Sherlock," Lydia snapped, glaring at the detective. "But if you don't have anything, I do have to use the loo, if you don't mind."

Sherlock decided it was best to keep quiet, not wanting to anger her too much now that she was finally back at 221B with him. Grateful that Sherlock was not going to press the subject, Lydia slipped inside the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She lifted her shirt up to reveal the wound, thankful for the black fabric that made the blood seeping through less noticeable. It stung as she peeled the cloth away from the laceration, Lydia's teeth clenching as she tried to suppress the hiss of pain that arose in her throat. Now she really needed that drink.

The bullet had not buried itself in her skin, but left a deep gash that needed more than just a band-aid. After washing her hands free of her blood, she reached into the cabinet to grab the medical kit that John kept there, mostly for use if Sherlock miscalculated the dangers of his experiments. It was much more well-stocked than the typical first aid kit, even including the stitches that Lydia was searching for.

She cleaned up the wound as best she could and began to thread the needle through her skin, keeping her body stiff and devoid of a reaction to the sharp pain as the her skin was pierced. Pulling the threads tight, she made sure that the skin was secured before moving onto the next stitch, finding herself slipping into a numbness to the constant pain. It was going to scar, that much she knew, but she didn't much care. It would add to the growing collection.

Focused entirely on the precision of her stitches, she failed to notice the slight jiggle of the door handle as Sherlock picked the lock. John had tried to discourage him, but Sherlock argued that she had been in there for far too long and as they were in charge of making sure she didn't run off, he had to ensure that she was not trying to escape. What Sherlock was not expecting, however, was to break into the room only to find Lydia clothed in just a bra, needle in hand as she sewed together a wound on her side.

Her head whipped up at the sudden motion of the door opening and her eyes widened, "Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing in here!"

"You were taking too long, I needed to make sure that nothing had happened," Sherlock replied simply, trying to keep his gaze focused on the wound instead of wandering across the soft contours of her body.

Sherlock had never found himself one to be intrigued by the human body, he had always observed it from an anatomical perspective. But as his gaze traveled down her soft neck, her collar bones, the curves of her breasts, he found himself captivated by the sight of her. Then as his eyes traveled to her surprisingly toned stomach, courtesy of the past three weeks, anger flared up inside of him at the sight of the 'M,' now scarred pink and permanently marking her pale skin.