AN: This is a plot bunny that stopped me from writing Disguise! In order to carry on with Disguise, I really did need to get it out of my head!

After the falls Sherlock would get nightmares. He would get them quite frequently. It was often of his failure. His dreams would feature John on the floor, on the pavement, on the table, in his bed, in his chair, in the taxi, and every time he would have a small circular hole in the middle of his forehead. His eyes would be open but unseeing, his chest would rise and fall once but no more, blood would be dribbling down his forehead, and his mouth would be open as a form of shock as the bullet entered his brain catching him off guard for the smallest second before killing him completely. Sherlock could only watch, he couldn't move, he couldn't warn John, he couldn't do anything but watch as the red dot took position and the hole suddenly form with blood flying out. A man would be standing over him, a gun in his hand and a cruel mocking laugh

Sherlock would then wake with a gasp, he would be drenched in cold sweat and be breathing as if he'd run a marathon.

Other times it would be Mrs. Hudson on the floor with broken cups, on the table, on her chair, beside John. Anywhere she went. It would be the same thing, he could only watch as the red dot took position, as the man killed her and walked away. He wouldn't be able to do anything to stop it from happening. He would feel very helpless as he could only watch as the man took the life of someone so very special and important to him.

He would have nightmares of it happening to Molly. What if they found out Molly had aided him in faking his death? They would find her and kill her. Perhaps, they would torture her for information of his whereabouts but they wouldn't get anything as Molly doesn't know. It was far too dangerous to maintain contact with her, in case Moriarty's men realise and do exactly what it is he's had nightmares about. She would end up similar to the others, gunshot to her head, blood slowly leaking out, eyes lifeless, chest no longer rising, sometimes she would look a bit battered and bruised as they'd tortured her for information, a man with a gun would be standing over her and laughing mockingly.

Very often though, more common than any of the others, his nightmares were of Lestrade. These were the ones that scared him most. The nightmares that would wake him up frightened, shaking and a few tears would stream down his face. Those were the nightmares that would stop him from ever wanting to sleep. They occurred so often, even after the web was taken down and he was able to return home.

After he'd taken down the web he still had nightmares. What if those he had taken down still had men? Men to avenge their deaths? Men that would quickly learn what Sherlock had done and set out to finish what their tasks were originally?

Those weren't the only kinds of nightmares he had. He was also scared of being rejected. They wouldn't take him back; they've moved on, forgotten all about him and simply left him to fix his life all on his own.

John would be looking at him, disappointed and angry, telling him that he didn't need to die; he could have gone to John for help. John would be looking down at him, so very disappointed in Sherlock, telling him how he felt after Sherlock's suicide, how his life fell apart and how he needed to go back to seeing his therapist. Then he'd turn his back. Telling Sherlock that he had his chance and he blew it, telling Sherlock not to return, he's moved on, he doesn't need Sherlock in his life anymore, he's got a good job, better pay, new friends and more importantly, he's got a woman in his life and they're going to have a family. He doesn't need an ex-junkie; he doesn't need a self-proclaimed sociopath to waltz back into his life, he's got everything he's ever wanted – a nice job, better pay, friends and a woman. Why would he possibly need to be with Sherlock?

Those were the dreams that Sherlock dreaded because what if they were real? John's had three years to move on. He's not going to accept Sherlock back with his arms open.

Mrs. Hudson would be looking at him, like John, disappointed and angry. She would be telling him that he had destroyed John with his suicide, telling him that John wouldn't eat, sleep, socialise, he'd rarely left the flat. But then she'd tell him about how much better John's life is now, how much better it is without someone dragging him along to solve cases, without someone making him risk his life to catch criminals. Then, she'd tell him that she's got better people to pay the rent. People that don't shoot the wall, people that don't have disgusting experiments on the kitchen table, there are no longer any body parts in the fridge and they help her with the house work. Why would she want Sherlock? She's even got married ones! She won't need Sherlock. Why would she possibly need someone who makes the flat a dangerous place? Why would she need someone that is constantly blowing holes in the walls and shooting anything that gets annoying? Without a second glance, she'd walk into 221 and close the door on him. Leaving him to stare at the black door that was once his home.

