Hello and welcome back. Thanks for taking the time to read 'Dreaming is believing'. This, as it stands, is meant to be a follow up story to my other work 'Reading the Signs' and I'd be more than happy if you read that one too but I guess there are only one or two little things that actually are funnier if you now 'RtS' otherwise it can be read as a stand alone. So I hope you enjoy it, I know I did while writing it! I'd appreciate a little comment on whether you liked it or constructive criticism greatly. Thank you and enjoy.
Dreaming is believing
The flickering neon light in the hallway filled the air with a low buzzing sound; low but pretty annoying anyway in the otherwise eerie quiet of the hospital at night.
Sherlock Holmes entertained not only one thought of shooting the damn thing out while he waited. He hated waiting in general, it was such an extraordinary waste of time in his opinion, time better used to solve cases. But waiting in a hospital hallway in front of the ER doors was even more unbearable.
Up until now John and him only rarely needed the medical attention only provided at the hospital, normally they got patched up a bit on scene or better even they went home directly and John took care of that. But if there really was the need to go to the hospital it was because of him and John did the waiting and being a medical man himself, the good doctor fared a lot better than Sherlock did.
However, it was like that now and Sherlock grew steadily more restless as the minutes ticked by. After this meeting gone wrong with Moriarty –and still no news from Mycroft that they actually got him under lock and key as he had said they would- he wanted nothing more than to go home, together with John preferably, but it didn't look like that'd happen anytime soon.
Sherlock had accompanied John on the ambulance. At first everything was alright but then it went to pieces. John had lost consciousness and experienced a sudden drop of his blood pressure due to the extensive blood loss from the bullet wound. The detective had been sure that the bullet hadn't injured anything vital but it seemed like he miscalculated.
The Army doctor had been rushed to the ER as quickly as possible and that's where he stayed for the past two hours. What they did to John was beyond Sherlock but as much of a temper tantrum he had been throwing they wouldn't give him any information, not until they were finished.
"Any news at all?" lost in his brooding Sherlock for once was startled by this sudden addressing. He looked up into the concerned brown eyes of DI Lestrade.
"It's you… nothing, they kept him in there for the past two hours and refuse to tell me what's going on, chances are that he bled to death after all and all of them fled through the window because they fear that I'll shoot them if they tell me… quite correctly I admit."
"There now, Sherlock, don't paint everything black already. John will be fine, I'm sure. He got a nastier wound in Afghanistan and survived, he'll do it again. He's a strong fellow."
"I hope you're right, for their sake." The detective shot a glare at the young nurse at the counter in the corner next to the double doors.
Gregory Lestrade knew that Sherlock Holmes was a crazy guy at times but that he never would go and randomly kill people despite everything people said but right at this moment he wasn't so sure anymore. When the good doctor was involved, the dark-haired man tended to become defensive and irrational.
"Well Sherlock, what happened to John's gun?"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I have it, why?"
"Give it to me, no, don't look at me like that, it's for everybody's safety and you know it. You'll get it back soon enough, promise but right now I'd appreciate to know that you're unarmed."
"I hate you sometimes, you know that, right?" Sherlock hissed but handed the gun over to Lestrade anyway.
"I'm aware, yes." With a relieved exhale he sat down on the chair next to Sherlock.
"Now would you care to tell me what happened out there exactly?"
"Oh didn't my brother tell you already? He did send you after all, didn't he?"
"Well yes, he did send me to look after you but no, he didn't tell me what happened except that John got shot." He sighed.
"Well to cut a long story short, we met with Moriarty, argued with him a little and hurt his pride, he promised to show us that we're wrong and fled but not without giving the order to shoot John as a warning. That's when my dear brother fucked up royally because he didn't manage to do his job thoroughly enough otherwise John wouldn't have been hurt and Moriarty would've been arrested already."
Lestrade nodded, he knew better than to comment on that. He was sure that Mycroft Holmes did everything he could to keep Sherlock safe, he knew that the older Holmes cared and worried constantly about Sherlock and John too, for that matter.
"So, he was shot by a sniper."
"Obviously." The consulting detective growled.
Before the older man had the chance to reply to that, Sherlock registered the shadow behind the double doors to the ER and got to his feet.
