A/N-Okay so this is probably going to be terrible. All of them, really, but they are just random drabbles XD Let me know in the reviews! Enjoy!

As far as I knew, Sherlock had never had nightmares. At least, not nightmares as bad as mine. But there was one night in which we'd finished a case and I'd bullied him into getting some sleep for the first time in a week, I walked into the kitchen to get a cup of tea, and heard something coming from his room. I stopped by the stairs and waited for a moment, listening, and a heard another sound, like a cry. I set down my book and walked up the stairs, tapping lightly on his door. "Sherlock?"
There was no response. I gave the door a little push, finding that it was already open, and peeked inside. Sherlock was sprawled out on the bed, blankets tangled with his limbs, thrashing around. He was definitely having a nightmare. I walked over to the bed. "Sherlock." I repeated. His expression was pained, his hair plastered to his forehead. I sat on the edge of the bed, cross-legged, and put a hand on his arm. "Sherlock, it's just a dream," I said quietly. His dream seemed to get worse as he bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood, his eyes shut tight.

"Sherlock!" I gave his arm a slight shake and he sat bolt upright, his eyes open wide with fright, watching the wall fixedly. He looked honest to god afraid to look round. "Sherlock?"

Slowly, Sherlock turned his head to look at me.

"You alright?"

He didn't respond. I put an arm around his shoulders and he leaned into me, burying his face into my neck. I felt warm tears dripping down his face, and I rubbed his back gently, using my free hand and sleeve to wipe the blood from his lower lip. "Shhh."
We sat like this for a few minutes before he slowly pulled away, pulling his knees to his chest and hiding his face. I thought I spotted a bit of a pink blush creeping up his neck.

"Would it help talking about what happened?" I asked him. It worked, talking about it, but it wasn't fun in the process.

Sherlock shook his head, but he spoke anyway, muffled with his face buried in his knees. "You were still in the military, and you were fighting. You tripped and..." his voice was wavering. "There was a shot and lots of blood, and I was watching but I couldn't do anything." His words cracked. "You were gone, and I couldn't do anything."

I put my hand on his back again, rubbing it carefully. "It was just a dream. I'm right here." I said. Sherlock nodded and looked up at me. He reminded me of a child afraid of the dark. He was so much more.. innocent, at night.
"Are you okay now?" I asked him. He nodded, but he looked unsure. "I'll be downstairs on the couch if you need anything, okay?" I stood up and walked towards the door.

"John?"

I stopped and turned to him. "Yes?"

"Can I come with you?"

"Are you still frightened?"

He nodded slightly, looking embarrassed for asking.

"Of course you can come."

Sherlock tumbled out of the bed, hurrying to follow me. He grabbed his blankets and wrapped them around his shoulders. I walked downstairs and sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping the telly on. Sherlock curled up next to me, still half asleep. "Will you put on NCIS?"

I laughed quietly. NCIS is the only American TV show that Sherlock doesn't criticize. Well, constantly anyway. I think he only watches it for Abby's scenes. "Sure."
I put in the DVD with his favorite episodes that Lestrade got for him last Christmas and pressed play. Within a few minutes, he'd fallen asleep. I laughed quietly again, laying my head down on the back of the couch and closing my eyes.

At the end of the first episode, Sherlock cried out again, pulling me out of my almost-sleep-state. I shook my head, waking myself up before shaking him gently.

"Sherlock, shhh." I said softly. I shook him again and his eyes flew open, but quickly closed about halfway as he was still basically asleep.

"John?" he muttered sleepily.

"Yes, it's me." I nodded. Sherlock curled up closer, putting his head in my lap. I took his hand and rubbed the back of it with my thumb carefully.

"John?" he said again, trying to keep his eyes open.

"Mhm?" I responded, watching him.

"Please don't leave." he yawned.

"I'm not going anywhere." I told him, brushing the black curls from his face, out of the way of his eyes.

"Not just tonight," he said through another yawn, closing his eyes, "please never leave me."

A felt a slight flush creep up my cheeks, but I knew what he meant. "I won't."

"Promise?" his tired voice slurred the letters together slightly.

"Promise." I said. We sat in silence for a few moments, the only noise coming from the telly as the next episode of NCIS began. I thought that he'd fallen asleep, up until his eyes fluttered open again.

"John?" he said for a third time, sounding tired as ever.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you." His voice sounded truly apologetic, as if he really had watched me get shot. His eyes were sad, mirroring his voice, and his face still reminded me of a child.

"It's alright, Sherlock. Go to sleep, now." I said quietly, rubbing the back of his hand again. He closed his eyes and fell asleep quickly. I laid my head back down and slowly did the same.
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The next morning, I woke up to Sherlock's phone going off on the table in front of the couch. Sherlock was still next to me, curled up into a ball and facing the back of the couch, his dressing gown tucked up around his knees. I glanced at the clock. Sherlock had never slept in this late. I was proud. I reached forward and grabbed the phone, picking it up.

"Hello?"

"Sherlock, answer your texts." it was Lestrade.

"It's John, Sherlock's... Asleep." I whispered, the words sounding odd in my mouth. Sherlock was asleep.

"Well, wake him up, we have a new case. If you're not here in an hour, I'll send Anderson to get Sherlock moving."

"He'd hate you forever."

"Oh, I know." I heard the smirk in Lestrade's voice. "I'll text you the address. Bye." he hung up. I set Sherlock's phone back on the table and crossed my legs, turning to face Sherlock.

"Sherlock... Wake up." I gave him a small shake, which didn't work at all. "Sherlock." I sighed. Almost experimentally, I reached out and ran my fingers through his soft black curls. "Sherlock," I whispered, "wake up, we've got a case."

Sherlock moaned quietly and rolled over onto his back, stretching out so that his long legs were hanging off the end of the couch. "Lestrade called?"

I nodded. "He said if we aren't there in an hour, he'd set Anderson lose in our flat."

"Ugh, Anderson." he opened his eyes and jumped up onto his feet, stretching. "Gonna go get dressed. You should do the same, if you're coming."

"Of course I'm coming, I always come." I said, wondering why he'd think differently.

"I just... Of course. I'll be down in a bit. Have tea ready when I come back."

"Whatever you say."

Sherlock turned curtly, walking into the hall and up the stairs. I made my way into the kitchen, put water in the kettle and set it on the stove to boil. I yawned, leaning against the table, re-playing all of last night in my mind. I really need to get a better night's sleep tonight, I thought.

"John?"

I looked up, and Sherlock was on the top step, still in his pyjamas. "Yes?"

"Thanks, for helping me last night." he said, watching the floor, looking embarrassed. "I haven't had nightmares in years."

I smiled. "Anytime, Sherlock."