John. Wake up. Please, John."Nope. No."Please, John. Come back to us. "No. I won't. I'm not going." We love you, John. We miss you."No!" John yelled, sitting straight up in bed. He heard footsteps running up the stairs.
"John?" Sherlock slammed the door open. "Are you alright?" His curly black hair was mussed up around his face, and he was clutching a sheet around him like he'd jumped out of bed. John glanced at the clock. 2:43 am. He probably had.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, Sherlock, it was just a nightmare." John wiped the sweat off his face. He tried to remember who the voices belonged to, why they were telling him to wake up, but it was fading from him already. Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs, robe around her and curlers in.
"Are you alright, John? I heard yelling." She peered round the doorway.
"I'm fine, Mrs. Hudson, thank you. Please, go back to bed." John smiled at the old woman, who was like a mother to him.
"Really? You're sure you don't want come back to us darlinga cup of tea?"
John blinked. Her mouth had asked him a question, but he'd heard something else. Her voice, coming from somewhere else, from inside his head. It was just like the nightmare. He shook his head slightly to clear it. He was just still tired. "No, thanks. I'm really fine." He smiled warmly at her, and she nodded and left the room. Sherlock waited until they heard her footsteps on the stairs again.
He sat on the bed next to John. "What happened, John?"
John looked down. "There were… these voices. Talking to me. They were telling me to wake up. But not from sleep, from this world. They wanted me to die." John gulped. "I recognize them I think… I think Mrs. Hudson was one… And Molly… and Lestrade…" He looked up at Sherlock. "I was so scared. They wanted me to leave you. You weren't there. He choked back a sob, over the lump forming in his throat.
Sherlock stayed silent, but wrapped his arms around the smaller man's shoulders. They stayed that way until the sunlight streamed through the windows. Neither of them could tell if they had slept. But the voices plagued John all night.
"Hey, John, Sherlock." Molly smiled as John and Sherlock walked through the door. "I've got a body for you. You alright John? You look tired."
John nodded. "I'm alright, just had a bad night's sleep."
Molly smiled. "Well, the body was found in the alleyway beside St Barts, and the police think she was stabbed. At least, that's what they're telling everyone. Looks like the victim was stabbed after he died."
John stared at her. He'd heard her, but he'd also heard another Molly, from somewhere else. Nobody else had reacted, so he knew it was the voice again. Talking to him. Pretending to be Molly. Trying to get him to 'wake up' "No," he whispered.
"What was that John?" Molly asked. She stepped forward. "You really don't look so good." I just want you back here with us, John.
"No!" John roared. "No! I won't come with you!" He clamped his hands over ears, but it did nothing to stop the voices. It wasn't just Molly, now. There were others there. Harry. Greg. Mike Stamford. And there were other voices, people he didn't recognize, yelling, but not to him. To each other. He's waking up! "NO! I don't want to wake up!" He felt arms around him as he crumpled to the floor. Sherlock's, Molly's. But they weren't strong enough to hold on. To keep him in this reality. Come on John, please wake up! And he did.