There's something comforting about having someone in the same bed as you. About having their warmth seeping into your body, and their ease dripping into your mind. About watching the tiredness slowly take over the others body, and feeling that same drain in yours. The soft little flutter of panic, because what if it's awkward. And those soft touches of skin to skin, that make your heart beat faster
Of course, Sherlock had never really distinctly appreciated it, until now. He pulled his hand back and watched the man in the bed next to him.
John laying next to him, curled up and shivering, even though there were blankets to spare atop him. His breathing went ragged and he became restless. A whispered name on his lips.
Sherlock replaced his hand. Touching John's cheek gently.
John stilled practically instantly. Nightmares gone. Only that hand on his cheek occupying his mind now.
"It's alright, John. I told you I wouldn't leave," Sherlock whispered. He curled himself closer to John, aching for him to be closer. For him not to be plagued by nightmares of his suicide.
John's features melted into calm. His lids began to flicker. "Sher…"
Sherlock stared at him. Affection slowly warming his cool blue eyes. He dragged his thumb down John's cheek.
"…Sherlock…" John's mumble was nearly coherent. Sherlock hadn't meant to wake him. "Don't leave, Sherlock. Stay. Please."
John nuzzled himself closer, until his body was flush against Sherlocks. His head neatly tucked under Sherlocks chin. Sherlock couldn't stop the intruding smile from lighting up his face. He had missed John.
John missed him terribly so. And Sherlock could only help to ease it with these stolen nights. These soft, warm, caressing nights. Nothing much ever happened. John was too broken to do much else.
They spent those nights, which John thought were dreams, with Sherlock softly whispering deductions, warnings, feelings, anything, so John wouldn't forget what he was like. Sherlock would wait until the nightmares started, and then slip into the bed, and soothe the nightmares away. Because John wasn't getting better. And Sherlock needed him to. Because then, he would move on. They both would.
But… that's not what either of them wanted to do. Sherlock knew that. But, he couldn't let himself hurt John more. And every night Sherlock didn't come to whisper away the nightmares, John got worse. And worse.
And every night Sherlock didn't come to lay with John, and ensure his safety, Sherlock grew more and more panicky. He couldn't bring himself to be away for too long. Because, John got worse. And Sherlock cared. And that was a weakness, but Sherlock had stopped caring about that.
John fell into a deep sleep, curled up in Sherlock's arms.
And Sherlock wondered, what would happen if he were there when John woke up?