Who:John Watson What:Glimpses of the reasons John hates sleep. When:Tonight Where:His room Warnings:Angstyness.
Falling faster and faster.
A crack and splatter of blood and raven hair on pavement. A sea of people around him, all of them were strangers. Get off. He's my friend, I'm a doctor. He tried to shout but his words weren't cooperating. What could a doctor do for a dead man who'd just fallen a hundred feet from the sky anyway? What good could a doctor do who'd been broken like the body on the pavement infront of him? John eventually stopped struggling against the grasping cold hands and collapsed to his knees. A hand reaching for Sherlock was kicked away by a harsh boot.
Darkness, faster and faster the world spun out of control dizzying really. How could it still keep turning without him? Christmas past, New years past, they were nearly into spring and still the world kept moving forward. John tried desperately to keep up, clung to what he could to keep sane but cold winter nights alone in his room the bitter cold reminded him of how many things he'd lost. His bedroom windows were kept open as always, even in the winter. Sherlock had always kept windows open. John fell into the habit. Always adapting to Sherlock. Always worrying about his well being. But where was he when his own was in question? Dead. Ashes to ashes. John slept uneasily under the covers.
"You're going to have to find something else to blog about John." Sherlock's familiar voice whispered through his nightmares. His hands covered in blood, the sounds of running water of a water fall surrounded him. Darkness. Falling and spinning into nothingness. His eyes opened, cold sweat on his face as he sat up and rubbed his hand against it.
His room should have been comforting, but in that moment everything in it reminded him of Sherlock and his chest tightened as emotions consume him. Outside snow swirled in the darkness, John didn't even feel it.