"You're not really here Sherlock. I know you aren't. I'm just hallucinating. That's it. I've been off my rocker for the last two bloody years. I see you when I know you're dead. I hear you when you aren't here. I dream about you. Dream about the day you jumped off that fucking building." John voice cracked as he tried almost desperately to keep himself together, even though he was broken.

Shattered into a million pieces.

John didn't think there was any way to fix him.

Not really.

The arm around his stomach pulled him tighter, and the other hand gripped his wrist that was holding the gun. Pushing it down slowly. So it was away from his head.

"Just hold on, a little bit longer John. Just a little while more. You can do this. You're the strongest person I know. I know you can do it." The voice was warm, baritone. It sounded like him. But John knew.

It can't be him.

He's dead.

We buried him.

He's dead.

"John, please. Don't leave when I'm coming back soon. Just a little longer." John moved in his arms, wanting to turn around to look at him. To see him there. To know he was actually the one holding him, but the arms tightened. "Sherlock…please…" His voice was a whimper.

Full of pain, loneliness and sorrow.

Please.

Sherlock.

"Just this once, let me see your face. Just this once." He felt the other's head shake and a soft kiss press against the back of his neck. It was so warm.

Warm.

John started to crumble in his arms, the gun tumbling to the floor with a thump. Slowly both moved to the floor, both arms wrapping tightly around his waist to hold him against the other's chest. John's shaky hands covered his face as he started to stop and beg. "Please Sherlock. Please, please, please, let me see you. Let me see you! Just this bloody once! Just this once… please… let me se-…" John crumbled more actually laying on the floor against the other's legs.

"Shh… John. Soon I promise…"

There were those words again. Why did they sound so reassuring? The blond didn't understand. It was all riddles to him. Right now he was too upset to try and figure the riddles out. "I… can't… do this, Sherlock. I can't. I can't. Please. Why do you do this to me? Haunt my dreams, haunt me when I'm awake. I'm going crazy. I am crazy." He muttered, closing his eyes tightly as he felt a hand move to touch his hair. It made him shudder a little as he tried to take a breath. "Sherlock, just let me kill myself. Why won't you let me kill myself? I'd be happier dead."

"Shut up John."

The words were sharp. Really sharp. They felt like a knife almost but they did almost sound a little strained. Like he was on the verge of crying. "Don't give up on me. John, sunrise is just around the corner. It's ready to peek through those storm clouds any moment now. Any moment. Just hold on a little longer. You're going to get you're miracle. I promise." John felt lips against his head again. The blond moved a shaking hand to press against the other's head. He could feel the soft shaggy hair under his calloused finger tips. "Do something for me Sherlock. Just this once, I'll put the gun away and try to sleep." He heard him sigh and then felt a nod as Sherlock pressed his nose into his hair. "You still can't see me, but I'll do whatever else you want. What is it?" He asked in a soft voice as lips danced over his short hair. "Lay with me in your bed until I'm sleeping. Just for a little while, please?"

Quiet.

John could have sworn the other would have vanished, if he didn't still feel the soft warm breath against his hair. But he was quiet for a long time. Like he had to think about if it was really okay for him to do something like that.

"Sherlock? You don't have to if you don't wan-…"

"It's not that John. It's not that I don't want to… I just have to make sure you're safe." He almost whispered it as he pulled John a little closer.

I have to make sure you're safe.

"I'll be safe if you lay with me." He said softly and felt a nod. "Alright… give me the gun. I promise I'll be back soon. Don't let the nightmares win." John nodded and reached for the gun, putting it into the extended hand. He heard the clattering as Sherlock placed it on the desk, then gently hands lifted him from the ground, staying behind him. John let Sherlock lay him down facing the opposite wall. He felt the bed shift under the weight of the other man crawling next to him.

Is he really here? Or is it all in my head?

Arm wrapped around his waist tightly, a soft kiss to the back of his neck. Whispered words in his ear. Things that made him want to cry, but ended up putting his mind to ease. Enough so that John was able to sleep without having the dream again.

In the morning he was alone.

Alone on Sherlock's bed.

He moved to sit up and sighed a little, pushing his hands over his hair. To say he had a rough night was an understatement. Staying up he moved to pad out of the room. He had to put his gun away before Mrs. Hudson found it, otherwise she'd call Harry.

Don't want to be committed.

He sighed a little and walked into the living room, looking for it on the floor only to see it on the desk. Moving his hand he grabbed it and lifted it up, opening on of the drawers to place it away. Something caught his eyes, a bright piece of paper. Gently John placed the gun in the drawer and picked up the paper, looking it over.

Don't give up John. Don't let the nightmares win.

Soon.

Trust me.

-SH

John sunk to the floor, gripping the paper. He started to cry again.

"S-Sherlock…"