Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, they all belong to their respective creators.
~ My Nightmare, it's Not Real.
The sound of fast rain and the occasional flash of lightening followed by the growl of thunder didn't help John in the slightest as he was trying to put Hamish to bed. Walking back and forth, gently bouncing the baby in his arms, coaxing him to calm down but the little one just kept crying, squirming every now and then.
"Shh, shh, shh. C'mon Hamish love, don't fight it, it's far past your bed time."
John shifted the fussy baby a little, patting his nappy and blue onesie covered bum.
"What's wrong love? I've fed you, changed your nappy, read you a story, what else could you possibly want?"
The dirty blond paced the floor while Hamish was still crying with crocodile tears running down his rosy cheeks, the sight pierced at John's heart.
"Hush my boy, I know the weather is scary but it's not going to hurt you, I'm here and hopefully soon, your other father Sherlock, if he doesn't get sick in all this rain. I told him to take an umbrella but does he listen? No, only when he wants too."
An idea hit the doctor.
"Maybe you're teething." He felt the baby mouth with his pointer finger, all gums.
"No, that's not it. Maybe you want your binky?"
He looked around and found the binky on top of a bib, near a nappy bag. John then gave it to Hamish, who immediately calmed down and was drowsy from crying so much.
"Oh yes, that works." He murmured in relieved glee.
About a solid two seconds later the lights in the flat went out after a frightful flash of lightening and immediate thunder.
"Of course, the night just got better." He mumbled to himself. The flat was pitch black, he looked out the window or tried to but he couldn't see anything.
"Mrs. Hudson! Ah, yes, I forgot, she's out of town on holiday. Damn. Looks like were stuck until- wait a minute."
John reached into his right pocket, shifting the weight of sleepy Hamish to his left arm, and pulled out his mobile, and found an app that works as a flashlight.
"Aha! Yes, we have light."
John then heard a noise from the stairs outside of the flat.
"Sherlock?"
He moves the phone light to the door and sees a shadow.
"Who are you, show yourself."
The shadow figure steps out.
"Who are yo- no…" he gasped out.
Sherlock was rounding the corner, now walking on Baker street, going home when he noticed the lights of the entire block were off. The rain was still falling, although it wasn't as harsh and the moon peeked through the heavy clouds, allowing enough light to seep through for Sherlock to see his home building. He looked up at his flat windows and saw no light; John must have gone to bed already. He opened the door, entered and stood very still, looking around the entryway, something was off.
"John?" he called out. A gust of fear flew over him, something was definitely not right.
"John?!" he ran up the stairs to the flat, miraculously not tripping over any of the step even though the building was pitch black.
The break in the clouds was small and yet allowed some of the moonlight to illuminate their flat where Sherlock saw the body of John Watson. John was lying on the floor in a pool of his dark blood with pale cold skin, so lifeless. Sherlock felt frozen, standing over John's body and slowly fell to his knees reaching out and cradling the corpse close to him. Sherlock's heart was in his throat, beating fast when he noticed some of John's blood was dragged across the floor and there were words on the wall. It read, 'I have Hamish', followed by two initials that stunned the detective. He clutched John's body close to him, his face contorting in agony as he felt violently distraught.
"No… No!"
"No." he whispered as he jerked a wake, the outside lightening flashed and lit up the room, the thunder in the distance followed about eight seconds later. Sherlock calmed his breathing and took a deep breath, observing his surroundings, making sure he was defiantly awake. He was in bed, in his bedroom with a sleeping John to his side and a baby's crib to the wall on John's side. He looked at John, sound asleep and checked his temperature and pulse, glad that the man was really sleeping. Tired eyes studying the short form of his husband, at ease and grateful with the trust and relaxation John unknowingly displayed. How this man got into his heart he'll never know but he's okay with that mystery. Sherlock looked over at the crib, stomach dropping a bit as he remembered the dream, he got out of bed and walked over to inspect. His fears disintegrating when he saw the sleeping baby in the crib, nearly surrounded by stuffed animals. He checked Hamish's temperature and pulse as well, making sure that he was all right, even though the soft breathing of the child's chest reassured that fact. Sherlock fixed the baby's blanket to cover him and softly felt the dark curls on Hamish's small head, smiling fondly. Sherlock got back into bed; under the covers he and John shared and enveloped the sleeping doctor close to him, finding comfort in the way John unconsciously reacted to the embrace. John slowly woke up, feeling Sherlock's arms around him, holding him close; spooning him.
