Sherlock was sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the couch, staring at the wall. Mrs. Hudson had gone to bed after nearly fainting from shock, and he'd been left alone. He sighed. The reunion between him and John had not been how he's imagined, how he'd wished, least of all expected. The scenario running through his mind had been pretty much the opposite. A hug, expressions of disbelief, maybe a bit of sentiment. Of course, he should've known how John would react. He was only human. Well, a normal human. Not a machine, not a freak or a fraud. Then again, he was John Watson. Sherlock sighed again. His eyes wandered hesitantly towards the mobile on the table in front of him, and he slowly picked it up and typed up a message;
Sorry about earlier. Want to solve a case? SH
When he reread it, he realized how emotionless it seemed and scrapped it. John had said he wanted to know why. Not how, but why. Memories threatened to resurface, and he closed his eyes as he shoved them away.
I did it for you, John. SH
Sherlock pressed the send button and placed the phone back on the table, staring at the screen until it lit up with a reply.
You could've told me, you know. What was so important that you had to keep it a secret from your best friend?
Sherlock had just began to think up a reply when another message came through;
No, never mind. I don't want to know. I don't feel like talking right now.
Sherlock felt his face fell and left the phone sitting on the table.
"One Word, Sherlock. That is all I would have needed. One word to let me know that you were alive."
"Now, you let me grieve, hmm? How could you do that?"
"Well, I couldn't risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything."
"Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear."
"You broke in here for a reason. Just tell us why and you can sleep."
"Remember sleep?"
Sherlock let out a fearful sound as he bolted to his feet, unable to stop the memories from flashing in front of his eyes. His back ached, he grunted in pain, but he was powerless to stop it so he didn't even beg. Two years of torture, endless pain. "No, no, no," he whispered, staring up as the familiar face swam into view.
"Let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't."
Someone was walking towards him. For a moment it looked like Mrs. Hudson. But it couldn't be, they were on the rooftop. It was Moriarty. Longer hair? No, no, he must just be seeing things... "Sherlock," the voice came out muffled. Who was it? What was happening?
"No, no, no!" Sherlock shouted, digging his fingers into his hair and stumbling backwards as he knocked over a vase that instantly shattered upon hitting the floor.
A vase? That wasn't right... Mrs. Hudson-Moriarty was speaking again, but he backed up further. "Come here..."
"No! Leave me alone!" Sherlock shouted, squeezing his eyes shut. He thought he felt wind, and his mind went to grip the assumption that they were, in fact, on Bart's roof. Moriarty walked towards him, holding out a hand, and he tripped backwards onto the floor, cutting his palms on broken glass.
Moriarty then backed away, slowly, then seemed to vanish from view. Sherlock buried his face in his palms, terrified that this was all happening again. "Please, not again," he whimpered, refusing to look up.
It was silent, other than the sounds his mind was processing as wind and distant vehicles on the street. A ringtone, Moriarty's, then John's voice screaming his name.
And then it all started over again.
John groaned, slightly annoyed, when his mobile rang. It wasn't a text alert, it was a phone call. The name on top read "Sherlock Holmes." When the ringing stopped, John was relieved, until it started up again. Well, Sherlock was definitely persistent, wasn't he? John scowled, grabbing the phone. "I said I don't want to talk tonight, Sherl-"
"John, it's Mrs. Hudson on Sherlock's mobile," Mrs. Hudson's voice said, interrupting John and surprising him.
"Oh, uh... Mrs. Hudson. Are you okay, are you hurt? What's wrong?" John asked, slightly worried.
"Oh, I'm fine, dear. It's Sherlock. Something's gone wrong in his head or something, John. I went up to give him tea and he was looking around the flat like a madman. He looked scared."
"I'm sure he's fine," John said, wanting to avoid the topic of Sherlock until tomorrow.
"Well, I thought so, too, dear. I went over to ask if he was all right and he lashed out at me. He fell and cut his hands on a broken vase, and now he's crying. I don't want to bother you, John, but I don't want to risk Molly or Lestrade getting hurt trying to help him. You're the only person I could think of," Mrs. Hudson spoke in a rush.
"He lashed out at you? Are you hurt?" John asked.
"I told you, dear, I'm fine. But Sherlock's not," Mrs. Hudson answered.
John sighed. This better not be some trick... "Okay, I'll be over in a few, don't call anyone else." He got to his feet and reluctantly threw his jacket on. "Mary, I'm going out!"
"Will you be gone long?" Mary shouted in question.
"Hopefully not!" John answered, opening the door and stepping out. "See you in a bit, Mary!"
The former army doctor called the first cab in view, mumbling the name "Baker Street" before plopping down in the back seat. Why was he even considering helping Sherlock? He'd been convinced he was dead for two years. Months of mourning, an inability to even pick up the phone, and now he was going over to help him from something that could as well just be another trick?
But he's your friend, John, his mind argued. That's why you're helping.
John scowled at himself, then stared out the window as the somewhat short drive came to an end. The doorway of 221B swam into view. Mrs. Hudson was standing just outside. John was beginning to doubt himself, then started a mental scolding. "Of course it's not a trick, she's standing outside while nearly crying on the phone," he mumbled as he opened the door.
He placed a twenty on the seat and slammed the door shut, walking up to the elderly woman. She spoke before he could even open his mouth. "He's started talking to himself," she said.
"What's he saying?" John asked, the smallest bit impatient.
