Falling, falling, falling, Sherlock could feel the air rushing into his face, he could see the ground closing in on him, he could almost taste his inevitable death.
Sound would not come out of his mouth, his eyes wide open with terror,
'John!'
That was the word that echoed through his mind, it was less than a second before he...
"John!" Sherlock shouted, the name finally forming from his lips, his eyes shot open as reflex pulled him into a straight sitting position. He was panting with cold sweat, adrenaline was coursing through his veins. Sherlock took exaggeratedly deep breathes, attempting to calm himself. Everything was fine. He was already back. John was fine. Everything was absolutely fine. Sherlock cursed himself realising he might have awoken his flatmate, it was 4:07, quite an early time to wake up.
"Sherlock?!"
John's footsteps padded down the stairs, he opened Sherlock's door, his eyebrows curved upwards with obvious concern.
"Are you alright?" John asked, knowing again Sherlock would say 'I'm fine.' and insist until John would leave, but as always he would ask anyway.
Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, his eyes shut and silent except for his hitched breathing. It was a cycle, nightmare, 'I'm fine!', a few nights, nightmare, again and again. It was enough.
"No."
"...No?"
"No. No. I am not okay. I am not fine. I am most certainly not all right."
John tilted his head in wonder of what caused this sudden break of the habit,
"Well... Ah... Tea?"
Sherlock nodded silently in reply, his hand still tightly clenched onto a mass of his dark curls. He watched as John turned to the kitchen and started the kettle before slowly getting up and flopping dramatically into his chair. He attempted to relax, his tired eyes watching the little movements of the biting silence as no one else was awake to interrupt it.