Hello. Here is chapter two, sorry that it took a little longer than expected, I've been at the beach this week, and sick as well. So here goes the next part. I hope you all enjoy.
Disclaimer: Again, I do not own any of these characters, all rights go to their respective owners.
My sleep is a restless one, as it seems to be of late. I toss and turn as violent dreams batter my subconscious. Bombs going off, screaming, the scorching heat of a bright sun overhead. Then come the other dreams, the quieter dreams. But yet for some reason even these remain painful, and I have become thankful for their haziness. These dreams are usually just flashes of images. Harry standing over me, white walled rooms, black suits, and a small leather notebook. Notebook, where have I seen that notebook?
The dreams fade and I begin to float back into consciouness. My bed is drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted from my night time battles. I push myself up and hang my legs over the side of the bed. My head falls to my hands as I rub my eyes, attempting to erase the imprints left by the dreams from them. My hands run through my hair as I start to smell it. I sniff the air for a second to be sure. Yep, that is most definitely smoke. I bolt up from the bed, not even bothering to throw my dressing gown on, running into the hall with just my pants on. I run down the stairs and skidded to a halt in the kitchen doorway. There, behind the kitchen table, which was itself, in a worse state than usual, was Sherlock. His hair was ruffled and patches of his skin were darkened by soot.
"What the hell, Sherlock?" I yell as I rush around the table to start cleaning up. I look him over once to make sure he is fine. He only glowers down and me and mutters, "Bored." Then he stalks off to the living room and curls up on the couch.
I am washing off the table and the rest of the equipment, being careful not to cause any more reactions from the chemicals he has splayed around, when he calls from the couch, "Oh, and John. You will be needing some more of your hair products, I assume." and then he returns to his silence. I can't help but chuckle. I finish cleaning and walk to the living room, sitting in my chair.
"Sherlock. If you are this bored, why not go to the hospital, go see Molly. I'm sure there would be plenty to do around there, and you wouldn't run the risk of getting scorch marks on the ceiling. Mrs. Hudson is still upset about the last time." I say as I reach over and pick up my computer from the coffee table beside me. I open it up and navigate to the blog, checking for any new comments or messages. There are none. As I close it, Sherlock mumbles a response that has to do with that scenario involving getting dressed. I chuckle and procede to get up.
"Well, Sarah needs me at the surgery for a little while, so I should be back in a few hours." I shrug on my coat and headed to the door. Sherlock just waveds his hand as I leave.
The surgery was unusually busy. Most of the patients were children. Sick, confused children. You know how it is with kids. They begin to think there are sicker than they are, so you console them, tell them they will be fine. Most of the time that's true, but sometimes there's that one kid who you just don't know. They're in and out of hospitals, surgeries, and they start to get used to it, the routine of it just all slips by. But today was a good day. Just regular check ups, colds, that sort of thing. After everything had settled down, Sarah said it was fine if I headed on home. I nodded a goodbye and headed out into the street to catch a cab back to Baker street.
When I walked into the flat, Sherlock was still on the couch, exactly where he had been when I left.
"Sherlock, have you even moved while I've been gone?" I aksed. He turned his faced towards me, "You left?" I just rolled my eyes and headed to the kitchen to get something to eat. "Yes Sherlock, I told you, the surgery." I called as I opened the door, cautiously. Good, no heads today. The fridge was mostly empty. I ended up grabbing the jar of jam and just fixing some toast. I remembered what Sherlock had said this morning about hair products and decided it may be best to run to the store later. When my toast was ready I tossed it onto a plate and headed back into the living room. Sherlock was sitting up now on the couch so I sat beside him and picking up the clicker, turned to the news. We sat in silence for a while, as I ate and the news drooned on. Finally when I was done, I muted the telly and turned to Sherlock. "Ok Sherlock, I'm gonna head to the store and get some things that we need and then when I get back how about we head over to Bart's?" He looked up at me and nodded "Fine, I have a few things I could run through the mass spec anyway." He then pulled his knees up below his chin and rested his head on them, still looking at me. I stared back for a moment and then got up and took my plate to the kitchen. I was headed out the door as I heard Sherlock call, "Oh and John, get some milk."
Milk. Milk, dirt, spoons, white, blood, blue. Milk. Images. Flashes, like my dreams crashing through my brain. I slumped in the doorway as my knees buckled. Sherlock was at my side in a second.
"John! John, are you alright?" His voice had an air of panic that I so seldom heard from him. I pushed myself back up, holding my head.
"I… I'm fine, just got a bad headache all the sudden. I'll just take something real quick, before I go." I pulled away from him and slowly moved to the bathroom, where I poured out a couple of pain killers. I downed them quickly and then headed out to leave. Sherlock still looked worried. "I'm fine." I assured him. "I'll be back soon. Don't blow up the house while I'm gone." and then I was down the stairs and out the door.
I rushed to the store and got everything we needed and I was home as soon as possible. My head still ached a little but I didn't let it show. If there was one thing I knew how to do it was this: hide pain.
I got home and put away the milk and other groceries. Then I went to check on Sherlock. He was sitting at the table on his computer. He raised his head as I walked in and closed the screen. "Bart's then?" he asked. I nodded and he stood up and pulled on his coat and scarf. I waited in the door way and when he was ready we went to get a cab.
Once we got to Bart's Sherlock made a beeline to Molly's lab. He burst through the door, only nodding a hello. I followed close behind him, walking over to Molly and giving her a quick hug and peck on the cheek. "Evening Molly, sorry I didn't call to say we were coming. He's been restless all day and I needed to get him out before he caused any serious damage."
Molly blushed and stumbled out, "Oh, it's fine John, really. I was actually just about to leave anyway. I have a date tonight." Her slight body puffed up, proud, as she said this.
"Oh, really." I said. "With whom?"
"His name's Jim, he works in IT." She smiles up at me and turns to see if Sherlock showed any reaction. He doesn't of course. Molly shakes her head and pulls on her coat, swinging her bag across her shoulder. I wave goodbye as she walks out and head over to sit beside Sherlock. He was intent on the microscope in front of him, looking behind him every so often at the mass spec.
We stayed at Bart's for an hour or so. I texted Lestrade about some paper work for a while, even talked to Mycroft for a moment. My shoulder had started to ache and I was dozing off, when Sherlock placed his hand on my neck.
"Come on John, lets go home." He said softly. He was unusually gentle today. I would have said something to him but I just hurt all over. My head, my shoulder. I just needed to sleep.
We headed home and I went on to bed. Sherlock helped me to my room and lingered for just a moment before shutting the door on his way out. I laid in bed for a while. It was the cliché torture of being so immensely tired but unable to fall asleep. I stared at the ceiling, until finally my eyes closed and my mind quieted.
I opened my eyes slowly, dreading what I knew I would see. Sure enough, there was Harry standing over me, a glass of water and cup of medicine in her hand.
"Morning John." She said, so soft I could barely hear her. I pushed myself up and looked around. There I was: Harry's house. My room for the time being. Empty and quiet. How it should be, I didn't want to be here, I wanted to be asleep again. Asleep was good. When I was asleep I could remember everything. When I was asleep I seldom hurt. When I was asleep I could get out of bed, go on adventures. But most of all when I was asleep, all of them: Sherlock, Molly, Lestrade, even Anderson and Sally, they were alive. Here, 'reality', I was alone, with only that stupid leather journal to live my fantasy in. But soon I would forget this stupid reality. Soon, I forgot everything. Everything but the dreams.