AN: I wrote this for Let's Write Sherlock Challenge Three on tumblr. Our challenge was to write a songfic of any length. I do not own Sherlock and its related characters or "Demons" by Imagine Dragons.
Loud, so loud. Are those gun shots? Where was that scream coming from? What's going on?
John found himself hiding behind a boulder, rifle in hand. Little chips of rock splintered near where he had stuck his head out as a sharp shooter zeroed in on his location.
Move. He had to move quickly.
A nearby explosion shook the ground as he leapt out from behind the rock. His boots pounded against the dry earth, his ears rushing with blood. Almost there, just a few more steps.
The rocks ahead of him sheltered a small cave opening. As he rounded around them into the dark crevasse, a dark skinned man caked in dirt popped out in front of him. Pain. Nothing but pain as his enemy sunk a large sharp blade into his gut.
"No!" John jolted straight up, breathing heavily, trying to remember where he was. Looking around the dark bedroom, his eyes began taking in the truth. He was in his bedroom, in the flat he shared with Sherlock. He left Afghanistan six months ago; no more deserts, no more extremists, no more rifle. He was safe. But his mind couldn't quite believe it. His body shook, tears falling uncontrollably, his hands clenching the bed sheet. Regardless of what he was seeing, in his head he was still in the war.
He hadn't even heard the frantic foot steps running up the stairs to his room. Sherlock threw open the door, his wide eyes searching for an intruder that wasn't there. Once sure they were alone, he turned his attention to John, finally noticing the state of his friend. "John?"
No response.
The taller man moved to sit on the bed, their bodies touching lightly. The contact pulled John out of his brain. He blinked quickly, realizing Sherlock's presence. He looked away, moving away from the other man and turning on his side facing the wall.
"Sorry, I must have woken you."
Sherlock watched him carefully, unsure of how to continue. "John?"
The tears had continued to fall, making John's voice rough when he answered, "I'm fine." He balled up the blankets in his hands, looking for something to distract himself.
His flatmate, however, refused to believe John. Sherlock shifted into position behind him, his long arms and legs wrapping themselves around his own smaller body. John couldn't fight back his loud sobs as Sherlock held him the rest of the night.