John bolted upright in his bed. "SHERLOCK!" He rested his head in his hands and groaned as his flat mate ran up the stairs and into his room.
"What is it?" asked the detective in a panic.
"Nothing," sighed the doctor. "It's nothing. Another nightmare. That's all."
Sherlock relaxed. "Oh. Need anything? You know, just since I'm already here."
"Clean shirt?"
"On it." The detective grabbed a clean T-shirt from the dresser and tossed it to his flat mate. He came to sit on the edge of the bed as the man before him changed.
"Why are you being so… I dunno. What are you doing?" John asked, confused by his friend's actions.
Sherlock stammered for a moment. "I- I was worried about you."
"Yeah, but you know I'm alright now. Yet you're still here."
"I don't know. You had a bad dream and you seemed very upset by it. I suppose I wanted to make sure you were okay-... emotionally."
John stared at him for a moment. "Sherlock, the carer. This is new."
"Yeah… Just getting used to it myself." They sat in silence. "Uhm. Are you okay?"
The doctor sighed again and rubbed his brow. "Honestly, not really. I lost my wife not long ago and now I'm suffering while my brain tries to process that information. But… I'm getting there. And you being here, odd as it may be, is actually helping immensely."
"Oh. Well I'm glad I could be of help." A long silence fell.
John cleared his throat. "Well. This is getting awkward."
"Yes, sorry. I guess I should be getting back to bed." Sherlock stood and made for the door. "Goodnight, John."
"Goodnight, Sherlock." They each managed a rather confused expression as the detective went down the stairs and to his own room where he remained awake the rest of the night, contemplating the situation with his friend.