Bad dreams are nothing special,
They happen all the time.
"John, what do you see?" Ella asked softly. He didn't answer, and instead squeezed his eyes even more shut, his eyebrows furrowing.
"John…" Ella pressed, her voice cool and calm.
Several images flashed in his mind. They came to him when he was asleep, and they always startled him awake as they left him a very nostalgic feeling, as if he had lost something very precious. The images were transient, and every time he just couldn't grasp at the whole picture. Sometimes, a tear or two escaped, but he didn't know why. If he had actually lost something so dear, surely he would remember, wouldn't he? But then again, it started not long ago only.
Black hair, blue eyes, tall man. Every time he could nearly get a glimpse of the man's face, but it would all slip through his mind like trying to hold smoke in his hands. It was so frustrating, and yet he couldn't do anything about it.
"I… I can't. Sorry, Ella, not today even." John shook his head, blinking as he opened his eyes at the psychiatrist's face.
"It's ok John…" Ella said, scribbling something down on her notepad that was tilted up to not allow her patient to see what she was writing. "How have you been feeling lately about yourself…?"
As John walked out of the building, a sudden bout of vertigo came over him. What the… He clung to the brick as the world spun out around him. Everything was shimmering, and the darkening sunlight flared a little at his eyes. He pulled himself together as it went as quickly as it came. A kind-looking lady on the street asked if he was alright, and he nodded thanks at her. John wanted to just get back home, even though nobody was waiting at home for him anyway. It was lonely by himself, and he knew it. He straightened up and then – he collided into someone.
Black hair, blue eyes, tall man. John widened his eyes and nearly bit his tongue of in shock. This person, he was real! He couldn't say a word, couldn't breathe, couldn't apologise for courtesy's sake. The man muttered a sorry, and turned, striding off in the opposite direction.
"Wait!" John shouted, before the man could round the corner and be gone forever. John felt taken aback at where his voice came from. The tall person stopped in his tracks, and turned, looking mildly surprised. John ran to catch up with him. Somehow, this felt familiar.
"Have we met before?" John asked, licking his lips and tittering about with a strange nervous energy. "I'm John… John Watson."
"No… I don't believe we have." The man replied, frowning. John honestly didn't know what to say next. The man in his dreams, and now he was here in the flesh. But what did that mean? What did everything mean? For a moment, he stood there, dumbstruck. The tall man cleared his throat.
"Well… I've got to go now, so…"
"Yes… Sorry, I thought you were someone else. Sorry," John repeated, stepping away. He never had any dreams about the man from that night onwards, though John couldn't explain them in the first place, and yet he felt like a part of him was missing.
Maybe dreams were a window to previous lives. Maybe in his past life, the man was dead, not alive. Maybe in his past life, his last miracle was for him to see the man alive, not dead. And by seeing Sherlock Holmes alive, not dead, that freed him, for he never saw the black-haired, blue-eyed, tall man ever again.