John smiled as he looked at Sherlock.
His boyfriend was passed out in his bed; they had about three cases today, all of them physically and mentally daunting.
Sherlock had done a lot, so as soon as he ate some food, he went right to sleep.
(Ordered to by John of course.)
After he straightened up the flat, he got ready to sleep. By then, Sherlock had been asleep for about an hour and a half, and barely moved.
In anticipation of a full nights rest, John got on the mattress and conformed himself to the hollow left by the curve of his lover's chest.
After their arms were entangled in a way to not displeasure them, John was just drifting off to a deep sleep, void of dreams...
John woke up suddenly. He wasn't sure why, though.
If it was a physical threat, Sherlock would have been awake. Instead, his arms were protectively surrounding John, just as they were when they fell asleep.
The only difference was that they were locked, stiff as a board. As was the rest of his body.
Instantly realizing the situation, he attempted to wake Sherlock up right away. He knew from his time in the army, this was the sign of a particularly violent nightmare.
"Sherlock, love, wake up. You must wake up." John insisted, detangling himself from him.
"Shh, it's just a dream. Just a dream," He said, a bit louder now.
Sherlock hadn't moved. This was worse then he originally thought. Very concerned now, he started to shake him.
"You really have to get up. Remember, love, just a dream.." he soothed. Sherlock began to wake up.
Slowly, at first, then all at once. He say up, very stiff, obviously very spooked by something. John got behind him and started to run his fingers through his mates hair, knowing that calmed him down very much.
"Love, please tell me what's wrong. I know it was spooky; it does help to talk about it. You don't have to now, though," John whispered in Sherlock's ear (another quirk that calmed him.)
"No, I'll tell you now." Sherlock took a deep breath, swallowed, and slowly exhaled.
"Have you ever wondered why neither Mycroft or I mention our father?" John nodded, then remembered Sherlock couldn't see him. He verbally affirmed this suspicion.
" Well, the reason is that he was cropped out of the picture my the time I was 12 years old. By the time I was 7, I had already developed observation skills superior to either of my parents or any of my teachers.
My dad wasn't proud in the least; in fact, he despised my abilities.
He was very... unfaithful to my mum. He would leave for a week at a time, get more money, then leave again.
I had no self control whatsoever then; I would blurt out anything I noticed.
I had a nasty habit of announcing how many women he slept with, how many drinks he had.
If he was drunk enough, which was always, he would hit me with his belt for every detail I noticed. I would try not to talk about it, but I had even less of a filter than I do now. Some nights...were worse than others.
I tried to delete these memories, but they refused to go away. It's been awhile since I've had a nightmare like this, but I don't know what triggered it." After this, Sherlock immediately slumped against John, worn out by the confession.
John had no words. What do you do to comfort someone in this situation?
"I am so, so, sorry, Sherlock. I know my words will never strip those horrible memories from you, but I know that I can help the pain fade right now."
He then went to the front of Sherlock, and gave him a long kiss, then smiled. "C'mon, love, I have just the thing to help you."
Sherlock follows John into the kitchen and watches as he makes hot chocolate.
Apparently, he had a secret store in case /his/ nightmares returned.
While the water was boiling, John rushed up to his old room to get something while Sherlock watched the stove. He tried to see what it was he got, but it was safely hidden somewhere in his robe.
"Sherlock, if you can, will you move the telly so we can clearly see it from the sofa?" John asked gently.
He only nodded and went to complete the task. As he did the arranging, John finished up the hot chocolate. They both finished at the same time.
John gave Sherlock a cup and ran to get a blanket. When he returned, Sherlock was obviously very deep in thought, trying to deduce what it was they were going to be watching.
All John did was make a reprimanding noise and say, "Dear, don't run yourself down now, I've got something that will require your attention," he remarked mysteriously.
"We are watching Clue. Have you ever seen it before?" John asked. He shook his head. " Do you remember the board game?" Sherlock nodded.
"Excellent. Well, you see, the movie is pretty much about a few people getting killed, about 8 suspects, and 3 possible endings.
I challenge you to think of all 3 correctly before the explanation of how whoever committed the crime to have done it.
I have seen this about 15 times, and I still don't notice everything. Are you ready?" Sherlock smiled and John put in the DVD.
After, he snuggled under the blanket with Sherlock, really not sure whether or not he will figure it out.
Sherlock said, "You know me far too well," with a big smile. John just snuggled closer, not hearing any trace of the distress and pain he heard in their bedroom.
"Good job, Sherlock.
You came up with 9 theories. Unfortunately, only 2 of them were correct," John says, genuinely proud and surprised.
"Only two?" Sherlock says, fighting to keep the skepticism out of his voice.
"Only two, love. You will just have to wait until the movie is over to find out which one you missed," John remarked, after kissing his boyfriend on the cheek.
Sherlock started to complain, but John silenced him with a long, drawn out kiss.
"End of the movie," he said, slightly breathless.
Sherlock tried to give off an air of indifference, but he couldn't fight at least a small grin.
"Oh, I am an idiot," Sherlock says, while the credits are rolling.
"Love, you are far from an idiot. I could see the look in your eyes the second you figured what you missed, but you were too caught up in the action so you decided not to tell me," John deduced.
Neither member of this relationship was idiotic, contrary to popular belief. Sherlock just looked at John with a look that can only be described as loving and caring and went to their bedroom. John followed, after he turned off the television.
They both settled down in bed, John's head nuzzling his partner's neck while Sherlock lightly kissed john's hair.
They both drifted off into sleep; even though they had dreams, they were far from unpleasant.