dani_meows (dani_meows) wrote in bipolardanicats, @ 2011-12-13 14:16:00 |
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Current mood: | working |
Nightmares
Title: Nightmares
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Does it Need saying? John/Sherlock
Word Count: 500
Notes: written for prompt 70. piercing
The piercing scream echoed throughout the flat and John got up quickly, throwing his own blankets off him so hard they hit the wall.
It was happening again. In the two months, since John had been able to leave the hospital after having shrapnel impale his organs and nearly dying, Sherlock had a nightmare every time he feel asleep.
John had been lucky in the aftermath of Moriarty's Pool Party, he'd been unconscious. Sherlock on the other hand, had been mostly uninjured and had been aware of everything. Of John bleeding out from multiple wounds, of John's fading pulse, of John flat lining before the paramedics got him in the ambulance... of just how close John had come to being a body in a morgue.
That last realization had made Sherlock a little less likely to randomly raid parts from the morgue, since the idea of some scientist doing things with John's body parts if he'd lost his John, made him realize how others might feel. John hated this last bit, yes he appreciated the fact that Sherlock was beginning to understand why it was a bit not good to just go raiding the morgue, but he disliked the signs that something was wrong with Sherlock. He wanted his delightfully mad flatmate back. He missed him.
Sherlock was still wailing, when John made it downstairs, cursing his not quite psychosomatic limp for making him take so long.
He walked up to Sherlock and began to ease him into wakefulness. Just walking to him and trying to get him to awaken was asking for a broken nose and a guilty Sherlock, John knew. Mycroft, of all people had tried that and earned a broken nose.
He used his voice first, "Sherlock, it's me. I'm here. We're safe. We're both safe and alive. We're home..."
Once Sherlock began to register that, he began with a slow caress of Sherlock's hand.
Sherlock fell into awareness with a start. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. John gathered him up and held him for a while, allowing his Sherlock (and really no other word fit for what Sherlock was to him: flat mate, friend, colleague, none of them said enough, and they were not lovers...) to listen to the sturdy thrum of his heartbeat.
"Come here," he said, tugging Sherlock's hand lightly and guiding him upstairs.
They lay down together on John's bed, sharing his pillows and blankets and talking softly until they eased into sleep.
They woke up hours later refreshed and nightmare free.
The next time Sherlock needed to rest, he stood at John's doorway, shuffling his hips nervously,
"Can I sleep with you?"
John made room for him on the bed. They fell asleep together that night too. When on the third night of sleeping wrapped around one another, Sherlock woke him up with a good morning kiss, it didn't seem awkward or anything other than the way it was supposed to be.
Soon, Sherlock was back to his mad scientist self.