Screaming, guns going off, not nearly enough gauze... pausing every now and then to make sure he wasn't being shot at... always, always screaming. Alarm going off in the dark, jolting up, flailing for his gun and finding a cane instead...
Just another morning for John Watson.
He grabbed his cane and shuffled into the front room, on his way to the kitchen for a cup of tea. Sherlock was already up, of course.
"Mornin'," John yawned.
"You were dreaming." Typical Sherlock, skipping formalities.
"I always dream," he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I always dream."
John came home late from work that night, and went straight to his room.
"You're in my bed."
"Your powers of observation are improving every day, John, I'm impressed."
"Wh... why are you in my bed?"
"There are other people in mine," Sherlock shrugged.
"Other people?"
"Yes, bits and pieces, eyeballs, hands, decomposing, and all over my sheets." Sherlock fluttered his hand, irritated, and rolled over. John stared at him.
"Yes, but... we've got a couch, haven't we?" Sherlock turned back to him.
"The, er, the heating is also broken," he mumbled. "Physically, it makes more sense if we sleep in the same bed. We'll be warmer." John sighed and climbed into bed, stripping off his socks.
"You're unbelievable." He'd meant the words to come out harsh, but there was something near admiration in them. "Good night, Sherlock." John curled up on his side, courteously on the far edge of the bed.
Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he felt two thin, heavy arms wrap around his chest. Wild curly hair tickled the back of his neck.
"Wha... Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" he twisted around to look at the man, eerily pale in what light streamed through his window.
"I'm keeping warm."
"Yes, well, do you have to hold me to do it?"
"You're the only other person in this bed, John, unless I'm mistaken."
John spluttered in frustration.
"If you must know, it's an experiment. Now shut up and go to sleep."
"An experiment? What the hell are you doing, Sherlock, really?"
"Nothing. Go to bed." John sighed, as was becoming routine whenever he spoke with Sherlock, and turned away. Sherlock once again draped himself across his side, his chest pressed firmly to the smaller man's back. John decided to let it go this time. There really wasn't any fighting with Sherlock, when the man wanted his way you couldn't stop him from getting it. He let himself sleep.
John Watson awoke to late morning sunlight, curled into Sherlock's chest. He opened his eyes and was met with an intense stare, Sherlock's steel eyes peering at him, almost through him, as if he were a bug on a card.
"How did you sleep?" he murmured.
"I - fine, thanks, I mean -"
"No, John. How did you sleep?" John stopped to think about it.
"I... I slept better than I have in months."
"No nightmares?" Sherlock barely suppressed a grin.
"No, no nightmares at all. How did you -" Sherlock cut him off with a kiss.
"I told you, it was an experiment. And it worked."