So, something had definitely woken him up. He wasn't sure what... but something had woken him up.
Considering that only two people lived in the flat- not including Mrs. Hudson, because it was three in the morning and she would not be awake- and one of those two people were rather unsympathetic to things like sleep...
It could have only been Sherlock.
Just go back to sleep, John. Back to sleep, because whatever it was had not been important...
On the brink of unconsciousness...
Another noise.
John groaned, throwing his blankets off and clambering out of bed. He was just going to make sure that Sherlock wasn't setting the flat on fire. He was just going to make sure that Sherlock wasn't fighting an assassin, or... or something.
"Sherlock, what you are-" He pushed the kitchen door open. No Sherlock in the kitchen or the sitting room. "-doing...?"
John frowned, travelling through the kitchen and down the hallway. He pressed his palm against the door, pushing it open gently and only slightly. Usually, John wasn't allowed to enter Sherlock's room; Sherlock threw a fit. (And the arrogant sod didn't even understand the concept of privacy during a shower! How could he complain!) But, John really didn't have any desire to visit Sherlock's room, even if it was surprisingly neat compared to the kitchen and sitting room. He gave Sherlock his privacy when he wanted it.
Through the gloom of darkness, John squinted into the detective's room. Sherlock was curled up in bed, tangled up somewhere between the duvet and the sheets and an extra blanket that had been part of an experiment until two days ago. Sleeping, then.
John made to close the door again when- another noise. Coming from Sherlock. A sort of a... gasp.
"Sherlock?" John questioned, frowning.
Sherlock twitched, fingers closing into a tight fist, eyelids flickering. Dreaming? Sherlock was... dreaming?
"Sherlock," John voiced louder, his voice grating against the silence as he fumbled for the light switch.
The detective flinched, thrashing slightly with the blankets. His lanky form intertwined with the blankets combined with the fact that Sherlock was sleeping on the edge of the bed, anyway, sent him toppling onto the floor.
John flinched at the resulting thud.
Sherlock sat bolt upright, his eyes wide with what John would have called fear, his hair in a flyaway disarray. He was still tangled up in the blankets, even if he didn't seem to notice.
"Uhm. You okay?" John asked.
Sherlock flinched almost imperceptibly, his eyes flashing towards John. A moment later, his breath left him in a rush of 'oh'.
John raised his eyebrows. "Dreaming?"
Sherlock's nostrils flared as he drew his arms out of the blanket, fighting the fabric away. "What are you doing here?"
"You were making noise. I thought maybe you were burning something down."
Sherlock stood, stepping out of the blankets. He reached down to pick them up; John noticed his hands shaking.
"Nightmares?" John prompted again.
"Of course not."
"Okay?" John replied, in the tone of a question. He wasn't sure why Sherlock wouldn't admit to it. It wasn't like John hadn't had his own share of nightmares.
"... It's always the hound."
John glanced back up at Sherlock. The detective was frowning at the blankets he was holding, studiously not looking at John, whether on purpose or not.
"Psychologically, my mind hasn't recovered from the perception of the drug. I know that it was fake, just a hallucination. I know that, and yet..." He threw the blankets onto the bed. "Illogical and irrational." He looked across the room at John, as if he had just remembered that he was there. "Go back to bed, John."
"Are you sure you're okay?"
Sherlock gave him a look. "Of course I am." He really didn't sound like he believed it. "I am fine."
"Okay..." John turned, only pausing a moment later. He glanced over his shoulder. "Sleeping with the light on may help. You'd be able to see that you're just here. Surrounded by your own things, with possessions you love and people you care for. Oh," John said, "people that care for you, I meant to say. It, and don't try to figure out how, makes you realize that you're really safe, in the present, even when those 'illogical and irrational' thoughts affect your mind." He looked ahead again, heading back through to the kitchen.
"... Goodnight, John," floated Sherlock's voice down the hall.
"Goodnight, Sherlock. Good dreams," he said absently, heading back to bed.
Couldn't picture John saying 'Sweet dreams' to Sherlock. So, 'good dreams'. I know it sounds a bit odd. xD
So, making Sherlock scared is difficult. And he's only just in this chapter, as exemplified through the nightmare. But the thing I like about this chapter: Sherlock, absently, without thinking, feeling able to talk to John about the dream and the idea that John's helping Sherlock with the whole 'sleep with the light on' idea. I think it's nice.
Set sometime between the end of Hounds and the last month in Reichenbach.
Up next, Sherlock's Flustered! Because I adored him in Scandal when he got tongue-tied. Your reviews are lovely! Thank you!
EDIT: Sherlock's Fallible will be the next chapter instead. Because I found it annoying to try and make Sherlock flustered without including Irene, and I don't like Irene so much. xD