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John tossed and turned in his sleep, his PTSD dreams were occuring more often than not but there was always a sick twist to his dreams, though Sherlock was back for good and it had been years since the incident, John would hallucinate about Sherlock's death; muffled voices of his army commerades dragging him along the battlefield with surrounding gunfire from all sides mixed with his last conversation with Sherlock on Bart's rooftop; "Goodbye John..." No- Sherlock!

Unaware he had actually shouted out in his sleep he awoke to the lanky Detective, now in his night wear, stood by his door concerned, "Are you alright, John?" His baritone voice broke the silence of the room as he walked up to the chair by John's bed, "Wh- Sherlock?" "Yes?" "What are- Why are you up here?" "You shouted me I thought it was important" "But it's three in the morning" John groaned as his clock gleamed out numbers in red "Wait I shouted you?" A slow nod was the only response, "What happened, John?" "Just... dreams" Sherlock slid his long, bone-like but warm hand into John's clamy one to comfort him. He repeated himself, "What happened?" John sat up properly, no attempt to move his hand away, scrunching his eys tight, "Uh... Afghanistan and your 'suicide'" "A memory" Sherlock stated flatly "Good observation" John sarcastically remarked. Silence consumed another five minutes, John tried not to think about his dream but every time his mind would betray him he squeezed Sherlock's hand tighter "Move over, John"

Before the older man could react Sherlock let himself in the bed and curled up next to John, still holding his hand reassuring John that he wouldn't leave his side unless absolutely necessary "Sherlock," John whispered "Mm?" "Thank you" Sherlock pushed himself further towards John using his chest as a pillow, John tried to move his head to see what was going on but blissfully accepted Sherlock's advances. Sherlock quietly analyzed the speed of John's heart and proceeded with small tests to what could make his heart race or slow down. After five minutes of 'experiments' John's heart was consistantly slow and his breathing was deep, Sherlock raised himself from John's chest. Sound asleep John was oblivious to the tiny smirk on his face and gentle chuckling, "Nothing just... 'Welcome to London'" Sherlock quietly laughed at the memory and lay back down in his original spot, Sherlock gripped John's hand tight, "Goodnight, John" "Night, Sherlock"