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"Really, Sherlock?!" John roars from the fridge. He glares at the taller man and Sherlock looks up from his telescope. He raises an eyebrow.
"What's wrong?" He asks innocently and calmly. The ex-soldier stiffness and his death glare intensifies.
"What's wrong?" He mocks, rolling his eyes. "There is a bloody head on top of our fridge, plus there is blood in the lasagna!"
"So?" The defective asks and that's when John loses it.
"YOU PUT GOD DAMN BODY PARTS WITH OUR FOOD AND YOU JUST ACT LIKE IT'S NOTHING. I'M SICK OF THIS BULLSHIT, SHERLOCK!" Sherlock seems a bit taken aback by this sudden outburst from his friend. He sits up a bit straighter, feeling his stomach begin to knot up. John paces back and forth, breathing heavily. He stops suddenly and looks at Sherlock. "You're the problem."
"I'm sorry?"
"My biggest issue is you. You have always made my life difficult, since the day I bloody met you!"
"John, I didn't mean to up-"
"Yes, you did! You don't care about anything or anyone except yourself."
"That isn't tr-"
"Shut up." John says sternly, but Sherlock, being as stubborn as he was, continued.
"Just let me finish, John. All I was saying was that I simply don't choose to show sentiment becau-" Sherlock was suddenly cut off, but not by John's angry voice. No, instead it was his hand. He slapped the detective across the face. It was so fast and so hard, that the younger man fell onto the floor. He made a heavy thump as he did so and layed there, holding his cheek. John didn't stop there. No, he was still furious at the other man. He grabbed Sherlock by his curls, pulling him up.
Sherlock groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. John pinned him against the wall, breathing and glaring at him heavily. The curly haired man stood there, trying to ignore the growing pain in his cheek and head. It wasn't working very well though. John gets in Sherlock's ear, breathing into it for a minute. This causes the detective to shiver slightly. Then the ex-soldier whispers in his ear.
"You are the most selfish and underling bastard I have ever met, and no one will ever love you." He says and then brings his hands up. He wraps them around Sherlock's neck. He begins and squeeze and Sherlock tries to pull him off of him. He gasps for air, feeling his vision beginning to blur.
"John, please stop." He gasps desperately. "I'm so sorry."
"Yeah right." John scoffs, tightening his grip on Sherlock's thin neck. The defective gasps, his eyes closing. He looks at John's eyes, seeing they are full of hate and darkness.
"I'm so sorry, John. Truly." He whispers, falling. Then everything is black and gone.
Sherlock Holmes sits up, gasping and covered in sweat. That nightmare had been insane! He runs a shaking hand through his curls, his heart pounding against his chest. He touches his cheek. No injury. Thank God that wasn't real. He couldn't even imagine that actually happening. John hurting him. Good old John who would sacrifice himself for Sherlock. Selfish, mean, unsentimental Sherlock. He didn't deserve someone as good as John. He slowly gets up, creaking his door open.
The ex-soldier was on the couch, sipping his coffee and watching telly. Sherlock takes a deep breath, exiting. John notices him, smiling. Sherlock nods back, hurrying into the kitchen. He makes himself a cup of coffee, sighing. It was only a dream that would and could never happen. Well, actually a nightmare. He was still a bit shaky when he sat down in his chair. He sips his coffee slowly, shivering again. John looks over at him, noticing he was shaking.
"Hey, mate, what's wrong?" He asks in a concerned tone.
"Nothing, just a bit chilly." Sherlock lies easily.
"That's odd because it's pretty warm in here. Actually, I'm almost considering turning the heat down a bit." He gets up, feeling his friend's forehead. It was normal, just a bit clammy. "You don't have a fever. You sure you're okay?" Sherlock nods. John sits back down, shrugging. The younger man gets up again, feeling extremely hot and overwhelmed. He walks into the kitchen, grabbing the wall for support. He leans against the wall, sinking down to the floor. John gets up, walking over to him.
Sherlock has his face buried in his pale hands and the blond haired man bends down, grabbing the thin, pale wrists. He pulls them away from his friend's face, looking into those blue irises. He notices they are raw with terror. This scares him severely. He notices that Sherlock is paler than usual, which just causes his worry to increase even more.
"Tell me what's wrong, Sher." He says and Sherlock sighs, taking a few deep breaths. He tells John about his dream. When he finishes, the ex-soldier is silent. Sherlock is confused and almost considers repeating himself. "I would never hurt you or call you those awful things. Not again." John says quietly.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Sherlock smiles, felling himself calm down now. John pulls him into a hug and he accepts it, enjoying the slight sentiment.
"I won't ever leave or hurt you, I swear." John says sternly. Sherlock grabs his jumper, feeling a tear roll down his cheek.
"I know you won't." He whispers to himself, but John hears him anyway and he smiles. Sherlock was his best friend and nothing would change that.
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