The second in a sort-of series based on "Some Nights", using some of my favorite pairings. Don't quote me on that, I don't know if I'll be able to keep it up.
As per usual, none of this is mine yet. And I am my own editor.
'So, without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you,' the story!
But I still wake up, I still see your ghost. Oh, Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for. What do I stand for? What do I stand for? Most nights, I don't know anymore.
John Watson startled awake, his dream- no, nightmare- fading too quickly for him to remember why he'd woken. He scrubbed his hands over his face and sat up in his too-large bed.
"Did I wake you, John?" Suddenly, Sherlock was there, crowding John, filling in all the blanks with slim frame and long limbs.
"No, just a nightmare." John murmured. Sherlock pressed in closer.
"What about?" he asked, his voice everywhere. John shrugged.
"Probably about the day... well, you know-"
"The day I died." Sherlock finished. "Well. Worry not, John. You are not a weak man-"
"Aren't I, though?" John pushed Sherlock away from him and leaned back against the wall behind his bed. "What am I, Sherlock? I'm- what, weak, or strong? A soldier, or a murderer? A vigilante, a server of justice? Or just an extension of you?"
Sherlock was silent for a long moment while John's breathing evened out. When all was calm and quiet again, he spoke.
"You're John Hamish Watson, late of the-"
"Yes, Sherlock, but what does that mean?"
"It means you're you, John. Not strong, not weak. Certainly not an extension of me." Sherlock edged forward, slowly climbing back into John's personal space. "Get some sleep, hmm?"
"The illusion of Sherlock Holmes flickered in John's eyes before disappearing. This ghost that John had created made him feel less alone; but it was too alive, too much like John and too little like Sherlock, and that made him feel lonelier than ever.
John did not sleep again that night, nor did he ever find an answer. Until Sherlock came back, of course.