AN: This was meant to be part of the 30 Theme OTP Challenge but you know what, the chances of me finishing that are as likely as Sherlock actually remembering the order of the planets in the solar system for longer than like, a month, so let's not be too ambitious here.


The first time they'd held hands, they'd been handcuffed together.

John hadn't given it much thought at the time. It was only later, in the absence of gunshots and deliberately terrible violin playing, that he remembered. He threaded his own fingers together now, and tried to remember Sherlock's calloused fingertips and the firm hand that had held his as he was tugged down side streets and in front of a bus. John smiled at that- at his shock and confusion and the split second of terror as Sherlock stood boldly in the middle of street; and then the moment afterwards, when they were pushed away and the blinding headlights still flicked behind his eyelids. He could remember the gunshots afterwards, and Sherlock's hand twitching in his.

Yet all he had were the memories- snapshots of moments gone by and flickers of past emotions; it wasn't the same as the warm tremor of Sherlock's hand or the unconscious squeeze of his fingers.

The nightmares were all John had left, and even they weren't enough.