He couldn't remember when he started watching John sleep. A couple of months maybe. Maybe more. Maybe less. But he had started watching him. He found some comfort in it. Watching his partners chest moving up and down slowly as he breathed and the way his arm would be curled up his head to support him. The duvet was hanging off his naked body, his skin glowing in the moonlight. He looked peaceful but Sherlock knew it wouldn't last. They would come soon. They always did.
The visits weren't as frequent as they used to be. But they still caused John anguish and pain. He used to awake screaming. Shouting. Sherlock would run in and hold John as the terrors controlled him. John sometimes became violent but it didn't bother him. He would stay there holding him until he calmed down. Sometimes he didn't even realise Sherlock was there. He would fall straight back to sleep and wake the next morning, not aware of what happened.
The nightmares had started to become less since Sherlock had entered his life, John had told him. He didn't know why but he was thankful. They took a lot out of him when he remembered them, he would remember the horrors that he saw when he was in Afghanistan. The blood. The death. It haunted him.
Sherlock had started watching him sleep. Waiting for the nightmares to come. Some nights they didn't and Sherlock would fall asleep outside the room, but was up before John could see him. Although he didn't realise that John knew that he was outside his room. He didn't want to admit it. Liked knowing that Sherlock loved him as much as he loved Sherlock.
That night was no different. Sherlock was watching his sleeping partner when the signs started. John started to shake the duvet being knocked to the floor as the attack became more violent. His body thrashed on the sheets and he started the screaming. The moaning. Visions plagued him and he couldn't wake. Sherlock ran into the room and grabbed onto John and pulled him close. John fought against him, his fists hitting Sherlock as his body continued to violently shake. Sherlock held him harder and ran his fingers down his arm; it was a trick that he learnt that would help John to calm down. Sure enough, within a few minutes John started to relax and come round.
Looking up he stared at Sherlock, his head dripping with sweat. He didn't moved; just stared at Sherlock. Holding him.
"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked, flicking on the bedside lamp.
John nodded, too shook up to reply. He noticed the marks on Sherlock's arms. Sherlock noticed the look of horror on his face and shook his head. "It's nothing."
"Did I do those?"
Sherlock didn't reply and pulled the duvet back over John. "Sherlock, did I cause those?"
Sherlock nodded, "You thrash around and I have to calm you, so I hold you."
"But I hurt you." John could feel himself feeling sick. He didn't realise that he was causing Sherlock pain during his nightmares and he felt guilty that Sherlock felt the need to hold him until he stopped.
"It's fine John Honestly, that pain is menial to the pain of seeing you being hurt."
"But..."
"Shh" Sherlock replied, leaning down and giving John a soft kiss. "I am always going to be here when you need me. And never feel ashamed. I do not judge you John and I do not mind the bruises if it means that I am helping you."
John couldn't help but feel guilty; knowing that he was causing pain to the person that he loved the most. He wrapped his arm around Sherlock and closed his eyes. He was exhausted; but he knew he could sleep with Sherlock with him.
"I love you." He whispered as he started to fall back asleep. It was quiet but Sherlock heard it and smiled, as he laid down and pulled John close to him. Embracing him.
"And I you, John."