A/N: OH NO NOT ANOTHER SONG!FIC.

Yes, yes it is. This one was inspired by Adam Lambert's song "Aftermath". I need to get my Reichenbach feels out. And oh my do I have some feels.


Even now, three months after he fell, and one week after he "ressurected" himself, he couldn't escape the dreams.


There he stands, looking out over the ledge of St. Barts' rooftop. His eyes lock onto John's and he wants to, oh GOD how he wants to, tell him the truth. That he has to do this, that the words coming from his lips now are fake. His brain screams, "John, I am lying! I am not a fraud, I have to lie to protect you! To protect EVERYONE!"

"Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye, John."

And without fail, he will wake up screaming right before he hits the pavement.


Sherlock never tells John about the dreams. But John Watson, while he is many things, is certainly not stupid. He wakes up the moment the screaming starts. And he will get up and pad silently into the detective's room. He will find Sherlock sitting up, trembling, glistening tear tracks on his cheeks.

And John will slowly approach his friend, cautiously, as though approaching a frightened animal. Sherlock may be awake, but John has found that, if not careful, the doctor will be mistaken for a threat.

He still has the bruise on his cheek to prove that.

"Sherlock?"

Wide, fearful eyes find John's face. They soften ever so slightly. "John." His voice cracks. John nods and smiles encouragingly. "I'm right here," he says quietly. "I'm so sorry, John." And John's heart shatters.

The doctor swallows the lump in his throat. "It's OK, Sherlock." The detective shakes his head. "I lied to you, John." 'Stop." John's voice is hard, fierce. Sherlock looks startled. "But-" "Stop," says John firmly. "As angry as I wa-as angry as I am about what you did, I will not have you feeling guilty. You saved our lives Sherlock." Here the doctor pauses and inhales deeply. His voice shakes. "I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough," he whispers finally.

Sherlock's face hardens. "I don't understand," he says honestly. John sighs, finally sits on the detective's bed.

"Sherlock, as hard as it was for me to go three months thinking you were dead, I UNDERSTAND why you did it. I wish you hadn't needed to take such extreme measures, but you saved us. You sacrificed yourself, kept yourself hidden away to keep us safe and take out Moriarty's men."

The consulting detective's face softens. "I needed to save all of you," He takes in a shaky breath. He smiles a little, but it's brittle. Sherlock opens his mouth, then closes it. "John?" The doctor looks at him. "I..will you stay? I-I'm afraid that if I'm alone when I fall asleep that the nightmares will come back." John nods. "Of course, I'll be right back."

Sherlock lays back, and in a moment John is in his room, dragging one of the armchairs.

He settles himself right next to the bed, reaches out to run his fingers through Sherlock's hair. The detective makes a satisfied noise, and is asleep within moments.

And John thinks back to his first meeting with Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And someday, if we're very very lucky, he might even be a good one."

John grins. It seems someday has finally come.