Chapter 1: Never had Dreams, Only Nightmares

"Keep your eyes on me!"

"I…I can't…'m too…tired."

"Don't! Don't you dare close your eyes! Stay with me!"

"…I love you."

"Stop it. Don't you say good-bye; I won't let you."

"It's gonna…gonna be okay."

"You promised never to leave me."

"And…I won't."

**6 Weeks Earlier**

The loud thump of something hitting and knocking over the lamp on the other end of the bedroom causes me to snap my eyes open. What the hell was that? God, it can't be anywhere near morning or any normal time of getting up. I know it's not my son, who occasionally sneak in here, because he would have climbed right up on the bed and not wonder around. Then, becoming more aware of my surroundings, I hear the panting and notice the shift of body weight on the other side of the bed.

Ah, now I understand.

Now I see what's going on.

"Get out…Go away…" comes the soft whimpering beside me and I cautiously turn onto my side. Even in the darkness, I can see the outline of my husband, sitting up straight with his legs pulled in close to his chest and gently rocking back and forth. My heart begins to ache and all I can do is take in a deep breath.

"Sherlock," I whisper, slowly moving closer to him, "Love, your okay." I cautiously set a hand on his sweat drenched back but he doesn't notice or react. He's too lost in his nightmare.

"…Leave us alone…" he begs in his sleep as his body starts to shake, "Stop. Stop. Get out of here."

"Sherlock," I whisper again, but this time I shake his shoulder slightly, "Nothing's going to harm you. Just open your eyes and…"

"NO! GOD, NO!" he suddenly cries out and I immediately sit up straight. His eyes are wide with fear and he's looking around in absolute panic. His breathing is fast and weighted as if he had just finished running a marathon. Yes, he's awake now; he's awake and he's scared. Must have been one of the really bad dreams, then.

"Elfie? Elfie Marie, where are you?" he calls out, looking around and running his hands through the sheets to find me, "Darling, please! I need you."

After quickly flicking on the bedside table lamp, I instantly wrap my arms around my husband's shaking frame and pull him in close to me, "I'm right here, love." I say, "Right beside you."

Sherlock's heavy panting dies down a bit as he becomes more aware of where he is and that he is, in fact, okay. He wraps his trembling arms around my waist, almost like a child gripping onto their blanket, and begins to softly cry onto my shoulder: "Oh my darling, darling girl," he whimpers, "Don't go. Please, don't let go of me."

"Shh, it's alright. I'm here." I coo, running a hand through his messy mop of curls, "You're safe. You're home, Sherlock, its going to be okay." I gently rock him back and forth, just kissing the top of his head and reminding him that he was safe. We stay like this for what feels like forever. This is what we do now; this is how we spend our late nights.

"I…I thought I'd lost you," he finally says, sitting up a bit and cupping my face in his hands, "There was a-a man, someone I had known, and he had you and Hamish, but there was nothing-God, the blood, so much blood."

"Hey, hey, hey, it's alright." I say, rubbing my hands up and down his biceps, "It was just a dream; a horrible dream. You're safe, love." Sherlock lets out a shaky sigh and gently wraps me up in his arms again, nuzzling his head onto my shoulder. I place another kiss on the top of his head and intertwine one of my hands with his: "You said it was someone you had known," I whisper into his hair, "Can you tell me who?"

"No…I cant." He groans, "Please don't make me."

I bite my lower lip and hold him a little tighter. I know whom he saw, even if he doesn't want to tell me. It was Moriarty; it's always Moriarty. Sherlock told me what had happened to James Moriarty that day on the rooftop of St. Barts. I know that he is dead and can't hurt us anymore. And yet, the man still haunts Sherlock just as he did when he was alive. He just won't go away.

"Sherlock," I cautiously say, "he…Moriarty is dead and you know that. He's not going…"
"Don't pry into this, Fee, please," my husband breathes out between tears, "Just…God, I'm so sorry, my darling."

"For what?"

"For making you go through this every night."

I close my eyes and gulp down tears of my own. He shouldn't be apologizing; this is a sad little routine we have isn't his fault…at least I don't want to think that it is. We remain entangled silently in each other's arms for what feels like an eternity. I can hear his breathing relax more and more with each second and I gently place a kiss on the top of his head.

"There's nothing to apologize for," I whisper, "Nothing at all."

This all started when Sherlock came back home from that awful three year absence, during which he had fallen back into old habits along with dark periods of depression. Things were good for a long time; he went back to work and there were no bad dreams nor panic attacks nor days without getting out of bed. True, the press was hounding him like never before which added some extra stress, but Sherlock seemed to be dealing with it all very well.

