Hello everyone! I come back again with a Johnlock fic, this time it's not post-reichenbach though. This fic is situated on the 2x02 episode of the BBC series, the Hounds of the Baskerville. Just after Sherlock and John's argument after coming back from Dewer's Hollow. If you don't want spoilers, don't keep reading!

Title: Like everyone else.

Author: Myself (Meme)

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC, I only enjoy writing about them.

Notes:

1) English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes that this fic may have (although it's been corrected).

2) Special thanks to Rowena Prince, who has corrected this fic for me and has given me her opinion. A thousand thanks!

3) On the Genre it says Friendship. This can be seen as friendship or as a light slash, however you want to read it. There's room for both.

4) In the original series we assume that Sherlock and John don't share a room, because Bill gives John the key and he says sorry for not being able to give them a double room. However, for my story it was necessary they shared room.

Without further delay, here it is! Enjoy!

LIKE EVERYONE ELSE

It was late at night, and John sighed in his bed of the bedroom he occupied with his friend Sherlock Holmes in Dartmoor. He couldn't sleep. Normally, after an exhausting day of investigations with Sherlock, he would sleep as a baby. But that night it was impossible, for he had seen his friend Sherlock as never before: he had seen him scared. More than that, Sherlock had been terrified.

John looked at his left, where Sherlock's bed was. The detective had arrived around an hour ago and had gone directly to bed without saying a word, but John knew he wasn't sleeping at all. John scowled as he was staring at Sherlock. He noticed a sort of shivering. Was Sherlock trembling?

After a few seconds of watching him he got out of bed and stood there, in the middle of both beds, staring at Sherlock. The detective was facing the wall in front of him, in foetal position, and definitely trembling. John sighed. Sherlock's words were still on his mind, but he couldn't just let Sherlock cope with his terror alone. After all and although he was angry, he did consider Sherlock his friend. His best friend.

Ignoring the voice of his subconscious, which was asking why it was always John who had to make the first move, he slowly approached Sherlock's bed and moving the sheets and blankets, sat on the mattress by his side. Sherlock noticed, but didn't move. John placed his hand over Sherlock's arm, and started rubbing it up and down, while he started to lie on the bed, next to Sherlock. He touched Sherlock's feet by accident and noticed they were cold as ice. Feeling guilty and worried about his friend he touched his shoulder, and Sherlock turned around.

John opened his eyes in surprise when he saw Sherlock's face. He had been crying. Crying. Sherlock Holmes had cried out of terror. And John Watson hadn't been there for him. John felt a sudden weight on his stomach, and closed his eyes for a second. He should have been there. He should have known.

"John" said Sherlock, but John put a finger on his lips. Sherlock didn't utter any further word, and John simply put his arm around Sherlock's waist, pulling him closer.

"I am sorry" whispered John. He knew he wasn't fully guilty, he knew that the reason why he hadn't been there was because of Sherlock, but he couldn't help feeling bad. His friend was feeling lost and desperate, he had needed him and the best thing he had done was ignoring him. That's exactly how friends behave, John, very well done thought for himself, feeling angry.

But suddenly all that anger disappeared when he felt Sherlock's hand on his chest, grasping his T-shirt tightly, and Sherlock's face buried also in his chest, preventing him from seeing nothing else but his dark curly hair. John gasped, all his body tensed for a moment in feeling the overwhelming sensation of Sherlock's touch. Of Sherlock's body trembling beside his. Of his hand, still shaking and creasing the bit of fabric between his fingers. Of Sherlock's face, rubbing on John's chest, trying to find something that would make him feel better, without even knowing what.

After all those months John was accustomed to Sherlock's touch; it wasn't the first time that they had body contact, although it was a part of their relationship that Sherlock didn't consider necessary. That's why John was startled, because Sherlock was seeking desperately for it. Maybe not in uttered words, but his whole body was shouting. And John was there to listen.

John's right arm pulled the detective's body a little bit closer, sliding his left arm below him, to give Sherlock a more sense of comfort and protection. John probably was right in thinking that Sherlock was confused both regarding his fears and his physical reactions to it. However, he was secretly glad that the detective wasn't putting a stop to it, he wasn't trying to ignore or to enclose this need inside him, and for once in his life he was exteriorizing something. He was exteriorizing that he needed John, and the doctor wouldn't let him down. I can't let him down.

Slowly his right hand went to Sherlock's back, rubbing up and down whilst his mouth started to hush in the detective's ear, trying to calm his shaking. After a few minutes of whispered words and caresses, Sherlock's trembling stopped.

As soon as it stopped, however, Sherlock pushed himself out of John's reach, at the opposite side of the bed.

"Leave me alone." His voice sounded husky, and lacked the decision and determination it always had. John scowled for a second, his mind working rapidly as trying to figure out what had changed. And then, the bulb on his mind switched on.

"Like everyone else, Sherlock?" asked John seriously, although his voice didn't sound demanding. He was aware of Sherlock's fears; he had had a tiny glimpse of Sherlock's childhood and adolescence, and the pattern that was repeating itself through Sherlock's life was rejection, and therefore, solitude. He was not going to do that. He was not going to leave Sherlock. I'm not giving up on him! "I'm here Sherlock, and I'm not going anywhere."

John approached Sherlock once more, very slowly, as though Sherlock was a frightened child he didn't want to scare. He reached out his hand, until the tip of his fingers brushed slightly Sherlock's face. Sherlock was still, not moving a single muscle, and John could feel his body tensed.

"Sherlock" whispered, approaching him even more, until their faces were just a few inches apart, his fingers still brushing his cheek "It's normal to feel scared but it's all fine. And I'm not going anywhere."

John sighed as a slight smile appeared on his lips when finally Sherlock, mutely, closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel the doctor's presence surrounding him, guiding him, comforting him. Protecting him. John's scent entered his nostrils, intoxicating him; making him forget everything he was worried and scared about. John felt Sherlock curling up even closer to him, his body finally relaxing, and he could feel Sherlock's breathing next to him becoming calmer. As Sherlock was less tense he could feel his own heart pounding in his chest. His right hand travelled once more to Sherlock's cheek, feeling the softness of his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing just for one second that this feeling in his heart could last forever.

"Thank you, John" whispered Sherlock very low before finally succumbing to the emotional and physical exhaustion and fell asleep.

John watched as the last traces of tension were going away from Sherlock's body. His own body claimed a rest too; he felt his muscles weightier and his eyelids much heavier, he couldn't keep his eyes open. With a sigh, pulling Sherlock's body even closer to him, as though he wanted to make sure nothing would happen to his friend, he fell asleep.

After all, that was all John wanted, wasn't it?

THE END

That's it! Thank you very much for reading, comments and reviews appreciated! :)

Much love, jam and jumpers!

Meme