Heartbeat

"Don't stop, please. You can't just stop. You have to stay with me. Don't leave me alone. How am I supposed to live without my heart?" The sound of a beating heart stopped and a still very tired Sherlock woke up with a silent scream on his lips. Before it could become a hearable sound, Sherlock covered his mouth with his hand, breathing heavily through his nose. He tried to stop his tears but after a few seconds he knew there was no way to stop them and so the salty liquid started to wet his face.

This was neither his first nightmare nor the second. They had become his constant companion. The dreams that let him scream and cry. The dreams that made him stop sleeping for another day or more. The dreams that stole all of his energy and made it hard to keep going. He couldn't concentrate or think a clear thought for longer than a minute. Sherlock was dead tired, but refused to sleep. Because if he fell asleep, the nightmares would be coming back. The nightmares that brought darkness and silence. The darkness that was killing him slowly, every night burning or shooting down or drowning a new piece of his soul. It was like dying in every imaginable way.

Sherlock couldn't take it anymore so he just stopped sleeping. He drank enough coffee to keep a university full of students awake for a month. He kept himself busy with cases, no matter how dull they were. He took them all and also more than one at the same. He forced himself to work harder, to think more and better, to stay on this feet with the thought that if he made it through just one more case and one more day he would be tired enough to sleep without the nightmares. But once the case was solved, the fear was back with all its vengeance and Sherlock started again to look for a new case.

Sherlock falls asleep on the sofa one afternoon, after eight days without any sleep, at least from what John could tell. He was watching the sleeping detective with the heavy black bags under his eyes. John felt a bit guilty, because the only reason Sherlock was sleeping now was because of the sleeping pill John had mixed into his tea. But he couldn't take it anymore. He just couldn't watch his friend, who was on his way to destroying himself. He knows something is wrong. For weeks now the bags under Sherlock's eyes have become bigger and darker but Sherlock had not tried to sleep, not even for an hour. The load of cases he was working on had increased to an unhealthy number and Lestrade had stopped asking for Sherlock's help. The DI could see Sherlock was not at his best. But Sherlock told everyone who asked or was worried that he was fine. Of course, someone who doesn't sleep is 'fine'.

John can't explain what is happening, but he knows that if he doesn't stop this behavior Sherlock will be in danger and it won't be only because of lack of sleep. No something will go wrong on a case or he will just forget to look to his right while crossing a road.

He feels guilty but is also relieved to watch his friend sleep. Until he sees the tortured look on his face. Sherlock starts moving under the blanket with which John had covered him. John starts to approach the sofa to wake up his friend and release him from his nightmare. After having had his share of bad dreams he recognizes the signs. But before he can reach the detective, Sherlock wakes up and sits up, covering his mouth to silence his screams. With closed eyes he starts crying, not aware of John's standing just a meter from him. His shoulders are shaking heavily, but all he tries to do is to keep the volume of his fear and sorrow as low as possible. It is heartbreaking to watch.

And finally John understands why Sherlock can't sleep or and has stopped even trying to. He sees what the detective's problem is. John knows what the problem is but is far away from having a solution, because, nightmares or not, Sherlock has to sleep soon or otherwise the lack of sleep will course permanent damage to him.

Without knowing what to do or say John does the only thing that feels right. In a second he is beside the crying detective and takes him in his arms. His holds his arms tightly around Sherlock, one on his back rubbing up and down and the other in his hair stroking and comforting him. At first Sherlock freezes and tries to escape John's warm and caring arms but he doesn't have the strength or the will and buries his face in the doctor's chest holding on to him.

Sherlock's crying becomes louder and it sounds as if it will never stop. John waits patiently, comforting him in every way he knows, hoping it will help at least a little bit. It takes a lot longer than John would had thought but the sobbing stops and Sherlock starts to move up again looking John in the eyes, unsure what to do now.

Before Sherlock can run away and hide somewhere in the flat, John takes one of his hands lightly into his. "Sherlock, we need to talk about it." And there it was again. The fear is back, the fear that has taken away the spark of life that had once enlightened Sherlock's bright eyes. "You can't ignore the fact that even you need to sleep and if there is something that is keeping you from sleeping we have to find a way to make it go away. So what makes you so afraid that you prefer to stay awake?" Sherlock is still looking in John's eyes and he has no energy left to fight so Sherlock opens his mouth and starts talking. He tells John everything: about Moriarty with his remark about burning his heart out and the growing fear he could be right. His thoughts about losing John and finally about the dreams, which let John die more painfully and cruelly every night. Sherlock finishes and becomes silent again. There were no words that would help the detective to sleep, just the one thing.

John stands up, still holding Sherlock's hand, pulling the totally tired man behind him, upstairs into his bedroom where he takes of his jumper and his trousers. He tells Sherlock to do the same. He then pulls the covers back telling Sherlock to lie down and he does the same on the other side of the bed. Sherlock lies close to the edge and John pulls him closer to him positioning the detective's head on his chest again.

Sherlock understands. In this way he can hear the heartbeat, John's heartbeat so close and loud and so alive. He closes his eyes listening to the strong and calm sound of life. The sound of John Watson. It only takes another minute and he is sound asleep. He doesn't know what is happening around him, but his dreams are peaceful. As peaceful as the sound of a heartbeat.