Sherlock wakes wrapped in John, he is uncomfortably warm, not only is he still fully clothed but has a warm doctor pressed into him. John looks so peaceful that Sherlock can't disturb him so he doesn't move. The taller man has the perfect view with the doctor wrapped around his front. He worries for a moment about John's stitches but a smile spreads across the smaller man's face and he nuzzles into Sherlock's chest. The small movement stunts the genius's thoughts.

Sliding a hand up Sherlock stroked the face before him and his mind jumped back to that moment he had opened the warehouse door to find his doctor alive.

It was like watching something in slow motion as the door falls away and the familiar grey/blonde hair nearly grown over his eyes. Sherlock didn't need to see his face to know his doctor. He had studied the man many times and had memorized his features even two years hadn't obscured the image. The scars on his chest both old and fresh were seared into his memory, they weren't life threatening but they couldn't be exactly painless.

Sherlock mind drew back further to the months using Mycroft's sources to hunt down the strands of Moriarty's web, the countless lives he had ended. Faces of men and women blend into one mass of James's face, the only one that is recognizable. Sherlock doesn't regret the things he has done and he never will, his doctor is in his arms once again and nothing in the world can pull that apart.

John moves disrupting Sherlock's thoughts. The doctor's face is now one of fear; his features contorted with his brow stitched together and drawn high on his forehead. John's mouth has fallen open slightly and his breathing has increased. The smaller man's body shakes and his heart vibrates through his chest into Sherlock.

John is having a night terror. Being a wounded soldier sent home invalid John had a small bit of PTSD that would act up every now and again. The drawn out screams of terror had always set Sherlock on edge. The first time it had happened the genius hadn't been expecting it.

It had been a few weeks after the doctor moved in and Sherlock was surprised about how accustomed he had already become to the other man's presence. He had been deep in his mind palace when the scream echoed through the silent flat. Blinking a few times Sherlock thought for a moment he had fallen asleep but another scream brought him to his feet. Without a second thought the tall man sprinted up the stairs to John's room.

He expected to find an intruder or someone attacking the ex-soldier but the other man was alone, thrashing and fighting with his sheets tangled around his legs.

"John?" Sherlock called confused. He wasn't one for nightmares and definitely didn't understand the effect of it on others.

John didn't answer. He whimpered and struggled.

"John." Sherlock tried again moving closer to the bed. When the doctor still didn't answer Sherlock touched his shoulder. Suddenly the taller man found himself flat on his back with a John straddling him. The ex-soldier was growling in his face, the look in John's eyes said he clearly was still stuck in his dream.

"John," Sherlock spoke slowly, "Your dream isn't real. You are not in Afghanistan anymore; you were shot and now live with me."

John blinked at him and recognition came into his eyes. His face morphed into confusion and then quickly into shock. He sat back without moving off of Sherlock, "Sherlock?" He whispered.

Uncertain of what to do Sherlock reached up and gripped the doctor's shoulder. "John." He said in confirmation.

John stood up and pulled Sherlock to his feet. Every night John had a nightmare Sherlock would come to his side and wake him.

Reaching up slowly the genius runs his hand through the doctor's hair gently. "Hush now John," he rumbled knowing his low voice always comforted John, "I'm here nothing is going to harm you."

John's mind had been traumatized more than from his days of war. Moriarty would have tortured John's body and his mind, no doubt. James would have made the doctor question reality and then understand that it was all real. Using drugs and pain John would have slowly slipped away into someone else with nothing of the doctor left within but for some reason Moriarty hadn't taken it that far. James had stopped with simple brainwashing, creating only a childlike personality instead of someone a little more dangerous.

Sherlock forced those thought away and began comforting his friend again. "There's nothing to worry about now John, you are home and safe."


It's so warm. Everything is bursting with light and warmth. No traces of shadows linger even in corners. Yet a presences hovers clouding the air with thickness, it's not a scent or anything for that matter but the room feels heavy. Each draw of breath is choking and almost overwhelming. The light and warmth is an illusion to the sinister phantom.

No amount of struggling breaks the hold of sluggishness. The light and warmth vanish showing the space for its true self.

Pitch darkness is now blanketed everything, not a trace of light can be seen and then the voice begins speaking. It's a woman's voice etching fear into everything with every syllable.

"John," The voice whispers, "My lovely, my pet. You are so good to me."

The voice is thick like the presences but soft and gentle like a lover's, it's like the light and warmth, an illusion.