Lestrade would be looking at him, like the other two, disappointed and angry. He would be telling him how he'd destroyed John with his suicide. Telling him how he could have simply gone to himself or John for help, he didn't need to fake his death; he didn't need to destroy John and his own life. And then, Lestrade would tell him that he didn't need Sherlock anymore. He's found someone smarter to help him with the cases, someone who's nicer and calmer, who didn't insult everyone else, someone who doesn't have sociopathic tendencies and didn't hold back evidence. Why would he need Sherlock? He's got someone far nicer to replace him. This was a person that didn't chase after criminals and get nearly get themselves and others killed. Why would he need someone who is constantly rude? Why would he need someone that likes to show off? Why would he need someone that constantly worries him and makes him feel worthless? He doesn't need Sherlock Holmes. He's got a better life without him. Then, he'd turn his back and without a second glance, he'd walk away. Forcing Sherlock to watch as the man he thought was like a father to him, walk away and abandon him.

When Sherlock had returned, he'd kept his eyes on the floor and waited for the other person to say something first, the nightmares were far too prominent on his mind. He'd flinch and be taken completely by surprise when they had all hugged him and welcomed him back with their arms open. Well, John had a mean right hook but that was expected. Of course, it had taken them all a while to get used to it, and it wasn't completely the same, but Sherlock was just glad he could maintain some kind of normalcy in his life and that the people he cared about were still there for him.

So after a recent nightmare, one where Moriarty was still alive and had killed all of the people he cared about, he found himself making his way to Lestrade's flat and claiming his spot on the couch. He was pretty grateful that Lestrade hadn't moved, nor had he had the locks changed, though that is pretty dangerous, considering the amount of enemies the man probably had. He claimed his spot on the couch, using a cushion as a pillow, the afghan as a blanket and curling up amongst it. Inhaling the smell of a man he cared so deeply about and slowly falling back to his sleep. This time he dreamt without nightmares but was woken up by the man himself a short time later.

"Sunshine? You woke up yet?"

The voice sounded tired but concerned. Sherlock blearily opened his eyes and looked up. Lestrade was standing there, his eyes were shining with concern and tiredness, but Sherlock was just glad that they had life in them. They weren't open and staring blankly, they were open and focused on him. His chest wasn't motionless; it was rising and falling with every breath he took. His skin wasn't cold and pale, it was warm and tanned. Sherlock had let out a sigh of relief without realising and sat up. Lestrade had sat down beside him.

"What was it this time?" He asked

Sherlock looked at him and spoke slowly, "Moriarty was alive and had killed you all."

Lestrade wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, "You should know that isn't going to happen, Sunshine. Not anymore, he's gone now and there's no chance of him coming back."

Sherlock nodded, shifting slightly so that he could hear the man's heartbeat, "I know, but the thought still gives me nightmares."

Lestrade brought his other arm around Sherlock to hold him closer, "It's okay, Lockie, he isn't here anymore. He will never return and if he does, he'll have to be quick to stop me from getting him."

Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes, letting his dad's heartbeat and voice relax him.

"It's okay, Sunshine, everything will be fine. You've got your friends to protect you; you're no longer on your own. Everything's fine, you're safe, we're safe and Moriarty's dead."

It didn't take long, Sherlock relaxed in Lestrade's arms, his breathing started to get deeper and longer and he was soon fast asleep. Lestrade smiled and ran a hand through Sherlock's curls, placing a kiss to his forehead and gently lowering him to the couch. He stood up, he watched the sleeping Sherlock, it's been a long time since he's been able to do something like that and he's missed it. He soon entered his own bed, falling into his own nightmare free sleep.

AN: That's it. End of this one-shot. Wow, I'm generally surprised I wrote that. All mistakes are entirely my own as I have no beta.

Lestrade called Sherlock Lockie. To be fair, I can totally see Lestrade calling him that name, and I'm getting my stories confused. I'm supposed to be working on Disguise but I needed to get this fluffy one-shot out of my head. Lestrade is being very paternal. I hope that didn't annoy you.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it, have a nice day :)

~Steffii