"He's talking about him, John. Moriarty. And he's said your name a few times, too. Even said my name once, and Lestrade. Please help him, dear, I'm starting to get worried. He's cut himself with the glass again."
John pushed past Mrs. Hudson and opened the door, walking up the stairs and hesitantly pushing the door open. "Sherlock?" He called out.
Mrs. Hudson definitely hadn't been lying. Sherlock was tensed up, staring at the floor as he dug the heels and palms of his hands into the shards of glass on the floor around him. "Call them off... Let me sleep... John, John, where's John?" Sherlock was saying.
John slowly went forward, placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Sherlock," he started.
"No!" Sherlock cried, wincing away from John's touch. "Don't make me do it again, please!"
John blinked at his friend's state. He'd assumed it was the drugs again. But this? This wasn't caused by cocaine and cigarettes. This was pure fear. Something had traumatized Sherlock Holmes so much to make him afraid of everything around him. John had a small thought at the back of his mind that maybe this was partially his fault. "Sherlock, I'm not going to make you do anything," he said soothingly, the situation seeming foreign after two years of not needing to comfort anyone.
"No, no, of course you're not..." Sherlock whispered, eyes ablaze with a mix of fear and anger. "I'm going to do it voluntarily..."
"Do what, Sherlock?" John asked moving forward to offer a soothing touch again.
Sherlock scrambled backwards. "John, John, you'll make me do it for John... Where is John? Why can't I see John?" Sherlock seemed a bit annoyed, now, though still afraid.
John then realized that Sherlock couldn't see him. His mind was locked away on whatever trauma he was reliving, and the only thing he was aware of were voices and touch. He was having a panic attack. This small fact helped John develop an idea to try and comfort the terrified detective. He slowly began to outstretch his arm. "You're safe, Sherlock," he said.
Sherlock was watching John's hand, and he moved backwards a bit when he saw it moving towards him. John then stopped his hand and spoke again. "You can hear me speaking. Just focus, Sherlock, you're not on the rooftop, you're not at Saint Bart's, you're nowhere except at 221B."
When Sherlock stopped moving, John continued the slow motion of his hand. "But I can hear the cars, the wind, the people. I can see it, the rooftop... I want to see John. Please let me see John."
There was a repeat of Sherlock stumbling backwards when he saw John's hand, and John freezing again. "Yes, Sherlock, I will, because I'm right here. I'm John. Just focus, okay? Not Bart's. 221B. The flat."
Sherlock blinked several times. "I don't want to jump again," he whispered.
That was when John succeeded and finally got his hand to Sherlock's wrist. Sherlock let out a strangled cry, trying to wince away as his breathing quickened. "You don't have to jump again, Sherlock," John said soothingly.
Sherlock was shaking now. John slowly moved his hand to Sherlock's shoulder. "But... But I thought..." Sherlock whispered.
John then placed his hand on Sherlock's back and rubbed it in soothing circles. "Focus, Sherlock. You're at the flat, and I'm John. I'm here, Sherlock."
Sherlock blinked again, then let loose a small sob. "J-John..." He whispered, stumbling forwards and throwing his arms around John's shoulders as his shivering got worse. "Please, I don't want to jump again, please..."
"Sherlock, I'm not going to let you, okay? I promise, you're with me, you're safe," John soothed.
"B-but what about Mary? And Moriarty? You l-love her and he wants me dead..." Sherlock seemed doubtful.
John continued to rub circles on the consulting detective's back. "Yes, Sherlock, I love Mary. But you know what? I also love you. I swear I won't let you anywhere near that kind of danger again. You will never, ever have to jump off that rooftop a second time," John said softly.
Sherlock was silent as he considered this. "Promise?" He asked, seeming doubtful.
The tone of his voice broke John's heart. He seemed absolutely terrified that someone would take him to the roof of Saint Bart's and taunt him again until he would jump off the edge. He seemed doubtful that John was actually willing to do anything to prevent that very thing from happening a second time. "I promise, Sherlock," John answered, giving his friend a small squeeze.
Sherlock nodded, gripping John tighter. John thought he was thinking until Sherlock's tensed muscles relaxed and he sagged against him, his shallow breathing periodically slowing down. Asleep.
John carefully shifted his position so he had one arm under Sherlock's knees and the other under his shoulders, slowly pushing himself off the floor and to his feet. He leisurely walked towards the sofa, sitting down on the far side and laying Sherlock down. The detective's head slipped onto John's leg and he shifted, mumbling a few things as his body regained a comfortable position. "Mrs. Hudson!" John called in a whisper.
The landlady was through the door in seconds. She instantly noticed the scene before her and gave a small smile. "Give me your phone, dear, I can let Mary know you won't be home tonight."
John gave a grateful smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."
She grabbed the mobile out of John's hand as the army doctor looked down at his friend. He let his fingers gently dance through the detective's curls. He found it hard to think that just a short while before, he'd wanted nothing to do with Sherlock and now, he was on the couch next to him as he slept. Friendship works that way, he reasoned. "Thank you, John..." Sherlock mumbled.
John was a small bit surprised as he noticed Sherlock had said it while asleep, but he answered all the same. "I'll always help you, Sherlock," he whispered, running his fingers through the black hair. "Always."
A/N: Thanks for reading! After watching the Reichenbach Fall and the Empty Hearse, I had this small idea that; what if Sherlock had flashbacks from all that torture and his experience with Moriarty? Obviously I decided John would be a suitable comfort for our favorite detective :) Review, let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: All rights to BBC and Arthur Conan Doyle