Pain radiates through every fiber, burning and scorching flesh. Agony is ripping following the sound of laughter. Boiling touches drag over raw wounds leaving trails of molten skin, exposing red meat and live nerves that blister, coiling against the heat.

"John you are my little soldier, going to make mommy proud."

Screams, the smell of blood, and nothing, the senses meld together becoming a chaotic mess, reality doesn't exist. Up is down and right is left. Darkness is the light and shadows are safe. Vision is not a necessity is a world of abnormality. The things that once made sense have been reversed.

"Fly little hedgehog, fly!" A singsong voice whispers in the air.

Breathe on the neck reeking of flowers and blood, burning flesh and rotting gore. Golden, glowing eyes hover in the air just out of reach, taunting.

"Beautiful little solider," the sweet voice hums, "making mommy proud."

Then white noise, only the sound of heavy breathing breaks the irritating, high pitched noise. Muffled voice buzz together in an outraged horde, nothing blocks or dims the sound. It draws closer, pressing in becoming a heavy weight forcing all the oxygen from the lungs out. Gravity pulls and stretches paralyzing every muscle.

"Little hedgehog." The words are distorted and screaming.

Gunfire and screams replace the white noise. Heat and sweat of a familiar landscape ripple under clothed feet. The weight in hand is of a standard issued army rifle, hot from being fired rests in steady hands. The panicked screams and blood curdling cries of the wounded ring through ears, the hot sand under foot shifts without care for this is war.

The heated air makes breathing almost impossible. The eyes don't work and listening is the only way to see by.

What do I do?

Is on repeat in the brain just as pain erupts from the shoulder, it takes a moment as the back hits the ground before the pieces fall into place and realization springs sluggishly by; I've been shot.

"No dear one," the woman assures, "you aren't shot, and you never were."

John snaps awake, throwing Sherlock from his arms in his haste. His stitches pull and the doctor freezes with the pain, his mind a whirl of panic and confusion. His whole body is shaking from the nightmare. John is taking large, gasping breathes as he looks frantically around the room, his eyes finally landing on Sherlock.

The tall man is kneeling beside John, his face that of true concern.

"Sher…lock?" The doctor manages feeling as if he's waking up for the first time all over again.

Sherlock doesn't say anything before John is wrapping around him in a tight embrace. Tears are leaking from his eyes in relief.

"Shhh John, you're alright." The genius murmurs lightly stroking the rapidly cooling skin.

John tightens his hold of Sherlock, never wanting the man to escape from him. Even now John felt a little lost, he felt as if something is missing and it is slowly becoming a growing anxiety. The doctor needs to know that Sherlock isn't going anywhere.

"You want to tell me about it?" Sherlock mumbles startling John.

John pulls away to look the man in the face giving him a confused look. "What?"

The other man looks a little uncomfortable but determined. "Your dream, do you want to talk about it?"

The smaller man opens his mouth to speak but his mind is suddenly blank. A moment ago everything from the dream was swirling in his head trying to escape but the moment he opened his mouth to tell Sherlock it vanished. John blinks at the genius for a few drawn out seconds before speaking. "I don't remember…it was there and now…it's gone…why is it gone?" John knows he's sounds like a child but for the first time in a long time he is truly terrified.

The last time he was truly scared was when Sherlock's life was threatened and it was jump or watch him die.

Sherlock leans forward pressing his forehead to John's. "John," that lone baritone does little to calm the doctor's nerves, "some things happened to you in the last two years that drugs and your mind have suppressed but your subconscious will bring them forward in your dreams. You aren't meant to remember them until it's time for now you will only relive them every now and then."

"That's not very comforting." John points out.

Sherlock sighs reaching a hand up to cup John's cheek. "I'm being realistic, as a doctor you want facts not beautified half-truths so I am merely being accommodating."

John has to smile because the genius is absolutely right; John does want to know even if it is hard to hear or to understand. He doesn't want to be babied or coddled over. "Thank you." He says.

"Though I feel it is appropriate to ask; are you alright?" Sherlock states his eyes darting over the doctor's face rapidly.

John takes in a deep breath and his body relaxes slightly. "I will be fine." He answers pulling himself away from the other man to flop on to the mattress. His movements trigger protests from his wounds but they are easily ignored.

Sherlock remains upright for some minutes before settling on the pillow beside John.

The doctor doesn't approve of the distance and rolls closer to the other man and wraps around him being mindful of his stitches. John nestles under Sherlock's chin and inhales the familiar scent that can only be this man's; tobacco and just natural Sherlock.