The doctor looked exhausted when he came to face Sherlock.
"Well? Am I finally allowed to get some information?" the detective snapped.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Holmes but I'm glad to tell you that Doctor Watson overcame the critical situation. He's in a stable condition now. He lost quite a lot of blood and we had some difficulty to stop the bleeding. He got a couple of blood transfusions and should be fine soon enough. He's asleep now and will be for a couple of hours more. But I'm afraid we have to keep him here for a few days until we can be sure that the wound won't start bleeding again." Sherlock only nodded. "Where is he now?"
"The nurses are cleaning him up at the moment and he'll be brought up to his room shortly and before you ask, of course you can accompany him but as I said before he won't be awake for at least four to five hours and even then he probably will be too sleepy to talk and under no circumstance is he to be agitated." Sherlock nodded again.
That's when Lestrade interrupted.
"Thank you doctor, we do appreciate what you've done." He gave the man a short smile and a nod, send him his way like that. The relieve to get away a little bit too obvious in his expression.
"You see? Everything went fine!"
"Over two hours emergency operation to stop a bleeding and give blood transfusions can't really be called 'fine'…" Sherlock replied tiredly.
"Fine, I agree but he'll be fine soon, no worries. Well… I don't expect that you'll go home, am I right?"
"Damn right, I won't go home without him." Sherlock said determinedly.
The DI smiled, it was interesting for him to see the way Sherlock behaved when John Watson was concerned. He witnessed some of the darkest times of Sherlock Holmes but ever since the Army doctor entered his life he also was treated to some of the brightest moments even though Sherlock hadn't exactly changed his general behaviour. John was a special person that much was obvious.
"Fine but try to at least get some sleep, you won't be of any help to him when you can barely keep your eyes open when he finally wakes up. I'll take the gun with me for now, alright?"
It was that moment that the double doors opened the second time and an elderly nurse pushed John's bed out of the ER.
"Yeah, yeah… fine, take care of it otherwise John'll come after you! And thanks." Sherlock said absentmindedly slowly stepping closer to the bed.
"I will. I see you in the morning." Lestrade shook his head, he probably could have said anything just now and Sherlock would have let it slide.
When John Watson came to for the first time, all he felt was a bit of a dull pain on his right side and an immense tiredness. He didn't even have the energy to open his eyes but somehow he realised a soothing human presence at his side and he fell asleep again with a relieved sigh.
A couple of hours later when he came to for the second time he felt a lot more awake. He listened carefully, recognized the sound of the drip and the low buzz of his heart monitor. Nothing out of the ordinary, he remembered being pushed into an ambulance after all.
Slowly he blinked his eyes open. It took a moment or two to adjust to the light in the room. It wasn't glaringly bright, the curtains were closed after all but after sleeping for what felt like days even the light that got through was a bit too bright.
For a moment he took in the familiar white and sterile surroundings of the hospital room before his gaze fell on an even more familiar shock of brown curly hair.
A smile spread on his tired face. Just then he actually realised the warmth that engulfed his left hand and the soft snoring that filled the silent periods between every drop of his infusion.
John squeezed Sherlock's hand gently.
"You big stubborn idiot, you should have gone home and slept properly in your bed, you'll have one hell of a stiff neck when you wake up and I'm in no condition to help you…" he murmured, voice raspy from sleep and his dry throat.
"As if I'd let you…" Sherlock replied, turning his head so that he was able to look at John but not lifting his head off the mattress. He smiled at his friend.
"How are you feeling?"
The doctor raised one eyebrow, he hadn't really expected this question from Sherlock's lips.
"Well, shot to hell and back I'd say but other than that, just fine… what happened? Last thing I remember is being in an ambulance, talking to you…" he frowned.
Slowly the detective straightened his back, carefully stretching tense muscles.
"Well we were talking and then you apparently decided that we didn't drive fast enough already. You lost consciousness due to blood loss. You had them running for quite a while. It seems like they had some problems stopping the bleeding. They kept you in the ER for over two hours." Sherlock informed quietly.
John thought this through and nodded slightly.
"That explains a lot…" he sighed and looked Sherlock in the eyes for a moment.
"I'm sorry!"
The consulting detective almost started laughing but restrained himself at the last moment.
