Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock.
What would you like me to make him say next?
I'll burn you.
I'll burn the heart out of you.
I've been reliably informed I don't have one.
But we both know that's not quite true.
Sherlock tossed and turned in his sleep. He always thought that he had everything under control: the situation, his emotions, and the outcome. When he thought that John was Moriarty, he doubted all that he knew. If there was one thing that he feared, it was that man, who was more of a monster than anything else.
Watson!
Gunshots penetrated the desert air, eliciting cries of pain, tainting the sand with the blood of his brothers.
It's in here with me…
Normally, John's fight-or-flight response would kick in during these situations and he would jump into action. Project H.O.U.N.D. had instilled fear in him that he had never known before; a paralyzing fear that had shaken him to his core. It was a foreign feeling to him. He remembered in the first few months that he returned from Afghanistan, he had nightmares that left his throat sore from all the screaming. Living with Sherlock had reduced his nightmares and he slept soundly until he came here.
The two friends were on opposite sides of the one bed that they were forced to share. After all the events at Baskerville, John couldn't be bothered to be opposed by the idea. They both changed into their pajamas in silence and crawled into bed, facing away from each other. Almost instantly, they both fell asleep, emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted.
It was around 3 in the morning when they both woke up. There wasn't a lot of light filtering in through the curtains, so John had to squint when he rolled over to look at Sherlock, who was already staring at him.
"Couldn't sleep?" John muttered.
"No. I—I haven't let go of this fear and this doubt, John," Sherlock whispered. "What kept you up?"
John turned on his side so that he was facing Sherlock. "The nightmares came back, Sherlock. It was like they never disappeared—", John choked back a sob, shuddering.
Sherlock's eyes widened and he pulled John close to him, stroking his hair softly and rubbing his back. Mycroft soothed him like this when they were younger during the time Mummy and Daddy were going through the divorce. It seemed to work because John's sobs slowed down, and he had a vice-grip around Sherlock's torso. John buried his face in Sherlock's chest, taking comfort in the musky scent of his well-worn night shirt. He stayed silent, letting John relax.
"I thought they were over. I thought that I was past that point in my life. I—I thought I was stronger than that…" John trailed off, tracing circles on Sherlock's back.
He had never seen John this unsure of himself. It was unnerving to think that his friend, normally strong, had let his fears show; because John always dealt with them head on before they got to him.
"I saw him. I saw Moriarty," Sherlock murmured.
John froze and looked up at him, his eyes wide with horror. "Really?"
"Yes. It doesn't seem like we've seen the last of him…"
John nuzzled further into him, feeling safe in his arms. He sighed; he thought that they were done with that lunatic after the incident at the pool. Apparently not.
Sherlock rolled over so that John was slightly on top of him. His heartbeat, frantic before, was a soothing rhythm that lulled John slowly back to sleep.
"John?"
"Mmmm?"
"I meant what I said before."
"I know."
"You do?"
"Of course, you idiot," John chuckled. He was pretty sure he was the only one who could get away with insulting Sherlock and not getting punched.
"In fact, I consider you my best friend. I just thought you should know that." He thought back to when he introduced John to Sebastian as his friend and was quickly shot down. To his delight, John introduced Sherlock to his co-workers as his friend when Sherlock barged into the hospital one day, hoping to acquire some limbs for an experiment.
"Funny enough, you're my best friend too."