A/N - Greetings and salutations! I'll be honest with you, this chapter does not move the plot forward at all. But chronologically the one part at the end that isn't just a general explanation of dreams falls between chapter 10 and chapter 12. So there you go.
Eleven: Blood, Falls, and Violins
Terra never remembered much of her dreams.
That was probably for the better.
There was one thing that always stuck with her, though.
The blood.
Almost every night, she dreamed of that day.
There was blood everywhere. She wasn't sure how much of it was hers and how much was his. It didn't much matter.
She was kneeling in a pool of blood on the pavement next to him, ignoring the sharp pain of her own injuries. She had to help him.
Too late, she realized that the arrows had been poisoned. There was nothing she could do to save him. There was nothing she could do to save him. It was too late. And if she continued to resist assistance from the others, she'd die, too.
She tried to stand, but got dizzy and lost her balance.
The last thing she saw before blacking out was all the blood.
Her eyes snapped open. She was at home, safe in her bed, clinging to Errol.
The longer she was awake, the more the images faded. But the blood never did.
A quick glance out the window told her that it was still the middle of the night.
She hugged Errol tighter and cried quietly.
"This phone call… it's my note."
John's nightmares were always about the Fall.
He'd replayed the scene so many times in his head that he'd trained himself not to call out for Sherlock when he awoke.
Even now that he knew Sherlock was alive, he couldn't shake the mental picture of his best friend's broken body lying on the pavement and covered in blood.
The rare nights when Sherlock slept were a comfort to John.
If he had a nightmare, he awoke to know that Sherlock was there – warm, breathing, and alive – next to him.
When Sherlock elected not to sleep (a far more common occurrence), John awoke to an empty space where a certain consulting detective belonged. But more often than not, on those nights he woke up from nightmares to hear violin music from the sitting room.
It was as if Sherlock always knew when John need reassurance that he was alive.
Sherlock had never been much of a sleeper.
While sharing a bed with John was a pretty good incentive to sleep, he still didn't most nights.
He had learned, on his sleepless nights, that both of his flatmates suffered from semifrequent nightmares.
When John had bad dreams, he tossed and turned and mumbled in his sleep. Sherlock had found that his presence seemed to help John, so whenever he could, he tried to make sure he was there when John woke up.
Terra's nightmares were harder to comfort. Her dreams were accompanied by a sad whimpering that reminded Sherlock of a kicked puppy. The problem was that it seemed there was very little he could do for her. The one time he'd stepped into her room to check on her, she'd been curled up on her bed with her knees about two inches from her nose and practically squishing Errol's stuffing out.
Some days, they both had nightmares.
On those nights, he played for them. A long time ago, months before the Fall, he'd written a lullaby to play on John's bad nights.
In the mornings, it had become standard procedure to pretend that everyone had slept soundly.
One day, well – night (it was about 2:24am), Terra walked into the sitting room while Sherlock was playing. He stopped abruptly and set down the violin when he saw her.
Eyes red – she's been crying.
Carrying Errol – just woke up.
Shivering, keeps glancing at couch blanket – cold.
Nightmares again, Sherlock decided. I thought it was just John tonight. He threw the blanket at her. "Are you alright?" he asked cautiously. Playing the violin to comfort her while she was asleep was all very good, but dealing with the broken-looking 22-year-old while she was conscious was much more John's area of expertise than his own.
"Bad dream," mumbled Terra. She sat down on the couch after wrapping herself up tightly in the blanket.
Sherlock joined her on the couch. "Do you… er… want to… talk about it?"
Terra shook her head. Good, thought Sherlock. He really wouldn't have known what to say.
The next morning when Sherlock awoke, he was still on the couch. Terra was next to him, with her head resting on his shoulder and still wrapped tightly in the blanket. She looked up at him and blinked a few times.
She mumbled, "Thanks, 'Lock." Then she stood up, stretched, and walked away. Before she left the room, she turned around. "Not just for today – for every time you've ever played that lullaby at night. Usually we don't really acknowledge that it happens, but… thanks."
Oh, and if you're wondering – in Sherlock's dreams, they're all pirates.
A/N - I was going to write a bit about Sherlock's dreams, but then almost omitted any mention of them whatsoever. In the end I just tacked that little bit on as I was typing it up.
If I had done it the other way, you'd know that in his dreams, Sherlock is the captain of their pirate ship. John is first mate. Terra is usually stationed in the crow's nest. Anderson and Donovan are usually on the Royal Navy ship that they sink. *giggles*
Review if convenient, if inconvenient review anyway.