John has never been in a romantic relationship with a man, sure in the army when a guy needed a little release the doctor was happy to oblige but nothing too extreme. With Sherlock everything felt unanswered. John isn't even sure the man is comfortable or wants a relationship though the touches and other affections couldn't be any clearer. Still John being John needs to hear the words from Sherlock's mouth.

"Sherlock," the doctor starts off hearing the light hum in response, "have you ever been in a relationship before?"

Sherlock shifts but John tightens his hold on the man knowing he wouldn't be able to get the words out if he saw Sherlock's face. The other man stills and fingers start to stroke skin in a comforting way.

"I've had many relationships but I assume you mean a romantic one which in that case; no I have not." The way he answers is something akin to boredom.

John swallows against the lump in his throat. "Do you want a relationship with me?" He can barely form those words and even then they are quiet.

Sherlock moves again and not even John's tightening hold keeps him still. Reluctantly the doctor releases the other man and Sherlock wiggles down to be eye level with John. The lunar eyes lock on to his. Sherlock's face is transformed; the blank, uninterested look is gone replaced by a small, soft smile. A hand cups John's face, holding his head up to keep eye contact.

"John," Sherlock purrs the word and his eyes light up, "there is nothing in the world I want more than to have you at my side at all times. It's true I have no experience in a relationship setting but you are the one I will try with. I know I may cause problems and not understand fully what I have done wrong but one thing will not change, I love you John. I had to watch you die and wait two years to find you alive. I refuse to let you go again."

The possessiveness in his voice is startling to John but the words coming from the other man's mouth are heaven. Surging forward John kisses him.

Sherlock is stunned but responses with vigor. Tilting John's head back he deepens the kiss, licking at John's mouth until it opens. Diving in Sherlock examines John's mouth. The doctor is surprised by the experience Sherlock is exhibiting as they kiss. John thought he would be the one dominating the kiss but Sherlock overtook it like an expert putting John's knowledge to shame.

"Where…did you learn to kiss like that?" John pants when he pulls away for air.

Sherlock's lips are migrating over every corner of John's face. "It was for a case." The man answers between kisses.

This reply pulls a chuckle from the doctor, "of course it was." He teased before a hot, greedy mouth covers his.

John is so enamored by Sherlock he's concentrating more on the kiss than anything else but roaming hands on his body catch his attention. Sherlock long, thin fingers are prodding and stroking his bare chest. Those digits graze over hardened nipples and the sensation of pleasure shoots down John's spine. He moans into Sherlock's mouth and feels the other man's smug smirk as they continue kissing.

"Why are you still dressed?" John groans when he finds control of his arms. He's beyond caring how he sounds he needs to touch naked skin before he burst into flames. Sweat coats his body and every nerve is at attention awaiting what is to come next.

"Taking it slow," Sherlock mutters as fingers slips into John's pants.

The first brushed touch makes John let out a high pitched whine and he's breathing too heavily to kiss properly. "No, not slow." The smaller man gasps managing to get his hands under Sherlock's shirt. His clumsy, shaking fingers find his own nipples to tease. Gently rolling the nubs between his fingers John is rewarded with Sherlock's breathless moan and a faltered hand movement in his pants.

"God, Sherlock," John cries arching himself into the taller man, "please!" He doesn't know what he's asking for but whatever it is he needs it.

Sherlock halts his hand and pulls it free from the constricting fabric. He roughly pushes the pants down with an irritated huff before he returns to his ministrations with even more purpose in his touch.

John is lost in the powerful arousal and his hips start working on their own, pumping into Sherlock's fist. The tight embrace around him is choking but so good. He has never been touched by another person in this way and the sensation is almost too overwhelming. Making coherent thoughts are impossible and the only thing on John's mind is; Sherlock.

"Sherlock," The smaller man pants when he forces himself to speak wanting to return this feeling but Sherlock's other hand grips the back of his neck, forcing his mouth closer.

"Let go John." Sherlock whispers before pulling all the air from John's body with a blistering kiss.

That's all it takes to send John over the edge, screaming into Sherlock's mouth as his hips give tiny, final jerks. Through the entirety John managed to keep his eyes open and he stares at the grey/blue irises before him. They breathe together, taking in the silence that has followed the mind blowing experience.

"Was that okay?" Sherlock asks tentatively and John can only stare until realization hits him.

Sherlock is afraid he has already screwed up and truly wants to know what John is feeling. Warmth swamps his body; John can barely describe the emotions flying through him but is sure one of them is unrelenting love.

