(A/N) Here you go my friends, a slightly sad Johnlock fic, enjoy! -AidaMae
I'm Sherlock and Princessskyes is John (In later chapters we split Sherlock and Moriarty)
Sherlock was pacing nervously as he waited for his brother. He kept looking to the clock, which read 3:50 pm, on this horrible Thursday afternoon.
"Sherlock, please just take a seat and explain to me what is so urgent?" Mycroft said, confused with his brother's unusual behavior.
"I need..." Sherlock began before sighing with disgust. "Help." He whispered the last word, still pacing.
"I'm sorry, help? What is so wrong that even you can't figure out?" His brother asked, laughing at the absurd idea.
"Its John." Sherlock answered before getting nervous again.
"Brother, did you really come her for relationship advice?" His older brother joked, giving a small smile. There was a slight pause.
"He was taken. By Moriarty." Sherlock said stopping with the name of his greatest foe. Even Mycrofts' smile faded. Before he spoke with what Sherlock figured, 'How is that even possible?' the taller man closed his eyes and thought. He thought back way before 3:45 pm, when he first entered his brother's office. Before 11:25 am when Sherlock first saw the note. He went all the way back to Tuesday morning, 6:30 am.
John was sitting in the living room, writing in his blog when Sherlock walked in. "You're up early," he commented.
"Hm? Oh yes..." Sherlock answered, walking over to the couch. "Couldn't sleep." He added, laying down and staring up at the window.
"Something troubling you?" John asked, turning his attention from his blog to make sure his friend- "colleague"- was okay.
"I have a really bad feeling, John. Something bad is going to happen and I haven't the slightest clue as to why." The wiser gentlemen spoke, being honest with his flatmate.
John bit the inside of his cheek, looking thoughtful. "Well, that doesn't sound good. Did you sleep alright?" Sherlock looked around. He didn't want to admit that he was having nightmares, but he didn't want to lie either. Instead he just stayed quiet. Looking back up to the ceiling.
"Sherlock?" Suspicion creeped into John's voice. "You have been sleeping, haven't you?" he asked, his tone stern.
"John, what time is it?" Sherlock said, quickly ignoring the question.
John sighed. "Six-thirty," he answered. It didn't take a genius to see that Sherlock was avoiding his question, so he stood up and walked over to the Consulting Detective and stood over him. "Sherlock, why haven't you been sleeping?" he asked sternly.
"6:30 am on... Tuesday, yes?" Sherlock began. "We should go out and get some breakfast today."
"Sherlock!"
"Nightmares."
John sighed. "And... Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"I don't get nightmares John." Sherlock muttered, feeling weak for just saying the word.
"You just said you do," John countered.
"This is the first time that I ever gotten a nightmare." The taller male said, not moving his eyes from the ceiling.
"Well, we all have nightmares," John said, "Mind if I ask what it was about" Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in the couch before sitting up. He looked to John then looked at door. He answered in a very quiet voice that John wasn't able to hear.
"What was that?" John asked.
"You..." Sherlock whispered, eyes locked on the door.
"You..." John shifted. "You had a nightmare, about me?"
"Yes."
John sighed. "Great," he muttered. "And what did I do, in your nightmare?" Sherlock didn't answer, instead he once again changed the topic.
"What time is it now?"
John sighed and rolled his eyes. "About seven, probably," he answered.
"There's still time for breakfast."
"Alright then." The shorter man shrugged. "Let's go eat, eh?" Sherlock didn't answer but simply grabbed his coat and headed out the door. John quickly followed behind, saying a goodbye to Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock failed to do. By 7:42 they were sitting in the small diner where they had their first case together.
"I'll have two pancakes, a side of hashbrowns, and some tea." Sherlock ordered without even looking at the menu.
John quickly ordered, and turned to Sherlock. "You didn't answer my question earlier," he said.
"An obvious observation John."
"Yes, well I was hoping to get an answer," John insisted, not planning on giving up soon.
"I see." Sherlock commented before looking out the window.
John sighed in exasperation. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"How important is it that you must know?" He asked, looking John in the eyes.
John sighed. "It isn't," he muttered, "It can help to talk to people, though." Sherlock thought for a moment, staring into John's eyes. Soon he winced at remembering his nightmare causing him to look out the window.
"You... were killed..." He whispered, afraid that if he said it any louder it would come true.
"Wait, you... Had a nightmare, where I was killed?" John asked. "Is that something you worry about often?" he asked, breaking eye contact for a moment.
"Yes." Sherlock answered, as their drinks came out.
John stared silently at Sherlock for a minute. "Well, you shouldn't worry, I've come close to death many times and yet, here I am." He took a quick drink and directed his gaze out the window.
"I know, but this time it was different, it was more... real." Sherlock said, lost in the terrible memory of John's death.
"I fought in Afghanistan, in case you don't remember," John reminded him. "It was just a bad dream."
"Right of course... dreams can't come true." Sherlock said, more to himself than out loud.
"Believe me, I've had my share of nightmares," John said. "You shouldn't worry about it." There was nothing from Sherlock but a blink.
"I'm going for a walk." He declared as he left John to his thoughts.
"What about breakfast?" John asked.
