Nightmare on Baker Street
Mrs. Hudson, John thought, loved Valentines Day quite appropriately. All vibrance, sweetness, and affection, just like Mrs. Hudson.
John himself, loved Christmas. All fluffly, warm sweaters and sitting serenely 'round the fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate. John liked that.
But Sherlock! Nooo, Sherlock had to like Halloween! All spidery fingertips skittering eagerly across the web of his violin, emitting haunting melodies. All emotional bonfires, deception, and tricks. Every day surrounding the wretched holiday was lived, startling at shadows, just waiting for the consulting detective to jump out at him with some new disguise and well rehearsed howl, wail, etc.
That was what caused John to lean against the doorframe in Lestrade's office rather than inside the room today, he wanted to be far away from the detective. He just listened from afar as his friend rambled on about the details of the body. 'But don't you see, Lestrade? Look at the ear! It's so obvious! It's been clipped recently, that means the brother did it. Are you following me?' Why did Sherlock ask that? The answer was always 'no'.
A case? Call Sherlock! Open, solve, close, ridicule Scotland Yard. All within the first two hours. Just another day for Sherlock Holmes. John yawned and fisted his eyes sleepily.
Bad idea.
The first thing John registered when he moved his hands away from his eyes was Sherlock, only several inches away, peering intently into his face. How he had crossed the office in such a short time, and without John's knowledge, he didn't know.
John jumped back with a yelp and hissed a few colourful curses under his breath that caused Sherlock to smile amusedly and Lestrade to raise his eyebrow reproachfully. "Sorry." he murmured sheepishly. "Just tired."
Lestrade continued to observe him for a moment longer. "You should get some rest, doctor, you don't look too good."
John was about to agree with him when Sherlock whined, "But I need my assistant!" That seemed to be his favorite excuse.
"You've already solved the crime, Sherlock." Lestrade argued. "Just let us find the evidence and get on home."
Sherlock looked from Lestrade's stern expression, to John's clearly exhausted one. "Fine." he murmured with all the conviction of a lying child.
"Sherlock..." Lestrade narrowed his eyes at the consulting detective.
"Alright! Alright!" Sherlock threw his lengthy arms up in defeat. "We're going!" And with that announcement, he took John by the elbow at steered him out.
"While I'm grateful about you taking me home, Sherlock," John was saying as they dismounted the cab outside their flat. "I can tell that you've got some other case on your mind. I think I can manage to get to bed on my own."
"Nonsense!" Sherlock rebutted him. "I've got nothing better to do, other than observe my scalp experiment..."
"...That I really don't want to know about." John cut him off quickly before Sherlock managed to explain what the experiment was for.
"Right, of course." Sherlock apologized sheepishly.
They had just gotten into their flat when John was called by Sarah. John just sighed in resignation and U-turned back out of the flat just in time to hear Sherlock babble on about food poisoning being one of the prime diagnosis for the patients that came in during Halloween.
John sighed in relief when he plodded back into the flat at 9:30 p.m. His eyelids were drooping, and his limbs felt like lead. He all but ignored Sherlock, who lay asleep on the sofa, as he climbed up the stairs to his room. He staggered to his bed and collapsed onto it, deciding that removing his coat and shoes were too much trouble. He was asleep even before he felt his head hit his pillow.
He dreamed of a blinding sun, hot sands, and blood. Bullets whizzing overhead, IEDs discharging in the distance, the earth trembling beneath him, dismembered limbs and the dead eyes of his friends. John shot up straight, sweat dripping down his face and neck, fighting down gasps and screams.
He heard a scream. He covered his ears, no, he should be awake already! But the scream was followed by several loud curses. John blinked, and then jumped out of bed. Nope, not a dream, that was Sherlock.
He clambered wearily down the stairs just as Sherlock submerged his hands wrist deep in cold water. "What are you doing?" John asked at length.
Sherlock's head jumped up and he noticed the doctor's presence for the first time. "An experiment, John." Sherlock bit his lip. "Acidic compounds, experiments, hands... honestly should've seen that one coming." he pouted.
John blinked blearily, debating whether to leave Sherlock to conduct the damage control to said acidic compound that was beginning to burn through their carpet, or to go and help him. He sighed, cursing the doctor in him and moved into the sitting room. "Let me see it, Sherlock." he ordered authoritively.
Sherlock obediently held his hands up for the doctor's inspection. "It's really not as bad as it looks." he assured John.
"I'll be the judge of that." John grumbled, shuffling around the sitting room in search for his first aid kit. "You'll be sure to clean up the floor, won't you?"
Sherlock nodded, yes. He re-submerged his hands into the icy water. John found his kit and returned to where he left Sherlock. He managed to treat and bind up Sherlock's burns without a single complaint from the detective.
"You shouldn't sleep, you know." Sherlock blurted out suddenly with a piercing look.
John furrowed his brow. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
"Halloween." Sherlock said, like that explained everything. "The ghosts come out."
John blinked, then he laughed. "Sherlock, that's just a myth."
Sherlock crossed his arms. "Than, explain to me, why your psychosomatic limp has suddenly returned."
John rolled his eyes. "It's psychosomatic! I can't control when he comes and goes!"
"And the nightmares?" Sherlock pressed on. "As a natural insomniac, I don't have that problem, but you're less than fortunate."
John opened his mouth with a sharp retort on his tongue when he caught Sherlock's look. The man looked, for no better description, haunted. John closed his mouth. "Are you alright, Sherlock?" he finally asked, concernedly.
"Mrs. Hudson doesn't have nightmares." Sherlock muttered, looking very much like a child.
John awoke, regularly, screaming. Sherlock, being the self-proclaimed sociopath that he was, probably never had such dealings. John couldn't even begin to imagine Mycroft waking up in a cold sweat, leading him to belive that John was the first to keep Sherlock awake with his nightmares. And the fact that John screamed his throat raw, in his sleep, terrified Sherlock.
So that was why Sherlock hadn't let him sleep for the last few days.
John scratched the base of his neck awkwardly. What was he to do? Promise that he would just, suddenly, stop having nightmares? He glanced at the clock, just nearing 1:00 a.m, morning was just around the corner. He sighed. "Listen, Sherlock," he said, regaining the detective's attention. "Halloween will be over soon." he stated.
Sherlock sent him a look that told him that he had been counting the hours. "And...?" Sherlock urged him on.
John smiled. "Well, I was thinking of educating you on proper Halloween entertainment. How does 'Nightmare Before Christmas' sound?"
Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. "Is that the one you were talking about, the one where the characters have to stay awake in order to survive?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"No, that's 'Nightmare on Elm Street." John corrected, padding back upstairs to find the movie.
"Oh, I quite liked the idea of that one." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.
"While, 'Nightmare on Elm Street' will definately keep people awake at night, I think we should just stick with the former suggestion." John chuckled when he returned.
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders in a way that clearly indicated 'Okay, if you say so, you own the movies'. Then, a thought seem to strike him. "But, what if it's boring?"
John rolled his eyes as the two settled down for the opening credits. "Well, tough, you're going to watch it."
Sherlock looked at him morosely. "Oh, you're horrendous."
John just smiled back innocently.
The End