A/N: Don't own. Wish I did.

In the Between

He dreamt of Baker Street.

He often did. He lie there, sleep wrapped around him, pinned him in place, no control over his body. He was deep enough in sleep that he could dream, but still be verging on the edge, in the between of waking and sleeping. Soft sounds filtered through, sounds of life and waking and murmurings. There was a quiet, but persistent beeping noise that his brain was trying to interpret as his alarm, but it didn't fit.

In the dream, back at Baker Street, he was lying in their bed. He didn't sleep there anymore. After he had died, he moved back up to his old room because it was just one more thing that was too hard, but in the dream he was back on their bed, waiting. He was lying on his right side with his eyes closed. He felt the shift and dip of the bed as someone moved on to it and lay beside him. He didn't want to open his eyes just yet, because he didn't want to be disappointed, again, to see what wasn't there. He felt the movement of hand that reached out and gently stroked through his hair.

A hand strokes through his hair.

His eyes opened in reflex. His breath hitched.

The otherlay there facing him, mirroring him, body curled up, hand under his head. The difference was the man facing him with his incandescent eyes and so goddamn breathtaking was dead. Helooked thinner, which he thought was odd because if he was remembering himin his dream he should have looked the same. He was wearing the coat and the scarf he'd last been seen in so that was the same. His hair was a little longer. Curls jumbled and played across his forehead and he reached out and brushed them out of the way. Tears filled both of their eyes and hovered, not enough to brim over and run down, but enough to blur vision.

"I've missed you so much," he whispered, not being able to articulate more than that but conveying so much weight in a handful of words.

The other's voice rumbled through him, hit his heart, made it skip and restart. How could one voice have so much power, it could interfere with organic material?

"I missed you too."

A beloved voice whispers in his ear.

"Why?" That's all he has to say.

"To save you," that's all he has to say.

How do I save him?

"I should have died that day, too."

"No. You had to live."

He won't wake up. I can't reach him!

Maybe it's better where he is? Maybe you're there.

I'm here now.

He doesn't know that.

"You're going to leave me again." It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

"I have to. I'm not finished yet." The other leaned over and brushed a kiss on his temple and then on his eyes. The tears that had threatened spilled over and ran down to dampen the pillow.

A kiss brushes his temple and then his eyes. Something splashes his cheek.

"Please don't go. Not yet. You just came back."

Please stay. Don't leave me.

You have to give him something to stay for.

"Please stay," he knew if he was left behind again there would be no second chance to repair an already damaged heart.

What do I do?

Tell him what he wants to hear.

He closed his eyes against the pain of seeing the apparition in front of him. He can't look anymore. He can't want anymore. It's been too difficult and this is tearing at his soul, his being.

Then he hears it.

John. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I love you.

His eyes open.

The End

A/N: Yeah, my friends aren't going to let me keep John if I keep doing bad things to him.