It was the sound of the bedroom door opening that woke John up. He'd been deeply asleep, and at first cracked his eyes open, trying to assess what was going on.
"Wha…?" He asked. He wasn't sure who he was even talking to.
Then there was the sound of the floor creaking. Someone was there, and they had just shifted their weight. John pushed himself up.
Sherlock was standing in the doorway, dressed in a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt.
John glanced at Sherlock, then at the clock on the nearby nightstand, then back at Sherlock.
"S'three in the morning," John said, voice thick with sleep.
Sherlock lowered his gaze and mumbled something that sounded like "I'm sorry".
John blinked. He knew what was going on.
For the past several months, Sherlock had been having nightmares. They were very realistic and they sometimes frightened the detective enough to make him wake up screaming.
The first few times it had happened, John had come rushing over to make sure that Sherlock was alright. He had tried to comfort his friend - he had sat down next to him, attempted to rub his back, tried to talk him down from being totally afraid. Each time, Sherlock shied away. He had never been one to enjoy the touch of another person, and so John began to back off. He stayed by his friend's side, but didn't reach out to him physically.
But, as time went on, Sherlock came to trust John. After several evenings spent awake next to the man, Sherlock did something he'd never thought he would do: He gave John a hug.
And John hugged him back. And it felt good.
That night Sherlock had had a particularly distressing nightmare, and he finally realized something very important: John made him feel safe. The man may have been below Sherlock, intellectually speaking, but Sherlock was sure that if something happened - if there was some threat - John would protect him.
That was why Sherlock was there, now, standing in John's doorway. He'd had another bad one, and he wanted the security that John gave him. Still, he felt slightly embarrassed. Here he was, an adult man, terrified of a stupid dream! He refused to make eye contact with John. As he stared at the floor, Mycroft's voice rang through his mind.
'Such a wussy. Can't even spend a night by yourself! Mum and dad are going to laugh, you know.'
Sherlock cringed. He had had nightmares like this as a child, and Mycroft always found joy in taunting him over it. Their parents had never actually laughed, though they did seem to be annoyed with his little problem.
Thankfully, the memory was interrupted by John's voice.
"Sherlock… Come here."
Sherlock didn't move.
John sighed.
"Sherlock… I know what's happening. Come here," the doctor tried again.
Sherlock slowly moved his gaze up towards his friend. John was sitting up in bed, arms extended.
That was all it took. The detective quickly walked over. He sat down near his friend, and the two embraced. Within seconds, Sherlock began to calm. John's hugs always seemed to have that effect.
After quite a while, John spoke up.
"You're shaking," he noted. "Must've been a bad one, then?"
Sherlock, who was still resting his head on John's shoulder, shook his head 'yes'.
"Want to tell me about it?"
Talking about the dreams sometimes helped. John figured it was worth a shot, at least.
Sherlock took a deep breath.
"...You were dead," he said, under his breath. "And I killed you."
"You killed me?"
"Well… not directly. Moriarty...I couldn't stop him, John. I tried! I really did. I thought I could do it, but I couldn't. He had you shot. In front of me."
John frowned. The incident at the pool seemed to be haunting Sherlock a lot lately.
"Well, Sherlock, it was just a dream. I'm right here, not going anywhere."
John gently ran his hand up and down Sherlock's back. Thankfully, it calmed the detective further. The two stayed that way until Sherlock pulled back.
"Better?" John asked.
"Yes. Thank you," Sherlock whispered. "I guess...I guess I ought to go back to my own bed."
John nodded in agreement, but soon caught something out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock's hands were still shaking.
"Actually, Sherlock… Why don't you stay here? Bed's big enough for both of us. Maybe you'll be able to sleep through the rest of the night."
"If...It's alright," Sherlock replied, once again looking embarrassed.
John smiled.
"Of course it's alright! You're my friend, after all. If sleeping next to me helps you rest, then you're welcome to stay."
Sherlock half smiled, and crawled over to the other side of the bed. He allowed John to pull up the comforter then tuck it around him.
After he was settled, John turned out the light.
"Good night, Sherlock," the doctor said.
"Good night, John. And thanks again."