"Idiot," John murmurs affectionately and slides forward to kiss the detective hoping it's enough to quail any doubt the other man may have had. Pulling away he smiles. "That was brilliant." He assures just so the other man is certain.

"Obviously," Sherlock mumbles turning his face to try and hide his embarrassment.

Chuckling John slides his hand down to cup a very straining bulge through the taller man's trousers. "Need a little assistance with this? I am a doctor after all." He says wiggling his eyebrows.

Sherlock snorts as his face burns red. "Please don't, I definitely did not sign up for a cliché as a lover."

John draws back a bit with a teasing smile, "Lover, how about boyfriend?" Sherlock's jaw drops but the smaller man continues, "Life partner? Better half, companion?"

"Must we be labeled?" Sherlock asks clearing his throat and looking to be losing a battle to control the color heating his cheeks.

John moves closer nuzzling along Sherlock's jawline. "How are we to introduce ourselves to people?"

Sherlock breathes in sharply as the doctor captures an earlobe in his mouth. "Sherlock and John." The taller man manages gasping and squirming, "John and Sherlock."

"Will you hold my hand in public?" John whispers squeezing Sherlock's arousal lightly, enjoying the barely restrained whimper.

"Yes," Sherlock hisses. His head falling back and his eyes slamming shut as his hips jerk.

Encouraged by the reaction John slowly slides down the bed, dragging the taller man's clothes down. Sherlock's erection springs free, standing straight and leaking. Curious and feeling bold the doctor gingerly licks the underside of the shaft. Sherlock whines and his hips buck.

"Eager, aren't we?" John murmurs before doing it again.

Sherlock is very responsive and engaging, the whole experience has been intriguing. John is enjoying another side of his friend he hadn't had the privilege of before and it is enlightening. The doctor loves every side of his detective but this man withering beneath him is entirely foreign.

Taking pity on the man John engulfs as much as he can without chocking. Having never done something like this is nerve wracking but the doctor doesn't allow that to slow him down. Slowly he begins exploring the limb in his mouth. The soft, velvety skin stretched over hardened muscle sends a spine tingling thrill through him. John flattens his tongue, dragging it over the length until he reaches the head. Moving back over it again John increases the speed, bobbing his head up and down the girth.

As John took pleasure from the newness between his lips he notes fingers tangling in his hair. Looking up through his lashes, the doctor can't see Sherlock's face since it's still thrown back but the sounds coming from the man are heavenly. The fingers jerk slightly and instead of putting John off; it increases the fire pulsing through him. Humming in approval John stills his head and places his hands on Sherlock's hips.

The lack of movement catches Sherlock's attention and he raises his head with questioning eyes. John smiles around the length and pulls on the hips under his fingers trying to get his offer across. Suddenly the genius comes to an understanding, his eyes widen and a surprised lust filled realization appears.

Steadily Sherlock tightens his hold in John's hair, receiving another approval, and starts to slow rock his hips. The sliding of the membrane over his tongue makes John moan with renewed intensity.

"John!" Sherlock murmurs as his hips begin thrusting in earnest.

John opens his mouth more, relaxing into the wonderful intrusion until he can feel the head of Sherlock bumping the back of his throat. Under his fingers the doctor feels the muscles in Sherlock's thighs start to tighten signaling near completion. Tightening his hold on the other man's hip John starts meeting Sherlock's thrusts and using his tongue to slid along the shaft.

Sherlock gasps his hands pulling on John's hair sending shocks of pain that are easily ignored. The thrusts begin to become erratic and uncoordinated. Sherlock's length hardens further and swells. The bitter and salty taste of Sherlock pre-release pulls another moan from John and he increases his head bob. Sherlock cries out and the thrusting is out of sync as he finishes in John's mouth.

Releasing the softening membrane John crawls back up the genius kissing his body before reaching his mouth. Kissing the slacken lip the doctor kisses Sherlock sweetly.

"Was that okay?" John asks against the mouth.

Sherlock hums in contentment and slides an arm around the doctor. John chuckles, he doesn't need to hear Sherlock's words at the moment. He can feel everything the other man is feeling. John had done this before but it was different with Sherlock. John shouldn't be surprised by that though, everything is different with Sherlock.

John listens as quiet snores start coming from the other man and smiles to himself, smugly thinking over how his mouth had lulled the genius to sleep. Relaxing into Sherlock the smaller man settles into doze.