Hi everyone! New chapter up that's exciting, I know! Thank you to everyone for you reviews and comments, I absolutely love to hear from you all!
Dear Guest, yes there is a storyline, and yes this is going somewhere, haha. I promise (you can all hold me to that!).
Anyway enjoy the chapter, and let me know what you think!
The hot sun beat down on his already burned skin, making his fatigues feel a thousand pounds heavier than they actually were. There were beads of sweat dipping down into his eyes, making it difficult to see, but he didn't dare reach up to wipe it away. This was no place for luxuries, this was war, this was enemy territory, and this was life or death. He and his team waded through building after building of empty rooms, they held only smashed windows, barren cupboards, and little reminders that people had once lived here.
It was dark in the hallways, with the only light drifting in from each end, giving each hall a tunnel like effect. They wandered down each corridor, leaving no apartment or room unchecked. Jack was behind him, following closely, Henry and Blake were two floors down, resweeping for any trace of recent activity while, Tim and Andy stayed outside, keeping watch.
Every creak made his heart skip, but he stayed calm, that was his job. Even though he was a doctor, John and his team were regularly sent out looking for terrorist cells, IED's, and into other dangerous situations. But this was different, he didn't know why, but everything about it felt off, but he didn't back down, he just proceeded with caution.
When they finished one building, they moved onto the next, and so on and so on, until they finished the few blocks of apartments. John could understand why someone would want to live here, if it were kept up and part of the city, it would be beautiful. It had a wonderful park that would turn green with the rain, and the buildings were well built and had large flats...the neighborhood on the other hand. Gunfire, bombs, but good schools. John almost laughed at the thought.
Oh well, maybe in a different reality. But this was his reality, war. It first tour had been exciting, and nerve racking, and absolutely chaotic, but he had loved it nonetheless. He was addicted to the adrenaline and the danger. He craved it. But now it seemed to be more tiring and repetitive, his emotions and mental state draining away with each tour.
He was lost in his thoughts when he first heard it ringing through the air. Gunshots. They were coming from the left, no the right, he didn't even know, he just knew they were being shot at. He screamed at he men to get down but they couldn't hear him. He ran toward Jack, tackling him to the ground, pinning him to the floor. He didn't know what to do, he was lost.
Jack looked toward him, as if he couldn't hear anything he was saying, as if he was in a different world all together. Jack screamed at him, he simply watched as Jack threw him into the wall. He was stunned by it all, by everything. Jack was on top of him, his gun against his head. What was he doing? John tried to move, to escape but he was frozen. His body wouldn't respond or react. But eventually the shock wore off, releasing his body to its natural defenses.
He finally wormed his way out of Jack's hold, knocking the gun out of his hand. Soon he was on top of the younger man, his hand tightly gripping his throat. He could feel him squirm, he could feel him fight, John was hurting him, hurting his friend.
"John! Stop! John! Stop, please John!" He said, but it wasn't Jack's voice...it was Sherlock's. It was Sherlock begging for mercy, his deep baritone strung with emotion. But his eyes felt heavy, his whole body felt rigid, John couldn't move, he tried to blink, trying to peel his eyes open even just a little.
But when his eyes finally opened, he looked down, only to realize, it was no long Jack underneath of him, it was Sherlock. He wasn't in the harsh desert anymore, he was home, he was at Baker Street. But one thing hadn't changed, his fingers wrapped around Sherlock's long, pale, neck. It was tight, too tight, he couldn't breathe, John thought as he quickly let go and released him from the hold.
It was a night terror. It was over. He hadn't realized they would come back this strong, he could feel the overwhelming guilt rush over him. He should have known, he should have prevented this.
"Sherlock, oh god, I'm so sorry!" He said, watching as Sherlock move his lanky frame to the other side of the room, still coughing as he tried to regain the oxygen he had lost. John got up to follow him, but was stopped by the ice in those pale blue eyes.
"Out." He whispered, his voice hoarse and rough.
