A/N I have not posted for a while and I am so sorry about that! I am mostly on Ao3 now, but I want to keep up with my stories on here as well so here is Part 6 of the Panic Series!

The bloodied fist crashes into his face for the tenth time.

Or maybe the twentieth.

He's lost count.

It happens over and over until he's left wondering how he is even still alive. Still fighting with a beyond damaged chest to sink air into his burning lungs.

This is not the man he knows anymore. His eyes are all wrong. Black. Angry. Full of hatred. He stares through blurry eyes at the ones he used to know so well, now devoid of any recognizable emotion.

And with each blow to his face or kick to his abdomen, a piece of him shatters and fades. Stripping him down to nothing. A thing.

And it fucking hurts. He wants nothing more than to curl into a ball and stay like that until this is over.

His tears collide with the blood slowly pooling around him. And he just wants it to stop.

Stop.

Stop.

John, please. John. Stop.

But he doesn't. He goes on for an eternity, spitting fire in Sherlock's face, yanking him from the ground only to shove him back down again.

So he gives up.

He killed his wife. He's entitled.

Sherlock jolts awake with a name trying to claw its way out of his throat.

God.

He collapses back against the soft and slightly damp pillow, realizing that his body is not sore.

Not bleeding. Unharmed.

He breathes hard into his shaking palms, cupping them against his mouth to feel the warm air. Listens to it regulate, calming himself with the sound.

Lifting himself up to lean back against the headboard, he freezes.

There is another sound filling the air of his room. He shakes his head to clear it and holds his breath.

But the ragged breathing continues.

A muffled and broken sob sounds from the corner of his bedroom. Sherlock wills his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but he already knows who it is.

Standing on shaking legs, Sherlock crosses his room in an instant, kneeling in front of John.

John's hands are covering his face as he continues to sob, doing little to quiet the horrid sound. His shoulders are shaking and as Sherlock rest a hand on one, John flinches.

He rips his hands away from his face staring at Sherlock with anguished eyes. "You-you were-" John clutches at Sherlock's chest, fisting the soft fabric of his shirt. "God, Sherlock, you were screaming."

Damn.

Sherlock hadn't ever known himself to be a vocal sleeper, even in the throes of a nightmare.

"It's alright, John."

"It's not," John cries, shaking his head viciously and breathing hard through his nose. "Jesus fucking christ, Sherlock. It-It's not ok. It's not fucking ok. What I did-"

"John. Look at me. John." He waits, heart pounding until John looks up at him. "Just breathe for a moment."

"How many- Fuck, Sherlock. How many times has that happened?" John cries, thrusting a hand out, face crumpling once more as he buries his face against his knees.

Sherlock stops him with a gentle hand on his chin, forcing him to look up once more. His eyes are anguished and Sherlock can feel his heart clench.

"This is the first." John starts to turn his head away, but Sherlock holds firm, "I swear, John. This is the first time."

John grasps Sherlock's wrist with a shaking hand, holding tight as he breathes hard through his nose, giving an almost imperceptible nod.

Sherlock forces his own breathing to calm, watching closely as John does the same.

"Can I stay?" John asks suddenly. "I want to-I understand if-"

"Yes." Sherlock nods, standing and offering a pale hand to John.

Silence.

Neither of them has spoken a word since Sherlock took John's shaking hand and led him to his bed. The silence feels so uncomfortable Sherlock finds himself holding his breath, the sound of it impossibly loud in the quiet room.

The rasp of sheets jolts him and he turns his head to find John lying on his side staring at him. "Breathe, Sherlock."

"I am." The words come out harsher than he intended.

Sighing, John moves as if to leave and before he can register what he's doing, Sherlock grasps his sleeve and pulls him back down to lay beside him.

"Don't."

"Why?"

"Because I've already forgiven you."

John sucks in a breath and Sherlock can feel the arm under his hand tighten as John clenches his fist.

"You...what I did to you was wrong. God, it was more than that. If some else did that to you...I would kill them, Sherlock. And I- I'm so sorry. For everything. For that and everything that came before and after. I was horrible to you."

"I forgave you long ago, John."

"Thank you...for that. I just needed to properly say it- and I'm going to need to keep saying it for...a long time. I don't think I'll be able to stop."

"I hear you, John. And I forgive you. Please hear me when I say that."

They breathe.

The awkward tension melts into a quiet calm and Sherlock feels himself drifting off again until the sound John's hair rustling against the pillow rouses him and he turns his head to meet John's gaze. His eyes are filled with longing. So different from the black, emotionless ones from his nightmare.

He nods and John moves. Reaches out to pull Sherlock into his arms. They settle only when Sherlock's head rests over John's heart, his head rising and falling with each calm breath.

"I'm sorry," John says, lips brushing against his hair, voice thick with emotion once more.

"John."

"Alright," John whispers, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead and then another. "Alright."