AN: Hello All!
This started out as a sort of role play on tumblr and turned into a full out story. This is a collaborative effort between the lovely Nephynix and I, who took turns writing each part. Nephy's writing Sherlock's parts and I'm writing John's. Forgive any errors, as we did write this on the spot and sort of made it up as we went along.
Thanks for reading.
-Allie
Prologue:
When John comes home from the surgery, he finds Sherlock sleeping on the couch, dressed in his usual sleep wear. This is probably the first time John has actually seen the Consulting Detective sleep.
John sees the sleeping form of Sherlock on the couch. He has never seen him sleeping before. Sherlock rarely follows the general norms of society, including sleeping. Often John would wake up at all hours of the night to the sound of Sherlock thumping around in the kitchen, or Sherlock playing the violin, or Sherlock dashing out of the house in a hurry. But now, he looks so normal, so vulnerable. John rarely sees Sherlock's vulnerable side. He smiles to himself and steps quietly out of the room.
Sherlock shifts, a small frown forming between his closed eyes. He curls in tighter on himself, like he's cold or trying to make himself as small as possible. What sounds like a moan escapes from Sherlock's sleeping form. He shifts again, agitated and very uncomfortable. His hands clench tightly into fists. "No." He whispers. "No…"
John stops when he hears a small sound coming from Sherlock. John steps towards the couch, watching him carefully. John finds himself kneeling on the floor in front of Sherlock. Sherlock shifts agitatedly and mumbles something incoherent. He's having nightmare. John wants to comfort him, but is unsure of what to do. He hand hovers in front of him. Slowly, John places his hand over Sherlock's clenched fist. "Shh..." John whispers.
Suddenly, Sherlock's hands loosen and grasp John's in a firm grip. He calms, but the frown between his brows does not ease. If his eyes were open, his facial expression would be identical to the look Sherlock gave him shortly after ripping the bomb off of his chest a month prior.
"John." He says, his voice childlike and frightened.
Suddenly, John understands what Sherlock's dreaming about. The pool. The explosion. John knows Sherlock has resented the fact that Moriarty escaped. He knows Sherlock is angry with himself for letting Moriarty get to him. "It's alright Sherlock, I'm here," he murmurs.
As if John has spoken the magic words, Sherlock's eyes flutter open, he blinks sleepily, his consciousness between awake and asleep. "For how long..?" He asks, though his eyes tell John that he really doesn't comprehend what he is saying. He's still asleep…
John is shocked by the question. He doesn't know how to respond, even though he knows Sherlock is not awake. The first thought that comes to his mind is 'Forever', but John knows he can't say that. Finally he says, "I'll be here as long as you need me".
Sherlock's eye lids begin to blink very slowly, as if he is trying to keep them open, but failing.
"Even…if…you're…cross…?" It sounds like Sherlock is fighting to get the words out. As if the realm of sleep is calling him back very quickly. Sherlock's hands soon become limp around John's.
"Please, don't go…" He whispered, his words becoming garbled by sleep. "…best friend, John…"
Finally, Sherlock's eyes close and he sinks deeper into the couch. The frown line between his eyes eases and his lips slacken. His hand is still wrapped around John's wrist, though the pressure is considerably less.
"Yes, Sherlock," John whispers, even though he knows Sherlock is not listening to him, "Even if I'm cross." John's throat tightens as Sherlock mumbles that he is his best friend. He is stunned. Sherlock rarely expresses his feelings, and though John knows Sherlock likes having him around, he has never really said it. John knows Sherlock won't remember their conversation when he wakes up. But he will. He remains kneeling by the couch for a while, before standing up, and returning to his room.