"No, John, you have nothing to be sorry about. You couldn't have done anything, chances are, assuming that Moriarty wanted to hurt but not kill you, it was for the best. If you had moved only a bit the bullet could have done a lot more damage than it was intended to. And after that, well you're alive, right? That's all that matters, you've kept your promise!" Sherlock took a deep breath.
"Blimey, I really gave you a scare this time, didn't I?" John grinned.
The dark haired man turned his head away and huffed.
"Don't overestimate yourself John, it's not you, I'm just…tired."
"Right, whatever you say." The doctor said and squeezed Sherlock's hand that never left his own, once more.
"So… anything new I should know about?" John asked curiously.
"Well, Mycroft hasn't called yet which probably means that Moriarty got away after all and he's playing for time before he has to admit it, oh and Lestrade has confiscated your gun although he hasn't called it like that actually…"
"What? Why?" John glared at Sherlock. "What have you done?"
"Calm down, I'm not to agitate you…" the detective grinned.
"Then don't, just tell me why Greg thought it necessary to confiscate my gun!"
"Well… it could be that I got a little impatient last night while you were in the ER and they flat out refused to tell me what's going on… he probably feared that I'd go all massacre on the hospital staff… he'll give it back to you as soon as you're home and I also advised him to take good care of it if he doesn't want you for an enemy."
John watched Sherlock for a couple of seconds then the grin returned.
"Fine, that's okay then, I guess. And well done!" he added with a wink.
A soft knock on the door announced another visitor.
"Speak of the devil…" Sherlock grumbled, pulling his hand back and facing the door where DI Lestrade entered the room.
"Good morning, everything alright? You're awake I see, that's good then!" He grinned at John.
"As you can see, yes and I'm fine, thank you very much. We were just talking about you. Sherlock told me you took my gun."
"Well yes I did, poor girls downstairs were all frightened because of him." He nodded in Sherlock's direction. "He was all snappy and irritated when I arrived, suspected that they actually let you die on the table and fled through the windows…" Lestrade laughed, John grinned and glanced quickly at his friend who glared daggers at the DI.
"Thank you very much for your input, Lestrade. What do you want this early already."
"No need to get all defensive, just telling the truth. And firstly I told you that I would look in on you two and secondly, I got a message from your brother. 'Everything went according to plan!' whatever that's supposed to mean."
"That means that he caught Moriarty after all, why did he tell you instead of texting me directly!"
"Well I guess he didn't want to wake you and I was talking to him when he got the information."
"I didn't know that you two are in such frequent contact." John frowned.
"We aren't per se, only if it's important. He sent me to check on Sherlock last night and I merely called him back to tell him what happened. We do not call each other on a regular basis or anything."
John chuckled.
"Well, no need for you too to get all defensive, I was just asking." He sighed.
"So they got him after all, well then getting shot was at least worth something."
Sherlock inhaled sharply.
"Don't talk like that if Mycroft had been quick enough, it wouldn't have been necessary."
"What's done is done, forget it. He did what he could, it may not have occurred to you yet but even Holmes' are human although they do think differently most of the time. Stop insulting him, we might as well be both dead now if it weren't for him."
Sherlock grumbled.
"Alright, fine!"
Lestrade chuckled. Only John Watson was able to tame Sherlock Holmes like that.
DI Lestrade didn't stay for long after that and shortly after he left a nurse entered the room to check on John.
Patiently the blonde man let her do her job and finally asked for some tea and breakfast, he was a bit hungry and while she was on the way already she could get him something for the pain.
Sherlock stood at the window during this exchange, scanning the outside.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier that your wound is hurting again."
"Mostly because it didn't, Sherlock, it just started due to moving around. It's not that I couldn't stand it but one of the main rules is, save your energy to heal not to endure pain. Stop worrying so much!"
"Who says I worry, I was just curious." John gave him a look. "Fine, I do worry a bit but mainly because I want to go home as soon as possible and as long as you are in pain they won't let you go."
"You know, I'm pretty sure that I can endure staying a day or two alone at the hospital, you don't need to wait for me here." John grinned.
"Shut up…" Sherlock grumbled.
"Ah breakfast…" John smiled when the door opened again ignoring the detective easily. The nurse pulled the mobile table closer and put down the tray for John. "Thank you."
