Disclaimer: I don't own 'Sherlock' or Benedict Cumberbatch which is a massive shame.
Author Note: Hey guys! These are going to be a series of drabbles about John and Sherlock. I hope you like them. They will most likely all be one shots but If I continue any I'll make a note of it somewhere. Some will be slash some wont and they're in no particular order enjoy. Also they'll be appearances form the other characters too.
Miss Anderson xx
Sherlocked
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A Blinding white light, a low malicious laugh.
It was a pain like he'd never felt before…
He bolted up from his bed, a wave of panic spreading over him. A million thoughts began steamrolling their way through his mind. He never had nightmares, it wasn't like him despite all of the things he'd seen throughout his time. He could witness murders, observe kidnappings and see dead bodies but he never had nightmares. This had felt too real and he looked around his room taking in every detail, in a vain attempt at grounding himself again.
He was brought out of his thoughts by a tentative knock on his bedroom door.
"Sherlock?" John's tired voice sounded through the wooden barrier and he breathed a sigh of relief, John was alive, everything was fine. "You okay?" but he couldn't reply, words wouldn't come to him and his dry throat only allowed him a feeble croak in reply. "I'm coming in".
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John wasn't sure what he'd been expecting as he pushed open the door but it certainly wasn't what his tired eyes greeted him with. His tall friend was stood by his bed in his boxers, his eyes wide and John could detect several emotions in them. Panic, Relief, worry and a hint of mania. He didn't need Sherlock's abilities to be able to tell there was something wrong. The younger mans chest was heaving, his face flushed and a sheen of sweat across his forehead. He took a tentative step towards the detective and he visibly tensed. "Are you okay Sherlock?"
The taller mans dark curls flicked slightly as he tilted his head to the side. John knew he was observing him, much the same as he had when he entered and saw his friend.
"Are you alright?" The voice was barely a whisper but John heard it perfectly. He nodded silently concern filling him. Sherlock didn't often care about other people. He was considered heartless but here he was asking John how he was despite him being the one that looked unwell. "That's good, good" Sherlock was rambling? John looked up at the sound of movement. The detective was rushing around the room pulling on his shirt and suit. The front door had slammed shut before John had even realized Sherlock had left the bedroom. Letting out a sigh John headed for the kitchen, Tea was what he needed.
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The night was chilled and the air was thick as Sherlock walked swiftly along baker street and around the corner. The streets were practically empty, the occasional cab passing him. Occasionally the drivers giving him a questioning glance. But he was Sherlock Holmes and he needed to be alone so that he could slip into his mind palace. His mind was already running a thousand miles a minute and it was intense. What had that dream meant? He couldn't handle dreams, give him a problem or a murder and he could solve it in a few minutes but give him a problem with his brain function and it would be virtually impossible. He lifted a hand gently in view, he was shaking. Thoughts deceiving him as he walked. Was it a dream or a memory was his friend really dead?. No, the logical side of his mind argued as he turned into another street. John was fine. Wasn't he? Suddenly Sherlock had the overwhelming need to check, to ensure that John was indeed unharmed and alive. Turning around he broke into a sprint, the wind whipping through his dark curls and allowed the tail of his coat to flail behind him as he raced back towards 221B.
Throwing the door open he raced up the stairs, not bothering to close the door behind him. It could wait but John couldn't .
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John was in the kitchen pouring the tea when his flat mate wrapped his arms around his waist. He almost dropped the cup in shock. "Sherlock, what are you _?" but his friend cut him off.
"Turn around" His voice was pulled tight with tension as if he was about to snap. Placing the cup and kettle on the side he did as instructed and turned to face him. Instantly Sherlock's hand cupped his face as he began mumbling to himself "fine, fine, he's fine, fine." The man gently rubbed Johns neck with his thumb and John let out a quiet moan. It was barely a noise but Sherlock heard it. Instantly his hand snapped back and he stepped backwards. "I'm sorry John" But he wouldn't meet Johns eyes and John knew something was wrong now. Sherlock never said sorry. "I'm tired, I'm going to sleep" and that was even more worrying, Sherlock hated sleeping. The younger man was gone in the blink of an eye and John stood there confused and concerned.
He needed to help his friend. Walking to Sherlock's door he made his decision. He would not leave until Sherlock was okay. The consulting Detective was important to him and he knew it. John hadn't been able to hold back the moan when his thumb had brushed his neck. It had been on Johns mind for weeks, he wasn't gay but it was different with Sherlock. He'd never wanted someone so much in his life. Sherlock was attractive, John knew that. The way his perfect dark curls framed his face and the way that his suit fit perfectly to his body had had John in awe more than once. His flat mate wasn't perfect and he claimed to be married to his work but John knew better. He'd seen the looks Sherlock had given him at times when John would appear out of the shower or Sherlock would walk in on him. It was time to resolve this. John knocked on the door quietly, after hearing no reply he entered anyway.
The worlds only consulting detective was laying on his bed, his back to the door. He walked in, pushing the door closed behind him and approached the bed. "Tell me" John knew he had to be blunt with Sherlock to get him to talk and he was prepared for that. He laid gently down on his back next to his friend and waited.
It wasn't long before he answered. "I had what you normal people would qualify as a nightmare. About you" John was surprised, Sherlock didn't get nightmares, he found dreams mundane. His friend turned and also laid on his back so that they were arm to arm. "Moriarty" John gulped, he knew where this was going. If it involved Moriarty and himself not being okay then it wasn't pleasant. "He had you as a prisoner and told me to choose, between saving you and saving myself. I chose to save you, obviously but he – he played me. He killed you John" Sherlock's eyes were fixed on him now, full of pain. "He killed you and it was like he'd ripped my heart out" He turned his head away as if ashamed.
"I'm here, I'm fine"
Sherlock looked back towards him and smiled "I know, I apologise for before. It was completely irrational of me. I couldn't help myself" John beamed back at him.
"That's okay, I understand why you did it." Sherlock nodded and looked straight at John, his piercing gaze observing his reaction to his next words.
"John?"
"Yes Sherlock?"
"I think I'm in love with you" He once more turned his face away but John reached over and gently taking his chin, turned him back to meet his eyes.
"I'm in love with you too" The smile that crossed Sherlock's face was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. John leaned across and as his lips met Sherlock's he let out a moan. Sherlock fitted his lips perfectly and as the pace increased and desire kicked in John knew that this would be okay. Pulling away gently he pulled the duvet over them and wrapped his arms around the detective.
"John you aren't gay" Sherlock's statement was quiet in his ear but John already had his answer.
"No, I'm Sherlocked" Sherlock beamed.
They were happy.
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Miss Anderson xx