He always found time to spend with his family; he and our son, Hamish, are practically inseparable. I decided to cut back on hours at work just so I could be with Hamish more often. As much as he would love to, I'm not letting Sherlock take our son to a crime scene just yet. As for our love life it's…well, it's exciting for sure. I would come home from a long day at work and Sherlock would instantly swoop me up in his arms, kissing my cheek and telling me that he's missed my company. It's a bit out of character for him, but then again he's not Sherlock Holmes: World's Only Consulting Detective when he's with me. With me, he's just my brilliant genius of a husband who loves me and I love him.

He and John are slowly progressing back toward their old partnership, but John is so focused on starting a new life with Mary. They haven't been the same since Sherlock came back and that is reasonable. But deep down, John knows that he needs Sherlock just as much as Sherlock needs him. They are the very definition of best friends; no matter what happens, they always have each other.

Now with Mary in John's life, I was afraid that John would just move on from Sherlock but that doesn't seem to be the case. Their wedding is in a few weeks and (even if he won't say it) Sherlock is happy for his best friend. When John asked him to be his best man, I seriously thought Sherlock was going to pass out due to shock:

"But…why?" he had asked.

"Because you're my best friend, you idiot." John replied with a laugh, "Is that so hard to believe?"

Life, even through the rough patches, seemed to be getting back to normal for us and it was all going to be okay.

But, then a few weeks ago, it all started to go downhill.

The nightmares came back and so did the mood swings. One moment, Sherlock would be his normal self then the next he would be completely shut off to the world around him. He'll lock himself in the bedroom for hours on end and only surface for food (which rarely happens) or if he hears a client coming up the stairs, but even then he'll listen to their case and brush them aside. Hamish will come up to the door begging for Sherlock to read him a story or play some music, but Sherlock just silently lays on the bed, lost in his depression, and I'm left to deal with a very upset toddler.

From time to time, good days or bad, I'll catch Sherlock mindlessly itching at the crook of his left arm. Those are the hardest moments for me because that's when he's craving the drugs. I had hoped he had moved on from that phase of recovery, but John says that he'll never truly be 'over' the drugs: once an addict, always an addict I guess. But on the good days, he's my Sherlock again. He's the world's only consulting detective, whose faced death and still managed to come out on top. He's my husband and I love him. I'll always love him, no matter what.

"You should go back to sleep," Sherlock mumbles, breaking my train of thought and situating his head so that we are looking at each other, "I'm sorry I woke you."

"You know I don't mind," I reply, softly running my fingers through his curls. He smiles meekly at me and leans in close so that his lips meet mine in a soft kiss.

"I love you," he whispers, nuzzling his forehead against mine, "You know that, don't you?"

"Of course, I do." I reply, furrowing my brow in confusing, "what makes you think that I don't?"

"Because I haven't shown it," he says, stroking my cheek, "I haven't been myself and I know it. My mind is…betraying me. But I promise you that I'm going to get better. I promise."

"I know you will," I agree with a small smile, "and know that I love you, no matter what."

"Even if I go mad?"

"That's not going to happen. That, I promise you."

We exchange another kiss then lay back down. Sherlock wraps his arms around my waist again and moves his body as close to me as possible. I turn onto my side so that we are face to face and gently start to stroke his pale cheek: "Do you think you'll fall back asleep tonight?"

"Maybe," he replies, half-heartedly.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I ask, resting my hands on his chest.

Sherlock gives me that signature half-mouth smirk of his and kisses my forehead: "Just don't go anywhere," he sighs, pulling me in close, "Stay with me."

"I wasn't planning on going anywhere at 5 in the morning," I tease, attempting to lighten the mood. Sherlock chuckles slightly and gently strokes my cheek. My eyelids begin to feel heavy and it becomes difficult to stay awake. My husband can obviously tell so he reaches over me and turns off the light.

"Go to sleep, darling," he says, lying back down, " and don't worry about me, alright?"

"You know I can't do that," I yawn, cuddling up close to him, "I care too much."

"You always have," he replies, stroking my hair, "and I…I thank you for that, truly."

Finally giving in, I close my eyes and place a soft kiss on Sherlock's cheek. I lay my head down and use his chest as a pillow. His steady heartbeat echoes through my ears as I begin to drift off to sleep again. Sherlock remains awake, I know it. He's thinking; that's how he copes with these nightmares. He just thinks.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Mummy! Daddy! Time to get up!" our son squeals as he climbs up onto the bed, "Uppie, Uppie!"