"Sherlock?" he mumbled out.
"Sorry, go back to sleep." The brunette spoke softly in his ear
"Sherlock, what's wrong?"
John waited a long full minute before he got and answer, meaning Sherlock was debating if he should tell him or not.
"I had a nightmare."
"Oh, do you want to talk about it?"
"It's amusing how the discussion of dreams, according to the average person, is some how correlated to them coming to fruition, even though the likely hood of dreams ever happening is less than 1%, but if you don't mind indulging me, I would appreciate that. I don't want this one to come true."
John, lying in his position under Sherlock's chin, rolled his eyes at the very Holmes-like response but also softened his eyes at the quick admission an the end. John embraced Sherlock in their comfortable position, giving a soft kiss to the brunette's neck.
"Go on, I'm all ears."
John felt him clear his throat with a small cough.
"You and Hamish were in it… You were dead, some one killed you… there was blood everywhere and they took Hamish. They left a message in your blood on the wall, saying they took him and…"
John heard him out not saying anything but offering his comfort with some gentle supporting rubs up and down the man's back. Sherlock stood quite again and the dirty blond knew he needed encouragement to talk about the dream.
"And?"
Sherlock finally spoke.
"And they signed it… JM."
John stopped his supporting rub.
"JM? Moriarty?" he moved from his position to look Sherlock in the eyes, noticing the well-hidden distress.
"Sherlock?" he puzzled out.
"I know its been awhile since then." The detective averted his eyes in quiet shame.
"Three years since that whole nasty business," John tenderly took Sherlock's chin, making the man meet his eyes,
"why would you dream of that?"
"Nightmares often reveal our deep anxieties and fears. My main fear is losing you and Hamish."
John eyes softened again and Sherlock felt his heart speed up, John would always make his so-called icy heart melt with just one loving look. John maneuvered himself so that his upper body was lying on top of Sherlock, making the detective lay on his back, listening to his heartbeat.
"I know; I'm afraid of losing you, again, and Hamish."
"Moriarty was also my first real fear, it was truly frightening how evenly matched we were." Sherlock admitted. Only in the privacy of their bedroom would Sherlock truly open him self up to John, in a way, Sherlock felt like the bedroom was a scared place to drop the worlds worries and rest, John couldn't agree more. John leaned in to give the brunette a comforting kiss, it whispered love and trust as well as fierce protection, they broke for air. John going back to his before initiated kiss position.
"That's all over love, why would you remember that?"
"Doesn't matter now. That was a nightmare, a figment of a suppressed imagination."
Sherlock was rounding the corner, now walking on Baker street, going home when he noticed the lights of the entire block were off. Although, he wasn't one to believe in deja vu, he knew the feeling and he didn't like it. The rain was still falling, although it wasn't as harsh and the moon peeked through the heavy clouds, allowing enough light to seep through for Sherlock to see his home building. The way this night was going now only reminded Sherlock of that nightmare he had two nights ago. He looked up at his flat windows and saw some light; the soft flickering of a candle, but it was just one candle. Sherlock opened the door, entered and stood very still, looking around the entryway, residual feelings and thoughts of the nightmare coming back, giving him goose bumps. He climbed to the hallway landing of the stairs, looking at the open door of their flat, the flickering of one candle illuminating the living room.
"John?" he called out
"Sherlock?" John peeked his head out the doorway, followed by the rest of him, trying to soothe a squirming baby in a green and white striped onesie. Sherlock sighed in visible relief, making his way into their flat. John was walking around, patting the baby's bum and softly rocking him to sleep, or at least trying too, Sherlock approached his husband.
"The bloody lights went out and Hamish is fussy, think you can get him to calm down- what are you-?"
Suddenly, Sherlock was hugging him, being careful with Hamish between them, and although John didn't mind but this was a bit random for the detective.
"Please indulge me again, for a minute I thought I was living that stupid nightmare." The brunette spoke in to the doctor's cropped hair, breathing in his scent and leaning down to kiss the top of the baby's head.
"Sherlock."
Author's Note: This little fic took forever to right, probably because I got distracted easil-oh look, shiny! Anyway, that was some cute comfort Parentlock, review if you want.