John awoke from his uneasy sleep to a shout. Rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes, he sat up and searched the darkness for the source of the noise. The noise stopped when John sat up, so he couldn't tell right away if it was coming from Sherlock or Harriet. He squinted into the inky darkness, trying with great difficulty to make out where Harriet was sleeping just a few metres away. He didn't squint for long though because the noise returned and it was coming from Sherlock.
"Hey. Sherlock!" He whispered into the dark. Sherlock kept talking, all in a panic. The soliloquy Sherlock uttered was rushed and broken, in his hurry he didn't even acknowledge John. John figured that he must still be sleeping and having a nightmare or something, and he was right. He kicked the covers off of his torso so that he could reach over and gently poke Sherlock in the shoulder.
"Hey! Wake up, it's only a nightmare. Hey!" John whispered, desperately trying to wake his friend up. The panicked talking was turning into panicked shouting and Sherlock began tossing and turning rather violently. John couldn't understand most of what his friend was trying to say since it was in french. The only phrase he caught was "May day! May day!" since Sherlock said it so often. John was getting worried since the tossing and turning was only getting worse as time progressed. John kicked off the remaining blankets and got out of bed. He leaned over his friend, gently shaking his shoulder with his hand.
"Sherlock, it's alright. Just wake up, you're worrying me!" John's concerned efforts only got him a punch in the chest from the manic Sherlock. John grunted as he felt the wind knocked out of his chest. The punch Sherlock delivered was a strong one and woke him up from his nightmare. Covered in a cold sweat, he sat up and immediately ripped off his quilt and tattered blankets, tossing them to the side. His head swiveled back and forth as he desperately searched for the person who he punched.
"John? Was that you?" John grunted and Sherlock stuck his hand out into the dark where he thought John sat. His eyes were not as well adjusted to the dark as John's were so he reached out a little to the right of where John actually sat on the edge of his bed. John grabbed his friend's wrist and said quietly,
"I'm here, mate." Sherlock shuffled from his spot on the floor to sit next to John on the end of his bed.
"Sorry about that. Did I wake Harriet up?" Sherlock glanced in the direction where he knew Harriet lay. John whispered back,
"No, she's still asleep. She only wakes up for the planes." Sherlock nodded and looked down to where John still held his wrist. He didn't make any motion to break contact with him and neither did John. They sat in silence for a few moments before John interrupted it with a whisper.
"You were having a nightmare, right?" Sherlock nodded again. "Were you in an airplane or something? In your nightmare, I mean. You were saying 'may day' quite a bit and the only time I've ever heard someone say that is when a plane is crashing or something. Not that I've ever been in an aeroplane, but I saw it in a film once." From what John could see in the dark, Sherlock seemed to be giving him a quizzical look.
"May day? No, I wasn't in an aeroplane…" Sherlock trailed off, trying to remember the dream he was trapped in only a moment ago. "Oh! I wasn't shouting 'may day,' I was shouting m'aider." John couldn't hear the difference between the two since he spoke zero french, so he said,
"What's the difference?"
"No, not 'may day' but 'm'aider'. It's spelled M-A-I-D-E-R. It's french for 'help me.'" Sherlock's sad look came over him again. Even in the dark, John could see his friend's face slacken and the light leave his icy blue eyes. John was concerned and asked him quietly,
"What was the dream about?" Before Sherlock could answer though, a shiver ran through him. They had only been out of the covers for a few minutes, but their threadbare pyjamas did nothing to block out the bitter cold. The attic was insulated but they could still see their breath on the air when they exhaled. Without a word, John let go of Sherlock's wrist and began gathering up his blankets on the floor. John picked up Sherlock's mother's quilt and laid it on top of his own, to which Sherlock protested.
"Hey! How am I going to keep warm?" John only crawled under the covers of his own bed and grabbed Sherlock's wrist again, dragging him closer.
