Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock. Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss are the creators.
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Chapter 1: Nightmares
Screams of pain and terror fill John's ears as bullets and grenades target and destroy his fellow soldiers, his friends.
"Retreat to base C12 and rearm yourselves!" John looks about searching for more injured persons and locates his lieutenant almost unconscious, a shard of corrugated steel extending through his stomach. 'Jesus' John whispers, fighting back bile. Saliva and blood fly from the victim's mouth as he coughs uncontrollably, bringing John kneeling to his side. He grabs at John's uniform trying to speak but failing.
"Lucas, I'm going to get you out of here but you need to stay conscious…" His words trail off as he takes his friends pulse and finds it slowing, getting weaker every second until the hands desperately hanging onto him loosen and fall to his sides. Tears well in his eyes but did not fall over. He looks up to see that most of his regiment have gone. "Shit…" he curses and starts scrabbling over rubble and debris to join his troops.
Suddenly a blinding pain erupts in his left shoulder, causing him to trip over plaster and he crashes onto the frame of a burnt-out car. He tentatively touches his shoulder and winces, he assesses his fingers to find them coated in blood. He is so close to base, that's why he is out if the field, the enemy had gotten close over the last 4 hours and they were being picked off like flies. He went out to attend to the injured before bullets narrowly missed his head. His response was immediate killing 8 of the enemy before reloading. He tries to move his fingers; they respond. Good, he thinks, at least the bullet hadn't penetrated his nerves or bone, only muscle. His vision becomes blurry so he checks his wound again. Blood is flowing from it heavily, 'fuck' he thinks, it has punctured his brachial artery. He tries to get up but all strength has left him, he rips part of his trouser leg, tying it around his shoulder to keep pressure and welcomed the darkness.
"JOHN!" John's eyes fly open and search for the person that had yelled his name. That voice. It didn't belong here in Afghan.
"JOOOHN!" He screams again and despite his wound and enemy fire he starts crawling over the debris.
"SHERLOCK!" John screams back, searching for his friend.
He crawls behind an Oshkosh M-ATV and finds Sherlock sitting against it. "Joh-." he starts before a soldier pounces on them, bullets puncturing Sherlock's pale flesh. Brain and heart.
John sits up in his bed screaming and gasping for air. It was just a dream. Even in his sleep, the memories and pain he suffered in Afghanistan would always haunt him. He looks at his clock, 04:58am. Thank God he doesn't have to get up at 6:00am today to go to the surgery. He stands up and stretches glancing at himself in the mirror, his top and face is covered in sweat and his body is trembling slightly, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He sighs and walks downstairs to the kitchen. Sherlock comes out of his room, wrapping his navy dressing gown around him.
"I didn't wake you did I?" John asks wearily.
"Yes, but its ok." Sherlock answers his voice thick with sleep. He rubs his eyes and ruffles his hair. "Nightmare." He states but John replies, "Yes." anyway. John fills a glass with water and takes out a variety of painkillers. He chooses two and takes them with the water.
"Sorry I woke you…again." Sherlock rarely sleeps and when he does, John does everything he consciously can not to wake him, although unconsciously, that is a problem. Sherlock waves his hand dismissively and notices John trembling. He strides over to him;
"It was different this time wasn't it?"
"Yes."
Sherlock studies his face, deducing him, and John doesn't object.
"Oh." Sherlock says his face showing surprise and concern. He sits down at the dining room table, the half without his experiments and gestures for John to take a seat. "It's ok." he repeats. John looks at Sherlock and half-smiles. His childish, annoying, sociopathic flatmate was remarkably accepting of him when he is knowingly rude to everyone else. He lays his head in his hands and closes his eyes thinking. He is still tired and sleep starts to overcome him once more. Explosions and machine gun fire ring in his mind along with Sherlock's hurt, desperate cries of his name. He opens his eyes quickly and whimpers. Sherlock is still looking at him, reading him like a book and moves next to him, placing his hand in John's hair. John jumps but relaxes into the touch.
"Do you want to stay with me tonight?" Sherlock asks, it isn't the first time he's been asked this or accepted his offer but tonight something feels different. John wearily glances at Sherlock and nods. They both stand up in silence, John puts the pills away and glass in the sink and then walks over to Sherlock who was waiting for him. Sherlock laces his fingers with John's and they head to his room. They both get under the covers; hands still connected and settle down.
"Sherlock?"
"Mmm?" he replies drearily.
"Why do you let me stay with you?" Sherlock opens his eyes slightly and gazes at John.
"I don't like seeing you distressed. Friends comfort each other in times of need and you're my best friend." John smiles at that and Sherlock smiles back.
"Thank you." John whispers and squeezes Sherlock's hand. Unexpectedly, Sherlock shifts towards John and lays his head on his chest.
"Good night John." John freezes in shock at this action but rests his other hand in Sherlock's curls, sighs and replies, "G'night Sherlock" before drifting into a dreamless sleep.
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A/N - Thank you for reading. It would be so nice if you tell me what you think of it. If you want me to write a specific Johnlock just ask. xox