A/N: All chapters will exist within the same universe but will be told out of order. Bit like canon, really...

IRRATIONAL FEARS

John wasn't afraid of the dark. He wasn't. He didn't sleep with the curtains open so that the light from the street lamps could filter through the room, and he certainly didn't keep three different torches in his bedside drawer for emergencies; he was a big fan of shadow puppets, okay?

So when the power went out, John was absolutely fine. He wasn't clinging to his pillow or muttering "there's nothing to be afraid of," under his breath or anything.

Even if he was, this wasn't normal darkness with just the lights out. This was solid citywide not-a-light-to-be-seen darkness. This was soul consuming blackness that was going to eat John's soul.

But as previously stated, John wasn't afraid of the dark. He definitely wasn't going to grab the torch and venture downstairs, because that would be childish. John was an army doctor for Christ sakes. And even if he didn't have his glowing green watch to ward off the darkness or a room full of other people's breath to stave off his fears, he didn't need those things. Because there was nothing to fear. And certainly not darkness.

It was wintertime though. And if the power was out then that meant the heat was also out. And with that realization came an onslaught of cold. The kind that caused the blood to freeze in his veins and a nervous sweat to break out on his lower back. Certainly what he was feeling was cold...

"Sod this..." John whispered aloud. It would be irrational to go downstairs because of a fear of the dark (which John most assuredly did not possess) but if there was no heat, he would need to start a fire. Sherlock had a torch lighter somewhere in his room, which would certainly be more efficient than the pack of matches that John kept in his emergency kit. Sherlock wouldn't mind waking up for a few moments to help him find it, right?

Grabbing a torch from the drawer, he gripped it tightly, wiping the cold sweat off his hands before turning it on and proceeding down the steps. He really wasn't scared at all by the way the light cast eerie shadows over everything in the room and he definitely didn't half run to Sherlock's door.

"Sherlock?" he spoke quietly, and noticed how quiet it was without the sounds of electricity humming throughout their flat. What he didn't notice, not even slightly, was the sound of fear in his voice that was in no way slightly similar to how he had sounded when he'd thought he'd been trapped in a laboratory with a giant murderous hound. No siree!

"Sherlock!?" his voice was clear and strong. No cracking similar to a pubescent boy's to be found in John Watson's tone!

"Joh... mnn?" Sherlock squinted, raising a hand against the harsh light of John's torch and the ex-soldier lowered it a bit, stepping closer to the bed. "What is it?"

"Umm, the power's out and its negative 1 out tonight. I thought it might be wise to build a fire before we both freeze to death."

Sherlock rubbed at his eyes, the expression of curiosity and aggravation melting off to form confusion before his lips quirked up suddenly and he seemed as wide awake as he had three hours previous.

"John, it's gas heat... which realistically you should know considering you're the one that handles the bills every month," Sherlock had that look, that bloody smarmy look that John hated so much. The 'we both know what's going on here' look that bothered him even more when he knew exactly what it meant.

"Ah... right. Suppose that's... that's true. Um. Right. Well then, I guess I don't have to start a fire."

Sherlock's look turned into something a bit more genuine and tad more benign.

"I suppose..." he took a deep breath that was not shaky, nor was it filled with defeat. "I suppose I woke you up for nothing then. My apologies, Sherlock."

"Think nothing of it, John," Sherlock had pursed his lips together and his nostrils flared a bit, obviously not because he was amused though. Certainly not. What could he possibly have been amused about? It was a simple mistake.

"Right... Well, I suppose... I'll just head back to bed then," he tossed his torch from one hand to the other and shuffled his feet a bit.

"Seems the thing to do." Sherlock's smile grew by about an inch.

"Alright... well..." he took a step backwards towards the door. "Off I go..."

"Cheerio,"

"Well. Sweet dreams. Hopefully no sleepwalking tonight, wouldn't want you to trip in the dark..."

Sherlock huffed and John could read that disregarding sound as "I could find my way through London blind and not stumble once,"

"Well, goodnight then," he took two steps back, feeling behind him for the door handle.

"Goodnight John."

He opened the door, paused a moment and then stepped out.

"Oh, while I'm here..." he paused in the doorway and poked his head and his torch back in the room when suddenly the light flickered. Once. Twice. Out.

"MMPH..." was a high-pitched noise, but it was not uttered by John Watson. No, that noise had arisen spontaneously. Possibly from a creaky floorboard or a ghost that had chosen that very moment to make its presence known.

"John?"

"Ye-AH?"

"Take two steps forward," John reluctantly released his death grip from the doorway and did as Sherlock asked. "Turn to your left, and walk towards my voice."

"Sherlock?"

"Right, I'm just here, not two steps more, mind the shoes to your right," he heard the shifting of Sherlock's body and followed the sound. John felt his knees touching the edge of the bed and without his consent his arms flailed out in search of his best friend. Sherlock deftly snatched his hand from the air which did not produce a decidedly shrill whimper from John's vocal cords.

Dropping the useless torch and using his other arm to guide his way into the bed, he laid down, making sure to keep at least twenty-five percent contact between his and Sherlock's body at all times. For a rational reason that John would think of tomorrow...

When he had settled, he found his body unable to relax at all and he lay stiff as board with his body pressed up against his flatmate's. He felt a heavy arm settle over his waist.

"John?"

What came out of his mouth was by no means a squeak.

"I'm right here, alright? It will all be just fine."

Finally, seeing no way that he could lose even one more shred of dignity, he flipped over and clutched the detective franticly, clinging to his waist, burying his nose against the man's t-shirt, all the while taking great gulping breaths of air.

In the pitch darkness, he could not see, but he could make out the faint scent of his flatmate; of his shampoo, his soap, laundry detergent, toothpaste, the aftershave which lingered on his sheets. And something that was distinct, noticeable and comforting all at once. He could feel the detective's lithe form next to him, surprisingly warm and not as firm as he had expected. He clung to the man's t-shirt and tried to calm the spasms in his back and stomach, glad for the darkness if only to hide the niggling embarrassment and shame.

"You're alright, John. Shh… Don't fret. Everyone's afraid of something."

Sherlock was making calming shushing noises and it struck him as remarkable that Sherlock even knew what to do when someone was upset, and that the man hadn't pushed him away yet; had actually invited him into his bed. He felt his best friend wrap one arm around his back and entangle the other in John's rather short hair.

"What of you, then?" John asked, his pulse starting to slow and his breaths coming less frantically. "What are you afraid of?"

Sherlock didn't answer right away, and John didn't truly expect that he would. After nearly a minute, he felt the warmth of Sherlock's breath on his ear and heard his response. "Enclosed spaces..."

Perhaps it was because he was divested of that great desire to seem brave that, within five minutes he was actually able to relax for the first time that night. More likely, it was because Sherlock was close enough to be attached to him, speaking reassurances into his ear in a soft baritone and rubbing circles into his back. Whatever the reason, for once that entire night, John actually felt some of his fears ebb away and a great exhaustion settle over him that allowed him to drift off.