"Please, I'm sorry, you have..." John cried, trying to apologize.
"Get out!" Sherlock screamed, slamming his foot into the floor. "Just leave!" He yelled as tears started to fill his eyes
John didn't argue, he grabbed his old jacket off the coat rack and headed for the door. His body was still slow with sleep, but his mind was wide awake, terrified by what had just happened, of what he was capable of.
So he left. What else could he do? He wasn't going to fight it, because Sherlock was right. He needed to leave, he didn't want to hurt him any more. How could he have been so stupid? He ran over everything in his head as he walked into the rain. What he could have done differently, what measures he could have put in place to protect Sherlock, he went over everything he could have and should have done to stop this from happening.
But really in the end, it just hadn't occurred to him. He had never had violent or physical night terrors, so why would they start now? He plopped himself down onto a nearby bus stop, just thinking about his dream, it was so real. He couldn't shake the feeling.
When the bus came, he got on, not knowing where it was headed, not really caring. Where ever he was headed, it was away from Sherlock, and that was the important thing. But he did realize that he would eventually get off the bus and he had to figure out where he was going before he got to that point.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, it was getting old but it was still somewhat functional. He scrolled down through his contacts, wondering if anyone would actually take him in at this time of night. He scratched name after name off the list, he small list of contacts dwindling down more and more, until he saw the name of the one person who knew exactly what he was going through. He looked at the name for a moment before he hit call, trying to compose himself.
"Hi, Greg? It's John."
-o0o-
When Greg pulled up in front of the bus station, he felt more like a five year old headed to the headmasters office than a grown man leaning on a friend for help. He would call Lestrade a friend, after more than two year solving crimes together and the occasional pint at the local pub, ya, friend was a good way to describe him.
But that's not what this felt like, he felt like he was in trouble. And really he should be, or at least so he thought.
He opened the door to the black sedan, pulling himself into the car and out of the rain. If you could even call it rain at this point, the drizzle was almost over, nothing more than the occasional drop now. It was almost six a.m. but it still felt like the middle of the night. The sun was just starting to peak over the buildings and light up the sky with a million awe inspiring colours.
"Hey Greg, thanks for coming to get me." John said, sighing as he leaned into the leather seat.
"No problem, John. What are friends for, eh." He said as he pulled the car back into the street. "Where do you want to go?"
" I don't know. " John answered honestly.
Greg smiled, trying to keep it light. "Well, why don't you come back to mine, and we can have a nice chat?" He asked, sounding more like Mrs. Hudson than D.I. Gregory Lestrade.
John laughed at the thought. "God, Greg, you're starting to sound like an old woman."
"Well...ya, I guess I am." He said, trying to fight the odd comment before realizing it's futility.
John just sighed, letting himself relax at last. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to release some of the tension without being so obvious.
"So are you going to tell me why you were wandering the city all night, or do I have to pry it out of you?" Greg asked after a few moments of silence,
"Its a long story." John said, unsure of where to start.
Greg rolled his eyes. "You didn't wake me up just to say it's a long story." He said as he pulled into the only empty spot in front of a good of houses. "Come on, let's go in and you can tell me this long story in full." He said as he turned off the car, and slid out of the sleek car.
John followed behind him closely, mimicking his steps. "Greg." He said, taking a deep breath and exhaling.
Greg opened the door to reveal a modest but nice house nonetheless. It was obviously a bachelor pad, but it was clean, well kept and homey. "Make yourself at home, I'll get the tea." Greg said as he wandered down the hall.
John sat down in a large leather recliner, but instead on leaning back, he held himself forward, keeping his hands on his knees. They were shaking, they had never shaken like this, at least not this extent.
When Greg wandered back into the sitting room with to mugs in his hands, John was still sitting, straight as a plank and hands on his knees.
John looked at the older inspector, his eyes bloodshot snd red. "I...I don't want to hurt him anymore." John croaked, his voice breaking. " I need you to stop me, Greg, please."
