John sat in his closet. It had been three days since Sherlock had gotten him out of the bunker Moriarty had kept him in but he had been in there for a week. Jim Moriarty could be a terrifying man when he wanted to. John had bags under his eyes as he hadn't slept since he had come home, every night he hid in his closet, awaiting the sound of Moriarty coming to get him. When he closed his eyes he could see Moriarty, standing over him, about to torture him more… John's fingers tightened on his arms and his nails bit onto the soft flesh. His eyes snapped open as he heard footsteps coming to his room. He shrank back as his door opened and his nails dug deeper into his arms as he heard the footsteps close in on his bed. They paused then started toward the closet. They stopped and John heard the soft rustle of fabric that told him they had knelt down.
"John? What on earth are you doing in there?" Sherlock asked, the tone in his voice saying it wasn't really a question and that he already knew.
"Looking for a tie I lost." John responded and he was proud his voice didn't shake.
"In the dark? Bloody bad way to go about it." John was silent and he heard Sherlock sigh. "Will you come out already?"
"No, I'd like to stay in here if you don't mind."
"You know… being afraid… of Moriarty. No one can blame you for that. You don't have to hide in a closet. It's over now. You're out of that damned bunker. You have people worried about you John. You haven't slept and the only reason you've eaten is because Mrs. Hudson practically shoves food down your throat." John was silent and after a few minutes Sherlock got up and left, saying John could talk to him if he wanted to.
But Sherlock was wrong. John didn't fear Moriarty, he wasn't afraid. He missed him. Just like he missed the war, John Watson missed the raging psychopath who had strapped a bomb to him. Who had threatened to kill him. Who had kidnapped him and while he was in the bunker raped him. And who had eventually made John love him.