AN: This one is short and sweet, just an idea that wouldn't get out of my head.
Lots of angst/comfort, heavy bromance or pre-slash.
Hope you enjoy. Reviews always welcome!
Comfort
Three years later Sherlock stands frozen in front of John as the other man cries.
Sherlock doesn't move, just watches. The smaller man's shoulders are shaking, his head is bowed in a failed attempt to hide his tears. He makes no sound.
Perhaps for the first time in his life, Sherlock is at a loss. His mind rapidly searches through the hard-drive of his brain for information on how to stop John from crying, but it simply isn't there.
He reaches a tentative hand toward his friend but hesitates and retracts it before making contact.
John wipes at his face with his sleeve. He looks awful. Sherlock can see a stubborn misery behind his eyes that will not dissipate so easily. Too much damage had been done, and with a sinking feeling Sherlock realizes that his return in and of itself is not going to be enough to bring life back into John.
When John jolts awake from a doze at his desk at Bart's lab, he screams.
Sherlock is so startled and shaken by the sound that the test tubes fall forgotten from his hands, shattering on the floor.
In a few quick strides he makes it to John's chair, kneeling on the ground in front of him so they are at eye level.
"Sher-Sherlock," John rasps, voice groggy with sleep, or perhaps emotion. He grips the front of Sherlock's shirt into fists and drags him closer. "You're real?"
"Yes," Sherlock answers immediately, eyes wide and fixed on his friend's face. "I'm real. I'm here." Tentatively he covers John's fists with his palms. "Everything is alright now."
He can see the reassuring words have an effect, albeit a minuscule one. John takes a few deep breaths and eventually lets him go, returning to his work, his movements slow and stiff, like that of an old man.
Sherlock too returns to his lab work, but his heart is no longer in it. He continues to observe John out of the corner of his eye, his mind focused entirely on him, no other thoughts fighting for his attention.
And at that moment he wishes he could exchange all of the facts and ideas in his brain for just one hint on how to make John better.
Sherlock is woken in the middle of the night by the sound of his name, screamed in such terrible anguish. It's coming from John's room.
He sprints out of bed, leaving his sheets in a tangled heap, and runs toward the sound. He reaches the bedroom door, flings it open, and stops just a foot short of John's bed.
He sees his friend, still asleep, in the grip of some nightmare, sweat coating his skin and pillow damp from fallen tears.
John is writhing, restless, still screaming, such a terrible sound...
Sherlock closes the gap between them and sits on the side of the bed, placing his hands on either side of John's face to still him.
"Hush now," he murmurs, the tremble of his fingers at John's temples betraying his own distress.
He wipes the tears from John's face and smooths his hair. John keeps crying but calms, screams abating, now just whimpers escaping his lips.
"I'm here," Sherlock whispers, encouraged by the change in John. He starts to feel a little bit less useless.
Eventually he too nods off, head drooping until it rests near John's shoulder.
When he wakes John is gone.
Sherlock finds John standing by the window, looking out but not seeing, eyes glazed and unfocused.
"John," he says quietly, tentatively approaching. He places a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Mmm?" John turns to face him, mildly surprised to see him, lost in thought. It's been days now since they've reunited, yet he doesn't look any better.
"John," Sherlock prompts gently. "Tell me, what's wrong." He places another hand on John's other shoulder. He knows, now, that sometimes people want physical contact. He knows it helps his friend a little.
John stares at him, still a ghost of his former self. It seems like ages before he finally shrugs and whispers, "I'm not okay."
"I know." On impulse Sherlock pulls him close and wraps his arms around him. John lets him.
Sherlock holds him awkwardly, not sure how to proceed, but when he starts to rub soothing circles on his back and John relaxes into him, he gains confidence and repeats his motions, altering them just slightly, experimenting and calculating John's reactions.
He feels John's nose rest against the crook of his neck and holds him tighter, fingers curling into his hair, whispering words of comfort into his ear.
Sherlock learns that touching John helps to bring a faint spark back to his eyes.
He tries to remember to touch him, now and again, randomly throughout the day.
He touches his fingers to John's hair before joining him at the kitchen table for breakfast.
He reaches out and squeezes his wrist when they are in the streets and have to stop and wait for the light at a crosswalk.
He hugs him before leaving the flat without him, for anything, for any amount of time.
Gradually John begins to return to his former self. He is more energetic, he laughs, he gets angry with Sherlock, and his eyes don't look so sad anymore.
Every now and then, though more and more rarely, his screams still pierce the night and wake Sherlock.
Those nights Sherlock rushes to his room and climbs into his bed, under the sheets, and molds himself against John's tortured body, holding him close, using his hands and his voice to soothe away the pain.
One such morning Sherlock wakes and John is still there, in his arms.
From that day on Sherlock sleeps in that bed every night, and John never screams again.