Hello! This is my first fanfiction, although I've spent years reading. This takes place immediately after the events of season 4.
Enough, now, enjoy! I hope you like it.
I do not own Sherlock.
John woke up to the sound of Sherlock whimpering in his sleep the third time in the night. Though most people thought that it was John who was traumatised from the events of the previous week (almost drowning in a well where someone else had already drowned), it actually was Sherlock who really needed the support. But Sherlock being his I-don't-feel-anything self didn't really help.
If Sherlock was Pinnochio, his nose would've been a metre long for all the times he said "I'm alright" when he really wasn't.
Sherlock was living with John at his place, since the flat was in tatters due to that patience grenade Eurus sent with that darned creepy song which really pissed John off. Why do these Holmes kids have to be so shady all the time? He really wished that they'd sort their shit out without jumping to conclusions and almost blowing each other up.
They went to Baker Street on Tuesday. Mrs. Hudson looked more pissed than hurt, so he guessed that was nice. First thing Sherlock looked for was his skull. He almost treated the skull as if it was his baby. He'd make a good parent.
Sherlock actually proposed sleeping on his own bed, that a little bit of ash wouldn't do him any harm. Then John ended up almost having to threaten him to come to his place. The thing was, after how he saw Sherlock as a helicopter took his sister away, John didn't trust him alone. Sherlock looked heartbroken, and suspiciously like he had been crying. John really wanted to put a shock blanket on him.
John decided to share his bed. No, it wasn't anything else, but John knew that Sherlock was in the emotional state of a five-tear-old. No, there was no ulterior motive. Yes, Sherlock was pretty and beautiful in his own way, but that didn't mean that John wanted to shag him. He had a stray thought about it once, though.
And John loved him too, in his own way. Sherlock was his other half, but that didn't necessarily it was romantic.
It was pretty awkward. Sherlock was all mysterious with his cheekbone thing while John was trying to figure out how to make him open up. John knew what has happened, but he had no idea what Sherlock felt about it. He was probably traumatised–he always had suppressed his emotions about Redbeard the Dog, and Sherlock finding out about Redbeard his best bud being drowned to death by his younger sister he had forgotten was certainly wasn't good for his mental health.
After 20 minutes of Sherlock just staring at his phone with the screen blank, John decided that enough was enough.
"If there's anything you want to tell me, Sherlock, anything at all, I'm here to listen."
"Okay", Sherlock replied without any emotion. He then proceeded to switch off the lights and went to sleep.
John sighed. Sherlock was impossible.
John knew that Sherlock snored while sleeping, but he didn't today. When he started shaking and whimpering. John ran his hands through Sherlock's messy curls and shushed him to sleep. The second time he did that, John wrapped his arm around his waist.
This time, John was getting really scared. Sherlock turned to face John and proceeded to sob into his shirt.
"I'm so scared, she's going to take you away again."
"Please don't go again, Redbeard."
"There's water everywhere. Please save me."
Sherlock was muttering. In many different ways, in many different stages of desperation, he repeated the same things over and over again.
And all that John could do was wrap his arms around him and cradle him against his chest, wishing that Sherlock knew John would always stay by his side.
This was going to be a long night.