Prompt:
Sherlock and John are lying in bed, and Sherlock wants to help John, but accidentally starts a nightmare.
Sherlock was lying awake, John's head rested on his shoulder as he remained asleep. Sherlock studied his boyfriend, knowing just how those eyes sparkled blue in the sun. The soft sandy brown hair that had started to grow out of the army haircut. He watched the gentle rise and fall of John's chest, and placed his hand on John's heart. As he listened and felt John's breathing and heart rate he knew that John would be waking soon. He smiled, and as the morning sunlight started to pour into the room, John began to stir.
John slowly opened his eyes, and looked up at Sherlock. "Morning." He settled into Sherlock's arms, breathing in Sherlock. Sherlock moved his arm from John's heart to pull John closer, burying his face into John's hair. They remained that way, as they breathed in each other until John moved slightly and winced in pain.
"John? Are you ok?" Sherlock loosened his grip and John and moved back slightly. "Sit up; it's your arm that's hurting." It wasn't a question; it was a statement, or an order.
"It's just stiff; it often is in the morning." John sat on the edge of his bed, and he started to massage his arm.
"No, let me." John looked behind to Sherlock, realised he was being serious and nodded.
"Remove your top." John slowly took off his top with help from Sherlock. Sherlock moved forward and placed his legs either side of John's hips, and wrapped their legs together.
"Relax, breathe." He started to massage gently round the scar, before he moved so very gently towards the centre of the scar. John relaxed into Sherlock's touch until Sherlock hit a raw nerve. He was sent straight back to Afghanistan with one single wrong touch.
"Watson! Retreat! Leave him; you'll get shot by the snipers. Watson, that's an order!" John's gaze never left the soldier he was tending to.
"I can't leave him; he's losing too much blood. He'll die!"
"Watson, now!That's an order!" John's heart was torn. It didn't hurt when he left his family to join the army. It didn't hurt when his best friend died for him. It hurt now, being torn away from saving someone's life. He looked at the dying soldier, losing too much blood too quickly. John could see the blood covering the sand, the wind blowing sand into the bleeding mess and burying it deep. The red liquid became covered in yellow spots of sand, and started to form in lumps on the sandy floor.
"I-I-"John screamed in agony, as the bullet hit his shoulder. He collapsed onto his back, arching his body in pain. He felt someone run to his side, pressing down on John's shoulder, causing white lights to dance infront of his eyes.
"Doctor down! I repeat, doctor is DOWN." The soldier looked back at John, and spoke more softly.
"Hold on, the helicopter will be here within minutes. Hold on, Watson, please." John continued to arch and scream in pain, the hot Afghanistan wind blowing sand into his bleeding shoulder. The last thing John remembered was hearing the helicopter blades spinning, the screaming of his voice before blackness enveloped him.
John woke from his flashback, in Sherlock's arms crying and screaming in pain.
"John it's ok. You're not in Afghanistan anymore, John you're safe." Sherlock rocked John back and forth, stroked his hair away from his sweat drenched forehead until John stopped screaming out.
"John I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, I'm sorry." Sherlock gently kissed John's forehead, and continued to hold him close whilst John cried.
"Sh-Sherlock... N-not your f-fault. Bad m-memories." He buried his face into Sherlock's top, as the tears of fear and pain ran down his face.
He slowly calmed down, remembering that the war is his past that he wasn't in the desert and blistering heat now. He pulled on his t-shirt after drying his last tears, before looking back at Sherlock and settling back in his arms.
"I'm sorry you had to witness that, me screaming and crying out. I'm sorry."
"John," Sherlock looked at John, cupped John's cheek in his hand, "You don't ever need to apologise to me." He moved slowly forward, almost closing the gap, halting, unsure whether to continue.
"I need you, to make it not hurt so much, to make the memory stop..." John whispered before he gently kissed Sherlock.
"I'm not going anywhere, I promise." Sherlock smiled and pulled John onto his lap, stroking his back and whispered sweet nothings into his ear.
I got inspiration for this after visiting a tank museum in Bovington, and looking round the Afghanistan exhibition. I hope you enjoy it. All mistakes are mine. Please review~
Olivia x