DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. I just like to write fics.

ALSO: English is not my native language, I am from Poland. I am sorry from all the mistakes. And typos Also I am in hopeless need of beta to help me with said mistakes (and typos). Please forgive me?

It all takes place before Mary happened. Not sorry. I hate her. And if you don't understand why go and watch HLV again.

Inspired by "Sleeping Beauty" by Snow White's Poison Bite.

FAR AWAY IS JUST TOO FAR

PROLOGUE: Sleepless Under Stars

I'm having quite bad day, and I needed to pour all this sad feeling somewhere, so here you are. I AM SORRY. I promise it'll be a fluffy sweet fic in the end. It's just that one tiny chapter.

By the way did it ever hit you that "ceiling" is a weird word?

Sherlock woke up suddenly, from what was probably worst nightmare in his whole life. It was still dark, forgotten hour in the middle in the night, drawn curtains adding to the total darkness surrounding the room. He lied for a while, not moving, not really able to move, while pictures from his dream still didn't want to leave his head.

There was blood, lot's of blood, but that wasn't that terryfing as he was used to the sight of blood. No, what was scaring him to the point of screaming was the cold, motionless body lying on the floor, with a bullet wound piercing it's chest, and huge, empty eyes staring directly at him.

He could feel the cold seeping slowly from air to his body, and drew blanket tighter over himself. He closed his eyes again, breathing slowly to calm himself.

John Watson's eyes.

It was just a dream, just a nightmare, it didn't mean anything. Well, it meant a whole lot of things, but it wasn't real. Just a figment of his imagination. He lived under lots of stress recently, well, always to be precise, and that was the natural way his mind was dealing with lots of pressure. And with sight of all these dead bodies he was exposed to. Just perfectly natural thing.

His breathing was getting a bit calmer. Good. Now, as it was unlikely for him to go back to sleep again, he decided to go and start new experiment. After all he had couple of them in mind recently, and now, when case was over he could finally engage all needed focus into them, not mentioning that the fact he wasn't bored yet didn't mean anything and he could get bored every second. Yes, better to go and do something. Anything. Anything what wasn't thinking about his dream and about John.

So, in other words, he proceeded to sink into the act of denial.

Meanwhile, in the room upstairs John was staring at the ceiling, trying to calm his breathing as well, and denial wasn't quite working for him.

He was trying – in vein – to forget about what he just witnessed in his dream, and what was his flatmate getting a shot to his heart and dying in his arms.

He tried to rationalize, of course he did. They just finished particularly violent case involving four people getting shot. It was easily explained why he had this nightmare.

This, and, of course, the sheer fact Sherlock didn't leave his mind since last few months, and John was hardly able to thing about anything – or anyone – else.

And – as the whole denial thing wasn't working, and he was rather the kind of person who was in peace with his feeling, whatever they were – he recognized a while ago that he was quite infatuated with Sherlock. Or, to put it simply – hopelessly in love.

Not that he was going to do something. There was too high probablility of ruining everything. He was perfectly fine just watching his flatmate from distance and fantasising about him in the shower. Perfectly fine.

Except that, of course, he was not.

So John spend the great part of the night staring at the ceiling, while trying not to imagine himself getting up from this bed, taking this couple of stairs down, opening this door to Sherlock's bedroom and, well, crawling into bed with him and curling over him.

Because, let's face it, that would be rather weird. And probably unwelcome.

The thing was, John wasn't quite sure what were Sherlock's feelings towards him. Sometimes he behaved in a way that made John think that maybe – just maybe – if he went and kissed him now, he wouldn't get rejected. But there were also other times. And it all left him confused and not sure how to act.

At the same time there were more touching, this prolonged glances, little smiles, and this whole pushing the friendship boundaries thing.

And, honestly, John was more than lost there.

So he decided to wait.

And he spend the great part of the night night staring at the ceiling and trying very hardly not to think too much about Sherlock's everchanging eyes.

(Also, as you probably see all my fics are about how they fall in love with each other. It's just that I have couple of different scenarios and wanted to write about all of them.

When I'm done I promise I'll go back to One More Miracle Universe, since it's my beloved baby.)