I have a few of these written out, they just need editing and posting. I hope to do that today. This is the first of three updates.
Sorry for any mistakes.
Sherlock startled himself into wakefulness with a scream, no doubt disturbing poor John in the process. He pushed himself into a sitting position, allowing his multi-coloured eyes to dart around their shared attic bedroom as his heart pounded painfully in his chest, thudding against his rib cage. His breathing was uneven and rapid, tears falling from his eyes as he used his suddenly weak, trembling arms to hold himself up.
"Sh'lock," John's slurred speech and tired voice in the silence following the nightmare startled the teen and he jumped, turning in the direction of John's bed. Within seconds, the beside lamp had been flicked on, the light flooding the room, and John was crawling from his bed, moving over so that he could sit on Sherlock's.
John could see the teen shaking as he slowly lowered himself back against the pillow, throwing his left arm over his sore eyes and laying his right on his sweat soaked t-shirt over his stomach. His breathing was still irregular, his heartbeat erratic as he tried to force down the sobs that were rising.
"Sherlock?" John whispered, clearly more alert as he saw the state his best friend was in. He reached out from his position beside Sherlock's legs and placed his open palm on Sherlock's stomach to gain his attention. "Nightmare?" He inquired, watching Sherlock nod from behind his arm.
John began to carefully move the hand that was resting on Sherlock stomach, trying to bring him some kind of comfort. After a few moments of John trying to soothe the still crying teenager, there was the unmistakeable sound of footsteps on the stairs leading into John's bedroom.
"Boys?"
The word was spoken in a whisper and Mr. Watson walked into the room, casting his eyes over the pair and coming to a stop at the end of Sherlock's bed.
"He had a bad dream," John explained softly and Mr. Watson reached out, touching the arm that was hiding the top half of Sherlock's face from view.
"Sherlock, son, look at me," Mr. Watson soothed, "I want to see you."
Sherlock slowly lowered his arm from his face, his watery eyes shifting in his direction. Mr. Watson smiled sadly at him, gently running his forefinger down Sherlock's cheek to wipe away the fallen tears. The teen's chest was rising and falling unevenly, his breath hitching in his throat as he continued to fight off the sobs.
"I know nightmares are awful, but it's just a dream, yes? It's not happening now and you're safe here with us." Mr. Watson promised him. He reached up to run his hand through Sherlock's damp curls. "What was that?" Mr. Watson inquired as Sherlock mumbled something unintelligible.
"My stomach hurts." He repeated in a whisper, a lisp suddenly making an appearance.
"Cramps?" Sherlock nodded at Mr. Watson's inquiry. "Shall I go and get you a hot water bottle?"
"It hurts." Was all Sherlock said.
And with that, Mr. Watson had disappeared down the stairs, returning a few minutes later with a hot water bottle and some Ibuprofen. He had Sherlock sit up to take the pain relief and then handed him the hot water bottle which Sherlock curled himself around, holding it to his stomach.
It didn't take long for the aspiring detective to fall back to sleep and when he did Mr. Watson made sure John was settled before smiling sadly at both the boys, flicking off the desk lamp and leaving the room.
Thank you for reading.
Please let me know what you think.
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