She quickly changed the drip and left the room again. Somehow, John suspected that the young woman more or less fled the room because of Sherlock's glaring.
"Now, eat something!" he pushed the tray closer to the detective.
The dark haired man raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Don't look at me, eat something. I haven't asked for breakfast for me alone. I'm not that hungry at all but you need to eat something." John took half a slice of toast and nibbled on it, glaring at Sherlock until he gave up and took the other half.
"I was right again, you realised that, yes?" Sherlock said, leaning back in his chair.
"I have no idea what you're on about."
"I told you, you should stay at home. It would have been safer. We wouldn't be here now if you had listened to me."
"You can't guarantee that, Sherlock. We could be only with you lying here. Or worse, we could be several floors downstairs, you being dead and me identifying the body. What do you think, how that'd make me feel? No, it's better this way."
"But I could have lost you, John!" Sherlock snapped, stunning John into silence. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled."
John sighed. "It's alright…" he didn't say more, still trying to grasp what Sherlock just said and all those little memory snippets of the last couple of days of Sherlock behaving differently which resurfaced with that outburst. If that meant, what John assumed it meant –and heck wouldn't that be a big surprise- where did that leave him.
A dinging sound cut through the tense atmosphere and Sherlock looked at his phone, instantly groaning. "Mycroft?" John grinned tiredly. "Wait, you changed your text alert."
"Yeah I did and yes it was Mycroft, just wanted to tell us that he has Moriarty, not that we already knew that thanks to his messenger dog Lestrade."
The detective conveniently forgot about his brother's advice to change his confession style.
"Why? I mean, why did you change it?" John blinked at Sherlock.
"No special reason, it annoyed you and one shouldn't annoy people lying in hospital."
"That's nice…" John frowned a little because he felt that he forgot something concerning that topic but before he could think about it more, he drifted off to sleep again.
"Aww, look at all this, he's flirting with you and pretty actively at that, I'm jealous Doctor Watson!"
John turned around a surprised expression on his face. He hadn't expected to hear this voice again.
"What are *you* doing here? I thought you were dead for good!"
"Oh…?" an amused smile spread over the delicate features of the woman, Irene Adler. "So he never told you that he came to rescue me… interesting. He certainly is a man full of mystery."
"He did what? That bloody bastard…" John snapped.
"Well now Doctor Watson don't be unfair…"
The Army doctor closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Anyway what are you doing here? In my dream?"
"That's a question I was hoping you could answer…" the dark-haired woman looked around.
They stood in the middle of, what looked liked a gallery of sorts. Blinding white walls covered with pictures, pictures John recognised as memories of his own.
"Oh look, I'm in here too, it seems like I did leave a mark behind after all." The woman looked a picture of herself standing in an empty warehouse. John remembered the day too well. "You threatened me back then, remember? You told me that if I didn't tell Sherlock that I'm alive you would come after me. I thought it really interesting back then, you being all protective over him and constantly denying that you're gay at the same time."
"Yeah well, I'm not, nothing changed about that!" John growled.
"Whatever you say, my dear Doctor Watson but think about it again, you're not and I am but look what Sherlock Holmes did to us both… and I meant it, I am jealous of you… always was…"
John woke up with a painful groan to the sound of a whispered conversation.
Curious he looked at his visitors, smiling tiredly when he recognised Sherlock and Mrs Hudson. But obviously he startled both of them because they looked at him with concern.
"John? What's the matter?" Sherlock asked gently.
"Look at you, dear, pale as the sheet you're lying on, it's not right…" their landlady cooed, carefully wiping his sweaty forehead.
"Nothing Sherlock, just… a weird dream that's all and I think I need another round of painkillers." He sighed.
"Don't worry Mrs Hudson, I'll be back on my feet in no time."
"You'll better be or this one will starve himself into nothingness." She nodded in Sherlock's direction who currently took care of preparing a cup of tea.
It looked like Mrs Hudson brought half of their kitchen equipment, well the useable half at least.
"He won't, I just made him eat breakfast."
Surprised, Mrs Hudson raised her eyebrows, a look of uncertainty in Sherlock's direction.