"You're going to sleep with me." Sherlock tried to pull out of John's grasp, but John was strong. Sherlock shook his head as he said rather shakily,
"No, I-I can't. John…" John held his tight grip on Sherlock's wrist as he whispered,
"What's going to happen? It's more comfortable here than on the floor, I suspect. We'll also be warmer now that we have all of the blankets piled on top of each other." Sherlock still looked nervous, so John crawled out of the covers and gently nudged Sherlock into his bed. Now that Sherlock was on John's mattress, John tucked him in and sat on the edge, much like his mother would do when she used to tell him bedtime stories.
"Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?" Sherlock nodded and said,
"Sure. But how are you going to stay warm?" John shook his head.
"I'll be fine for a few minutes. Tell me about the dream." John saw Sherlock tense up under the covers. Whatever he was about to reveal to John was either deeply personal or really uncomfortable. Or both.
"I was being beaten up. But no one would help me, they were all just watching me. My brothers were watching him beat me up and they never said a word or made a motion to help me out or stop him." Sherlock paused, emotions still raw from the dream. John noticed the reappearance of this mysterious him. As Sherlock gathered his breath, John asked,
"Is this the same him from before?" John heard a quiet sniffle from his friend before he nodded. John's brain began working overtime, all of the pieces began sliding into place. He was remembering Sherlock's big flinch at dinner, how his mother brought him along the day she thought he was in danger, his deep affection for Saprisi and his curiosity in John's father. The pieces clicked and John asked quietly into the dark,
"Sherlock? Were...were you abused? By your father?" Sherlock nodded as a hot, wet tear ran down his face. He sat up and began to explain,
"Yes. I looked nothing like my other brothers, so my father thought that my mum was seeing someone else. He thought I wasn't his. He was wrong, of course, I was his, but he was a paranoid bastard. I was a reminder of his biggest insecurity, so he chose me to be his punching bag. My mother did her best to protect me, but he still found ways to get to me. The day she brought me here all those years ago must have been the day my father found out about the miscarriage. He thought the fourth baby wasn't his, just like he thought I wasn't his. So...he hurt my mum enough and she miscarried, getting rid of the baby." Sherlock paused before adding, "Just think John, had he not hurt her, I could have had another brother. Or sister. But now I have none, and one of them is gone because of him." John pulled his friend into a hug and they sat there for a few minutes. John stared into the darkness as Sherlock allowed a few silent tears fall into John's pyjamas. John couldn't help but think of his own father and how kind and loving he was. When they finally broke their embrace, John said,
"Christmas is soon. Like less than two weeks away. I heard that some of the troops are coming home for a few days. Maybe, just maybe my father will be back. You can meet him and he will treat you like a real father should. And when he comes home for good, when this bloody war is over, we can live properly, like a family." Sherlock pulled his face into a weak smile and said,
"I think that's why I like Saprisi so much. He was the first to treat me like a son." He paused before adding, "Hey, speaking of Christmas, what do you think we should get him? Saprisi, I mean." They threw ideas back and forth for a few minutes before it was John's turn to shiver. He had been out of the covers for quite a while and it was only getting colder as the night progressed.
"Sorry, John! I forgot I'm still in your bed. Let me get out and-" Sherlock began peeling off the covers as he talked but he was cut off by John.
"Stay put." John folded back half of the covers and laid down next to Sherlock, who was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. He was scooting farther and farther away from John, who was fully under the covers now.
"Err..are you sure you don't want me to sleep on the floor still? Because I can-" Sherlock was cut off by John again.
"Calm down, I'm not going to bite you! What is going to happen if you sleep next to me? You were sleeping next to me just fine a moment ago when you are on the floor! You were literally the same distance away before; the only difference now is that you are on my old, lumpy mattress." Sherlock was as far away from John as he could get while still remaining on the mattress; he was tottering on the very edge. There was a stiff moment of silence before he breathed a sigh of resignation.
"Fine, but I don't like it." John nodded as he felt his friend scootch closer to him, away from the edge of the mattress.
