A/N: Thanks again to Team Beta for the use of their eyes and grey matter. :)
Sherlock woke with a shout. This nightmare had been especially vivid, and eminently disturbing. Images of the four men he'd killed in his time away, each morphing into John with their final breaths, the army doctor's body bearing fatal wounds inflicted by Sherlock.
John's blood on Sherlock's hands mutating into a writhing mass of dark, stinging bees … Their angry hum not enough to drown out the sound of Ford's laughter.
The creak of his door opening tore his attention from the horrifying vision. John had heard his nightmares in the months he'd stayed here while Sherlock recovered. He'd never before come into Sherlock's room.
The bed sagged as John sat, reaching for Sherlock in the dim light. With John's hands on his shoulders, pulling him close, Sherlock could not stop himself from wrapping his arms around John's waist, burying his face in John's hip.
John was alive. And he was here. It might not be for good, but it was for now, and that would have to be enough.
Sherlock became aware that John was rubbing his back and murmuring to him. He tried to focus on the words, breath catching in a near-sob when he heard them.
"I've got you, Sherlock. We're home, back where we belong. We're safe. I need you to breathe for me, love. Just breathe."