I slowly open my eyes and am relieved to see the sun peeking through the curtains. At least I was able to get a decent amount of sleep after getting up at five. I wonder if Sherlock did as well? Sitting up slightly, I happily notice that I'm still wrapped in my husband's arms and that he is still peacefully sleeping.

"Mummy, you up?" Hamish giggles as he crawls over to me.

"Yes, sweetheart, I am." I yawn, "Good morning."

"Morning," he says, wiggling his tiny body in between Sherlock and I. Hamish then turns to look at his father, who hasn't stirred yet, and smiles: "Daddy," the little boy whispers, curling up onto Sherlock's chest, "you up?"

Sherlock grumbles in his sleep and 'subconsciously' wraps his arms around Hamish to hold his son in place while he turns onto his back. Hamish lets out a giddy laugh and pokes his father's chest; "Daddy, you up?"

"Mmph," Sherlock mock-mumbles, "Nope. I'm not up...not yet"

"Daddy, you silly." Hamish giggles, "Time to get up."

"I don't think so," Sherlock yawns rather loudly, "Few more minutes." He then gently presses Hamish's head down onto his chest as if to tell him to go back to sleep. Hamish just laughs again and pretty soon Sherlock starts to as well.

I prop myself up on my elbow and smile at them. It's hard to believe that this was the same man as last night, but this is the real Sherlock: the father, the genius, and the human being. His nightmares seem like nothing in the morning and part of me loves that. However, the other part of me knows that they shouldn't be forgotten. Sherlock needs to talk about them, not keep them bottled up inside…but not today.

Not right now, at least.

"Good morning, little one," Sherlock says, finally dropping his façade and propping himself up on his elbows, "Sleep well?"

"Mhm," Hamish replies, sitting in his father's lap, "Now, time to get up! Come on, Dad!"

"Yes, yes, you've made that very clear," Sherlock replies with a yawn, "But you must be patient with me, Hamish. I don't get out of bed as easily as you do."

"Dull." Hamish says, folding his little arms across his chest. Sherlock and I exchange a quick look and I can't help but let out a small laugh. Good Lord, this boy is his father's son.

It's hard to believe that three years ago I was pregnant, living in a sort of haze because I believed my husband to be dead and that I was going to raise this child all on my own. God, that was such an awful time, but I made it through. I raised Hamish to the best of ability and I couldn't be more proud of him. He's so bright and so advanced for his age (he is a Holmes after all). Sometimes

Everyday, Hamish looks more and more like his father. I'll admit that I was nervous when Sherlock came home after his three-year absence. I was afraid Hamish wouldn't take to him, that he'd not know whom he was and thus not have a relationship with his father. Thankfully, my fears were crushed. Hamish and Sherlock are inseparable, a true pair. Who would have ever thought that Sherlock Holmes' better half would come out because of a child? They're my boys, my family and my world.

Stretching his back, Sherlock takes a hold of Hamish and slowly gets out of bed. He sets the giddy toddler on his hip and walks over to the wardrobe: "Well, you've got me out of bed before 10 am. You must be eager to get the day going." he says, pulling out his blue dressing gown with his free hand, "so then, what shall we do today?"

"No work, Daddy?" Hamish asks, getting rather excited. I sit up fully, also excited to hear that he won't be working today. He and John did just finish a robbery case a few days ago, but in 'Sherlock time' that was ages ago. I would have thought he'd immediately want to take on another one.

"Not today," Sherlock replies with a smile, "Today, my time and energy is devoted to you and, of course, your mother." He then turns to me; "that is if she'll have me." He teases with that signature click of his tongue. I let out a small giggle and pull my knees in close to my chest; Goodness, who is this suave young man and what has he done with my Sherlock?

"Then…breakfast?" Hamish asks, looking directly at me.

"In a little bit, sweetheart," I say with a chuckle, "Let Dad and I get dressed and then I'll make you some pancakes, okay?"
"Yes, please." The toddler squeals, "Hurry, though." And with that, our son climbs down and out of his father's arms and scurries out to the living room.

"He gets that from you," Sherlock says, putting on his robe and running a hand through his messy curls, "that early morning energy."

"Maybe, but the impatience comes from you." I quip back with a smirk. My husband chuckles and comes back toward the bed. To my surprise, but not displeasure, Sherlock takes both my hands into his and pulls me up out of bed and into his arms. His always staggeringly beautiful, sea foam green eyes gaze into my emerald ones and a small, quaint, smile grows across his lips.