"Just bring it home." Sherlock said as he left. Just a dream Sherlock, don't be foolish thinking it could be anymore. Sherlock found himself walking to a park. He sat down at a bench, taking a sigh before mustering up the courage of reminding himself of the dream.
"Sherlock! Please! I need you!" John shouted as the blood dripped down his face like tears.
"Oh just be quiet, your knight in shining armor won't notice you're gone till he sees that note." That very familiar voice spoke.
"Shut up Moriarty!" John snarled, trying to get out of the ropes he was bound in.
"That isn't as fun though. I like this game, John. Seeing you bleed. Its fun." Moriarty laughed as he took a knife and made another small cut.
Sherlock shuddered as he was unable to continue the nightmare. At first his dreams consisted of John being tortured, last night John was finally killed, and it scared Sherlock more than the other nightmares.
I wonder what's gotten into him. John had noticed his flatmate's strange behavior recently, and not just on that day. It had been going on a while, it seemed, the nightmares, the insomnia, for days or even weeks. But Sherlock wouldn't talk to him about it. He's so stubborn, he won't talk to anyone. John looked out the window.
Hours passed and Sherlock finally returned home. He went back to the couch and just stared at the ceiling. He was thinking and tapping his fingers.
"Your leftovers are in the fridge," John said, hearing the man enter. He continued to stare at his laptop screen, as nothing came into his interest to write.
"You can have them, not hungry." Sherlock said, feeling slightly dizzy.
"Have you eaten anything today?" John asked, giving up on his blog and turning to the taller man.
"Is that relevant?" Replied the blue eyed male.
"Yes," John said. "You need food to live. Your skinny enough as it is," he added turning back to his computer.
"Eating takes too much time." Sherlock said, as if it was a perfectly acceptable reason as to his lack of meals.
"Sherlock, when was the time you actually had a proper meal?"
"John I'm not a child, I can take of myself." The taller man stated, avoiding the question.
"Then stop acting like one."
"I'm simply not hungry at this moment." Sherlock stated.
"And when was the last time you ate?" John repeated.
"Saturday."
John was silent for a moment, staring at the man on the sofa. "Saturday- you haven't eaten... Since Saturday? Are you trying to kill yourself?"
"If the nightmares stop..." Sherlock whispered, instantly regretting he said those words out loud.
"Wait you're..." John stared at Sherlock. "You mean you're actually... Are the nightmares really that bad?" Sherlock laid there silently, turning slightly pale remembering the nightmares. Think Sherlock, when they did start...
"Wednesday of last week, John where did I go?"
"I don't know," John replied. "Why, what does it matter?"
"It's when they started!" Sherlock shouted, leaping out of the couch before falling to the floor.
John was quick to Sherlock's side, helping the taller man stand. "Sherlock, you really should eat something."
"I'll eat when I can sleep." Sherlock stated before getting up and rushing out the door.
"No, Sherlock!" John grabbed the taller man's wrist before he could get out the door. "You need to eat, you could pass out."
"There isn't time to waist John, its already..." Sherlock pulled out his phone, "11:30. I have to visit a whole day in five hours. I have to go now!" Sherlock shouted pulling out of John's grasp and running off.
"Where are you going?!" John called.
"To the book store!"
John made a last-minute decision to follow the other man, grabbing his coat on the way out.
"Glad to know you'll catch me when I fall." Sherlock commented, as they both entered the taxi. "To the bookstore three blocks down."
"Huh? Right... Why are we going to the bookstore?"
"That's where I went after I woke up. From there I went to the newspaper stand, back to the flat and I went to take a nap, and that's when it started." Sherlock said, a spark of fear and excitement in his eyes.
"So... We're going to retrace your steps to find whay triggered your nightmares," John clarified
"Excellent deduction John. A plus." Sherlock said, cracking a small smile for the first time in the last week.
John smiled at the sight, though he still didn't understand how walking around town was going to reveal the source of Sherlock's nightmares.
Soon the duo arrived at the bookstore. Sherlock marched in and went straight into the mystery section. "These are my favorite." Sherlock whispered, as he looked down the row before stopping on a book. He pulled it out. "This is the Library's latest book." John looked at the cover which read, Mysterious of the Wise Man by Andrew Scott.
"What's it about?" John asked curiously. "Have you read it?"
"Yes, yesterday. It's about a male detective who solves riddles set up by this villain and they end up falling in love." Sherlock said, picking out other books.
"Oh, that's... Interesting." John gave a small nod.
"Yes very... familiar too. The characters."
John shifted uncomfortably, hoping he didn't understand what Sherlock was getting at. "Are they?" He cleared his throat.
"Hm, yes..." Sherlock pondered for a moment. "Alright take the Andrew Scott book and follow me." Sherlock said as he fast walked out of the library.
John grabbed the book and followed the taller man, as instructed. Sherlock went over to the newspaper stand. He stared off, inspecting it. In a matter of seconds he shooked his head.
"It has to be that book..." He muttered, before walking off and calling a Taxi.
"Coming John?"
"Yes, I'm coming," John replied, having to take twice as many steps to match the long paces Sherlock was able to make with his long legs.