Fight for Me

Chapter 40

By some miracle, neither Lydia nor Sherlock woke up sick the next morning, though Lydia was not excited to be heading out to the train station for a 7:30 train. Her body desired a bit more rest, especially since she was now working every day again and she never slept much anyway due to nightmares. Sunday was supposed to be her break and a time to sleep in, but there was a missing girl to find.

Grabbing a bite to eat and some coffee on the way to the train station, Lydia was barely even awake when they boarded for the six hour ride to Wales. She collapsed in the seat closest to the window and rested her head against it, cringing at the cold glass against her skin. John settled into the seat across from her and gave her a sympathetic smile, seeming to understand just how exhausted she was.

"I have let the Jones' know our arrival time and they will be driving us from the station to their house in Nolton," Sherlock informed John and Lydia, taking the seat beside her.

John gave a response, but Lydia wasn't focusing on it as her eyelids began to fall. She was only able to keep herself awake for so long and the more she fought off sleep, the more it beckoned her. So she finally succumbed, allowing herself to drift off into the world of imagination.

It did not take long before the nightmares began, the reason she tried to avoid sleep as much as possible. She understood it was necessary for her body to function, but it was too painful to close her eyes. Her dreams usually revolved around her fear of losing her friends, but today's was different. Perhaps it was because they were on their way to help a child that she was reminded of her own childhood, or perhaps it had to do with her sharing her past with Sherlock earlier that week. But she found herself dreaming of being in her father's arms, the only place she had ever truly felt safe.

But that dream faded away and she was left alone with her mother who had turned abusive in her drug use. Lydia was hiding away in her wardrobe, her eyes squeezed shut as she prayed her mother wouldn't find her hiding spot. As the door to her bedroom opened, Lydia's hand flew over her mouth, a desperate attempt to stifle the sounds of her laboured breathing. But the door of the wardrobe was wrenched open and her mother roughly grabbed her shirt, throwing her onto the floor of her room.

Lydia jolted awake, taking a moment to adjust to her surroundings. A deep blush crept up onto her cheeks when she realised that she had been sleeping on Sherlock's shoulder and she scooted away as much as she could, which was not much with how close the train seats were, muttering a soft apology under her breath. To her surprise, he placed a hand on her leg and signed, "are you okay?"

She gave him a nod and shifted her gaze out to the window, watching the scenery go by. Sherlock did not take his hand away and she moved hers on top of his, trying to ignore the way her heart quickened and electricity shot through her as she curled her fingers around his. The physical touch was reassuring to her, despite the odd things her body was doing. It anchored her outside of the nightmare and lifted her mood.

But her thoughts soon began to trail off, wondering why Sherlock had such an impact on her. The night before on the bridge popped into her head and she remembered the way Sherlock was looking at her so intently, the rain having flattened his bouncy curls, with droplets running down his porcelain face. She could have sworn his pupils were dilated, but that must have been because of the darkness. But his eyes darted down to her lips, she was sure of it.

Her heart had quickened as she gazed into his gorgeous eyes and warmth radiated through her, despite having been chilled to the bone by the rain. She wanted to deny it, that her body was merely malfunctioning because of the cold and wet, but now with her body reacting to Sherlock's hand on her leg, she knew it was useless to fool herself any longer. She was falling in love with Sherlock Holmes.

She was falling in love with the man who believed solely in logic and shunned attachment. She was falling in love with the man who boasted he was married to his work and, to the best of her knowledge, had never been romantically involved with anyone before. Not to mention, his brother was the British Government and had already clearly stated that he would not accept any sort of relationship between the two of them.

She was a bloody idiot.

That was the only thing she could think. Of all the people in the world, why was it Sherlock Holmes that she was falling for? He was an utter prick and would happily use her as bait for a serial killer. Yet, he was also the one who was there to comfort her after being strangled. He was the one who went out in the rain to find her and mend their relationship. He was the one now travelling to Wales for a case that he proclaimed wasn't worth his time.

But did any of that actually mean anything? He disassociated from his emotions so often, did he even recognise what he was feeling, if he was feeling anything at all? She couldn't act upon her own feelings, that much was certain. She did not need to be made a fool of, not when she knew he would ridicule her for having fallen for him.

So she carefully slipped her hand away from his, acting as though she was merely reaching into her bag to get a book. Too flustered to look at him while she did so, she missed the flash a disappointment that passed over Sherlock's face, but felt him remove his hand from her leg. The sudden absence of his touch was deflating, but she knew she had to start distancing herself emotionally. She couldn't risk falling harder than she already was.

Her eyes scanned over the words of her book for the rest of the train ride, apart from the subpar meal that they served around noon, yet none of the words seemed to make it to her brain. She absorbed no information and finished the novel without any clue what had happened. Thankfully by the time she finished, there were only a few minutes left of the journey and so she didn't have to try to keep herself distracted for much longer.

She stood from her seat and stretched out her stiff limbs, slipping between John and Sherlock so that she could walk the length of the car after having sat still for the better part of six hours. Sherlock watched her carefully as she moved, his eyes meeting hers. She quickly averted her gaze before she could start noticing the beauty in his sea green eyes. But her mind had already began to fixate on them as she walked away. They were green today, a colour that she liked on him, not that they weren't any less stunning when they were a bluer hue. The never seemed to be the same shade, something that annoyed her greatly because then she would get lost just trying to analyse the colour of the day.

You're being ridiculous, Lydia, she reminded herself, shaking her head free of the thoughts now clouding her judgement. You know better than to fall in love with him. You're only a marionette and he's a puppeteer.

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(A/N): And finally Lydia's realised her feelings! Now the question remains, will either of them actually do anything now that they understand they are in love, or will poor John be tormented by their utter oblivion when it comes to the feelings of the other? Hope you enjoyed this chapter!