"What?" I ask, my cheeks turning a bright shade of pink, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Come here," he whispers, wrapping a hand behind my neck and pulling me in close. Our lips immediately lock in a deep kiss and I close my eyes, enjoying every second of this moment. My heart is racing as our kiss intensifies and I rub my hands up and down is chest. I feel Sherlock gently begin to massage the back of my neck and rest his free hand on my hip.

Yes, this definitely is not the same man as the one last night.

"I love you," he whispers when our lips finally part,

"I love you too," I reply in a breathy voice, "and thank you for…whatever that was."

"Can't I show my wife some affection every now and then?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, "That is part of my duty as a husband, you know."

"Don't be such a smartass," I say, playfully smacking his chest, "I just meant that that kiss was a nice surprise. To be honest, I thought…" I stop myself short and look away from him; I don't want to ruin this moment, let alone his good mood, by bringing up last night.

"You thought what?" Sherlock urges me to go on.

"Well, after last night." I regretfully say, "I thought today was going to be, you know, one of those days."

The sweet and charming look disappears from Sherlock's gaze and is quickly replaced with coldness and a touch of hurt. Damn it, now I've ruined the day already.

"Sherlock," I begin, but he places a soft finger to my lips.

"It's alright." He says with a heavy sigh, "I understand your concern. Let me assure you, Elfie, that…that I am perfectly fine. Yes, I'm fine. It's just as you said; it was just a nightmare, nothing more. Although I greatly enjoyed your comfort…let us forget it ever happened, shall we?"

"Sherlock, you know that I can't let you do that." I say, taking his hands into mine, "This has been going on for almost a whole week now and, quite honestly love, it scares me. You need to talk about this, if not with me then at least with John. He is your doctor after all."

"No, I don't need to talk about anything. As I said, I'm fine." Sherlock quickly replies, looking down at his feet, "Leave it alone."

"But how can I?" I say, "I don't like seeing you like this."

"And you think I'm enjoying constantly having my mind fall apart nightly?" Sherlock suddenly snaps, glaring at me, "There is a war going on inside my brain, Elfie; a war that I brought upon myself and that I have to fix by myself. There's nothing you can do for me; nothing that will result in immediate results, that's for certain."

Sherlock's voice softens again and I watch as he stares off into space. His eyes are focused on some imaginary point and he looks like he does when he slips into that mind palace of his. Only I know that that's not where his mind is. With a heavy heart, I watch as the fingers of his right hand scratch at the tiny mark just below the crook of his left elbow.

The mark from where he would shoot up.

The mark that needle left in his skin.

It, truly, makes me sick to my stomach.

Unable to bear it anymore, I quickly slap his hand back down and then cup his face in my hands, forcing him to look me in the eyes: "Stop it!" I hiss, "Stop that scratching, you know I hate it!" Sherlock snaps out of his small trance and just stares at me, doe-eyed and bewildered. The tension is thick; nothing at all like it was just moments ago when we were with our son. Regretting how harsh my motions may have been just now; I let out a heavy sigh and lower my hands to rest on his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," I say, "I shouldn't have…"
"No, no, you should have." He replies, "I…I lost myself for a moment there."

Cautiously and gently, I lean forward and wrap my arms around him. A single tear rolls down my cheek: "Let me help you." I whisper, bringing my forehead to rest on his chest, "Please."

He wraps his arms around me as well and rests his cheek atop my head: "You can't." Sherlock says after a long pause, "I can't let you."

"Daddy, Mummy, you coming?" Hamish calls from the living room, breaking the tension. Sherlock places a soft kiss on the top of my head and lets go of me.

"I'll go check on him." He says, heading for the door. I dry my eyes on the sleeves of my pajama top but then quickly take my husband's hand into my own. He looks down at our intertwined fingers and then back at me; the shadow of a smile on his lips.

"I love you," I say, walking in step with him.

"I love you too," he replies, giving my hand a quick squeeze, "and…I'm going to fix this. You just have to trust me. Do you trust me, Fee?"

"Always." I reply in a soft voice, "Always, Sherlock."

Hello!

Well this is my third installment this series I've created. I truly never thought it would go this far but I am glad that it did. If you haven't read my other two ('The Woman at His Side' and 'I Won't See You Know Till I Surrender'), please go over and do so. I don't want those who may be interested getting confused. Xoxo

For those who have followed this series, thank you and I hope you'll enjoy this one. This story will be a tad darker then my previous two, so please be advised of that. I will try to update as often as I can, but life always seems to get in the way.

Please comment, follow, fave and I all the jazz. It really does help the writing process.

I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.

Much love and many thanks