"Well…"
"*Just* isn't exactly the right term to use, John, it is half past four already, you slept through the better part of the day. Here, drink some tea, Mrs Hudson kindly brought our things over. Whatever they're selling as tea around here is intolerable. I expect someone will come and look after you shortly."
It surprised John that he actually slept that long, it didn't feel like it at all but he also knew with a blood loss like that, exhaustion was normal, so he wasn't too alarmed by the news.
"Thank you Mrs Hudson, that's really thoughtful of you. You too, Sherlock."
"Don't mention it, it's the best I can do for my boys, right? It almost gave me a heart attack when your brother called me, Sherlock."
"Mycroft called you? In person?"
"That's certainly a first… can't he do that to me too? I'm tired of being kidnapped on a regular basis, I do have a mobile phone after all." John complained, hoping that Mycroft actually listened in like always.
"Forget it, John. Mycroft does have a tendency for the dramatic and he does like to show off."
"As if that didn't run in the family…" John mumbled under his breath, getting only a curious look from Sherlock.
"Well I better run, boys, many things to do. Take care of John, Sherlock and you get better quickly, dear!" she smiled at the blonde man. "Let me know if there is anything you need."
"Thank you Mrs Hudson." Both men bid their good-byes and watched their landlady leave.
"Well, I guess it was a good thing after all that Greg took my gun…" John stated thoughtfully, sipping from his cup.
"And why is that?" his friend asked, getting another cup for himself.
"Because, Sherlock, with me sleeping all day you most likely were bored out of your mind until Mrs Hudson arrived and I don't think they appreciate holes in their walls at this hospital."
"Fair enough but oddly enough, no, I wasn't bored at all."
"And how, in god's name, did you manage that, Sherlock."
"I don't know, I just sat here and looked outside or was watching you, you seemed a bit… how do I say that… annoyed in your sleep, you're facial expressions were interesting to observe. What did you dream about! And please don't tell me, it was Anderson."
"No! God, no… that would've been creepy. But, I wonder if I should tell you…" John really didn't know, they never talked about Irene Adler and he certainly didn't want to be the one to re-open old wounds.
"And why wouldn't you? Seriously, John, as long as it isn't Anderson or Mycroft it'll be fine, I admit those two would be a little bit scarring even on my mind."
John laughed.
"No, it was Ms Adler who visited my dream for some reason… tell me Sherlock-" the blonde man fixed his eyes on his friend. "-were you ever in Karachi?"
It was only a split second but John saw the glint of guilt in Sherlock's eyes before his expression became unreadable again.
"Never!"
"Lying to me doesn't make it less true, Sherlock. You know, Mycroft…" John laughed humourlessly. "… he told me that he was thorough that time, that it would take Sherlock Holmes to fool him… so you rescued her, you bloody well flew to Karachi without anyone knowing and rescued her, I can't believe it… it must have been quite the comedy to you when I made a fool of myself, telling you about some non-existent witness protection scheme in America to spare your feelings…"
"Not really, no. It was touching, you know? And I appreciated that you tried at the time but now that you know, although it is even beyond me how you know it, it's true I saved her. She made a fool out of me once but next time I'll be the one who wins but that'll only happen if she stays alive."
"She told me, you know? In my dream however that worked, it was probably my suspicion acting up on that matter. I never truly believed that she's dead." He let his head fall back against the pillow.
"She certainly was a singular woman…"
Sherlock put his fingers under his chin, lost in thought.
"That she was…"
The dark haired man didn't acknowledge the nurse who came to change John's drip and inject some more painkillers.
The doctor didn't know if he liked the change in mood of his friend. The weeks after Irene Adler's disappearance weren't something he remembered with a lot of joy, it had hurt him to see Sherlock depressed like that.
"Would you care for some music?" the detective asked absentmindedly but didn't wait for an actual answer. Mrs Hudson obviously brought Sherlock's violin along too and before long a familiar calm yet quite emotional tune filled the air.
John recognised the song Sherlock composed as a way of dealing with the Woman instantly. It was a beautiful melody but it tore on John's heart because it made him think about what she told him, what he desperately tried to ignore because he didn't know how to deal with it.
