Sherlock woke up in a cold sweat. He had been dreaming of Moriarty… again.
"John!" He shouted, on the edge of lucid dreaming, "John!"
John sat up with a jolt, slid over to Sherlock's side of the bed, and wrapped his arms around him. "What's happened, Sherlock?" He said, comforting and calm. John laid a tender kiss on the younger man's sharp cheekbone. "Tell me what's happened."
"Moriarty… Moriarty. I fell, but it wasn't me. I was standing in the distance, watching myself fall, but you got shot, John, you still got shot." Sherlock began to tremble, and a small, salty tear escaped his eye. This was not a Sherlock that the public saw, or would ever see. It was a Sherlock that hid in the quiet moments that they had alone, in the peaceful dark of their shared bedroom. "It's okay now. I'm right here, you're right here, and Moriarty is gone." John whispered, and felt Sherlock relax into his chest. John ran his hand through the younger man's tangle of bed-head curls. "Go back to sleep, Sherlock. It's okay."
Sherlock had been getting these night terrors ever since the fall, a year ago. They didn't last but 5 minutes a night and they frightened John to no end. He absolutely hated seeing his boyfriend like that. Sure, he loved the fact that he could hold and comfort him, but it was disconcerting to see the strong and mighty Sherlock in this horrible, horrible place. It was always the same dream. Thankfully Sherlock forgot by the time he re-awoke, or he just 'deleted' it.
And, as always, Sherlock was asleep within minutes on his boyfriend's chest. The rhythmic beating of John's heart was his favorite lullaby. It reassured him that John was there, with him. He adored the rise and fall of John's chest, like a boat, rocking steadily at the docks. But, Sherlock's favorite thing about being just as they were was John's aroma. He smelled of the herbal tea he always drank, and fresh, clean cotton and wool jumpers. Sherlock couldn't get enough of these smells, these smells he once described as ordinary, before he realized that absolutely nothing about John is ordinary.
"WAKE UP, JOHN! THERE IS SCIENCE TO BE DONE! WE HAVE A CASE!" Sherlock ran into the bedroom, deleting the previous night from his memory. "John! Come on!" He said, standing right above John, who would have none of the waking up at 6 am thing.
"John…" Sherlock shook him slightly, only getting John to roll over in response. Sherlock mumbled to himself, and sat down on the bed. "Let's see if this will encourage you." He gave a sly smirk and kissed John, gentle, sweet and loving, but cut all to short. John woke with frown, and pulled Sherlock back down to meet his lips.
"Mornin'" John whispered.
"Morning." Sherlock smiled. "Finally, you're awake. We have a new case!"
"Mm.. It can wait ten more minutes." John grumbled.
"Actually, it can't. Mycroft and is in the living room. I wanted to wait on you to get any information, so hurry up!"
"Alright, fine." John got up, and quickly ran a brush through his blonde hair as Sherlock stood waiting at the door, a high contrast to John's oversize jumper and navy pajama bottoms in his tight purple shirt and tight jeans. Sherlock grabbed John's hand and they sauntered, together, into the living room.
Mycroft was indeed sitting there, in a chair pulled from the kitchen; he wasn't one for couches, with a bored expression on his face. He saw the boys walk in, and his eyes instinctively flew to their intertwined hands. He couldn't really get use to the fact that they were together.
"So, about the case…" John started, taking a seat in his usual chair, and Sherlock perched, like a bird, in his respective chair.
"Well, you might want to brace yourself." Mycroft said with a sour face.
"Get on with it, Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted, incredibly impatient.
"Moriarty is still out there." And the world went black for Sherlock Holmes..