"You don't have to like it, it's warmer." Another huff from Sherlock. A moment's silence passed before John heard a whisper from his friend.
"Goodnight John." John smiled to himself before he whispered,
"Goodnight Sherlock." The two boys fell asleep for the second time that night. Under their many blankets, they listened to the sound of each other's breathing. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. It was quite relaxing and before long, they grew tired again. They drifted off, each of them with the breath of each other in their ears.
When opened the door to wake Harriet and the boys in the morning, she smiled when she saw Sherlock and John huddled together under all of the blankets she had given them the night previous. She paused before waking them; they seemed so peaceful when they were sleeping. No stress, no worries, no sad memories troubled them as she watched them sleep. The covers moved up and down in time with their breathing and felt her own breath catch in her chest as she remembered that Sherlock's mother, her old friend, was dead. She breathed no more and lived no longer to see her son sleep peacefully. A tear ran down her face as she also remembered that her husband hurt her and Sherlock. What a life Sherlock has led. He has had to deal with more suffering and pain than most adults! He must feel like he is carrying the weight if the world on his back, it's a wonder he has made it this far. Another hot tear escaped her eye and as wiped it away with her sleeve, she thought to herself, But he is here now, he has made it this far. I can protect him now. I'll be damned if anything happens to him on my watch. She allowed herself one last look at their peaceful faces before she woke them.
"Boys, I have to work early today. I'll be in the back room with my sewing machine if you need me. You might want to get breakfast before someone else eats it, it's ready and sitting by the stove." She walked over to Harriet and said the same before she left. She gently closed the door behind her as the boys began to stir. Sherlock rolled over to face John so that he could poke him awake.
"Pssst. Hey, it's time to get up." John heard the whisper and felt Sherlock poking him gently in the shoulder. He groaned and rolled over to face his friend. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he said,
"Blimey, what time is it?" Sherlock pulled his arm out from under the covers to look at his watch.
"Around 6:00. Your mum came in, said she said she had to work early today." Sherlock paused as John yawned. "If your mum is a seamstress, where does she get the fabric? I thought you needed coupons to buy textiles." John replied in a groggy voice,
"You don't need coupons to buy second-hand clothing. She likes to take them apart and remake them, then sell them at a slightly higher price. You also don't need coupons to buy textiles under the table." He yawned again before adding, "Also, some of the people from the nice side of town bring my mum second-hand clothes or unwanted cloth as tips or payment." Sherlock nodded.
"I guess you're right, illegal goods aren't exactly rationed."
"Correct, Sherlock." An idea struck Sherlock like lightning.
"Hey! You know what we should get Saprisi? A pot! He has a pan, but I know he like soup." John was fully awake now and grimaced at this statement.
"I like the idea but where the hell are we going to find a pot? They've all but disappeared from all the London shops." Sherlock smiled one of his cunning smiles. John was both nervous and excited.
"There you go, that's our problem. Who says that we have to get it from a London shop?" Sherlock's smile grew when he saw comprehension down on his friend's face.
"Oh! When is Saprisi's next run to the coast?" Sherlock thought for a moment before answering.
"Today! Uh-oh." He glanced at his watch again and jumped out from under the covers.
"What's the matter, Sherlock?" Sherlock began to get dressed rather hurriedly. He said between pulling several thin jumpers over his head,
"He leaves in 20 minutes!" John jumped into action too; they were both dressed within the minute. They flew down the stairs with their packs, creating a lot of noise in the process. heard the noise and stepped into the kitchen, where she found the two boys grabbing their slice of toast.
"What is with the noise? And what is the rush all about?" John said hurriedly,
"We are going to see Saprisi, but he leaves in…" He glanced to his watch, but Sherlock beat him to the mark.
"15 minutes!" gave each of them a quick peck on the cheek before she dismissed them with,
"Better be off then! Be safe, and be back in time for dinner!" With that, they were off, dashing through the door with their toast in hand, running as fast as their legs would allow them.