She had been right all along. Despite being straight, Sherlock did something to John, to John's heart that he didn't understand. There had been an instant connection between them, curiosity but most definitely trust and Mycroft had been right on that account, John wasn't of the trusty sort usually. He was friendly quickly but never did he trust someone that easily. It had taken months of fighting side by side with his fellow soldiers in Afghanistan until he really trusted them the way he did with Sherlock after a 10 minute meeting. It was weird.
And then it hadn't taken long to go from trust to friendship, including a constant bickering about little meaningless things like an old married couple.
And then there were his various endeavours with his girlfriends. Every single one of them, except maybe Sarah, broke up with John because he so obviously took a bigger interest in Sherlock than in them.
And if John was about to admit to himself that Irene Adler, and about everyone else, had been right about them from the start, he also had to acknowledge the jealousy. He had been honestly pissed when Sherlock got so absorbed in the Woman's affairs, mainly, the doctor realised in retrospect, because he was pushed to the sidelines back then.
Recently, however, Sherlock had been quite aggressive with his innuendos that John got the feeling that he was secretly used for another experiment although he couldn't escape the effects anyway. It had led to a couple of pretty exciting dreams.
But then Sherlock actually showed his feelings, the worry for John and the fear of losing him, that couldn't possibly be part of a greater experimental scheme, could it?
Sometime during his brooding, John must have drifted off again, lulled by Sherlock's effortlessly beautiful violin play.
Pitch black darkness filled the room when he woke up again in the middle of the night, only broken by a small gap in the curtains where the dark haired detective stood, looking at some point in the distance.
Without making a sound, John observed the silent figure for some time.
"Do you still consider yourself married to your work, Sherlock?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
If Sherlock was surprised that John was awake, he didn't show it.
"What do you think, John?" he returned the question, finally making eye contact with the doctor.
"Don't… please, just answer the question, Sherlock." John sighed, closing his eyes tiredly, it did cost him quite an effort to ask the question out loud.
"Well, it's still one of the biggest parts of my life but… in the meaning behind the words, not really, no… not anymore, John."
The blonde doctor sighed, not entirely sure what he was doing at the moment.
"That's good, I guess… but Sherlock, the thing is… I'm not gay." The quick inhale was the only thing that betrayed the hurt the detective was feeling. "No, hear me out, Sherlock, I'm not gay, that's why I have absolutely no idea why I'm feeling the way I do for you, but for some reason I just do."
John didn't dare to look at Sherlock at that moment, just waited for him to respond with his eyes closed.
He heard the footsteps coming closer and returned the warm squeeze of his hand without hesitation when he felt it.
"John…" it only took this one word in Sherlock's very own deep baritone voice for the doctor to know that everything was going to be just fine. He had feared that he misinterpreted a lot of things, that Sherlock wouldn't be able to handle these feelings, that their friendship was now doomed to be awkward but the gentle tone vaporised all of that.
With a relieved smile, John looked into Sherlock's eyes and forgot how to breath for a moment at the sight. It was like looking into the very soul of the dark-haired man, all guards and curtains lowered, he presented John with the most precious gift of all, a glimpse of the normally well hidden feelings and with them the enormous love for John Watson.
It felt like a puzzle piece finally falling into place and a smile brightened up John's face, allowing himself to feel freely at last, what even he himself didn't know he'd restrained for so long.
Carefully he pulled his hand away to softly stroke Sherlock's cheek.
"Come a little closer…" John whispered and just like that the detective leaned in and kissed him for the first time.
They didn't need to say another word after that.
They just kept on looking at each other, smiling, drowning in the others eyes until John fell asleep once more.
When the blond doctor awoke the next morning he feared for a split second that he dreamed everything that happened but then he felt Sherlock's warm hand in his own and it was alright again.
"Good morning, John!" the dark-haired man whispered.
"Good morning, Sherlock." John whispered back.
A mischievous grin spread on Sherlock's face.
"You know, you really need to get well soon."
"Do I? Pray tell how did you come to this conclusion, not that I disagree with it." John smiled back.
"Actually I have two reasons that lead to this conclusion, first my bed at home is wider not to mention a lot more comfortable than this one and secondly I do believe I need to prove to you that there is no need of a face off with Moriarty in order to tear your clothes off."
John couldn't help but laugh.
"I do believe you, you don't need to prove that to me but I won't hold you back to do it anyway, you loveable brat!"