Note: Spoilers for the end of season 3! The title here was snagged from Red's song "Breathe Into Me." Also, I have created a Spotify playlist especially for Johnlock (I had to, it was inevitable). Let me know if you'd like the link. I'm always adding to it.
Sherlock and John stood alone on the runway in front of the private plane that would soon be ripping Sherlock out of John's life once again. The atmosphere was thick and toxic, and Sherlock was trying so hard to keep his voice steady, at least for John. He was always able to detach himself from his emotions, but this time was too hard.
"Sherlock, what aren't you telling me?" John peered up into Sherlock's face. A significant height difference between the two men, but Sherlock had never in his life felt so small.
Sherlock looked away from John, unable to maintain eye contact. He looked down to the ground, placed his hands behind his back, and took in a deep breath.
"I don't expect to come back from this one, John." John saw Sherlock's chest rise again, sucking in air, and he finally looked back up into John's face. "And Mycroft… I can see it in his face and actions. This is it."
Mary watched from the car, and she could feel the tension even from this distance, and she knew, too. She didn't know how she knew, but she did. Suddenly, John is very angry. Livid, even, and he grabbed Sherlock by his coat and brought him to eye level, faces only inches apart.
"Now you listen to me, Sherlock Holmes. Don't you dare talk like that. You're coming back to me." John spits out the words, and Sherlock doesn't fight him. He remains somewhat limp in John's grasp until John releases him from his hold. "Promise me." John added quietly, his gaze never leaving Sherlock's face.
Sherlock remained quiet for a moment before speaking very softly. "I can't promise you that, John."
"Promise me!" John shouted. He turned away from Sherlock for a moment, hands on his hips. He breathed heavily and ran a hand over his face before he turned back to Sherlock. He huffed, regained his composure, and opened his mouth to say something before thinking better of it. Sherlock remained silent. He couldn't make that promise.
"John," Sherlock started. John looked up at him at the sound of Sherlock's voice. "Everything I did, murdering Magnussen, I did it for you. I did it for Mary and the baby. If I hadn't, you wouldn't have been able to live a happy life. I regret nothing. I would do it all again."
John only blinked at him."I can't do this again," he whispered.
John lunges forward in bed, heart racing, tears in his eyes. He blindly felt around to his right for Sherlock, feeling around for that familiar form.
"John." Sherlock speaks, calmly, coolly.
John breathes in sharply, dropping his shoulders. "Christ." He throws himself back down onto the bed after making sure that everything was in its place and okay, and Sherlock places a hand over John's heart.
"Calm down," Sherlock whispers. "Close your eyes." John did as he was told, and Sherlock begins talking to him, their ritual unfolding from all of the other nights one of them wakes up in a panic.
"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I was able to stay, remember?" John's breathing begins to slow down to its normal pace, evening out, causing John to relax. He loves Sherlock's voice. Always so soothing even at his most infuriating moments.
The sound of a single gunshot, the sound of helicopters surrounding Magnussen's property, the sound of Mycroft, oh Sherlock, what have you done… John closes his eyes. He often dreams of many things. He dreams of that day that Sherlock left him, jumping from that roof. He dreams of those days while Sherlock was gone when John allowed himself to stay home and be consumed in the memories of Sherlock - sleeping in his bed, sitting in his chair, smoking his cigarettes - only to somehow feel close to him again. He dreams of all of those times John and Sherlock ran through the streets of London, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. John dreams of everything, the good and the bad.
It kills him some nights, the dreams and the memories. Other times, John only wakes slowly from the dreams, able to look over and see Sherlock's face sleeping restfully and looking peacefully, and he's able to go back to sleep. Other times, John doesn't dream at all.
But tonight… Tonight John simply lays there, his own hand resting on top of Sherlock's over his heart, and this is what he dreams about.