Sherlock awoke to John panting into his side in the middle of the night. Sherlock sat up and John immediately started to shake, murmuring indistinct words. His murmuring became muttering and his muttering soon became talking. His voice kept rising, the pained words becoming a bit more clear. "Mom, mom, no, please no, dad, no, please, mom, Sherlock!" Sherlock froze at his name being spoken, sounding like a plead, begging. John was close to yelling now, repeating those awful words. Sherlock scrambled, pulling John into him to muffle his voice a bit. He didn't want to wake anyone up.

"Shh, John, it's okay, I'm here, it's me, Sherlock, its okay, you're fine, shhh, calm down, it's just a dream." Sherlock's hand was running through John's hair in a soothing fashion, John's breathing slowed to a normal pace. Sherlock made out lines of tears glinting in the moonlight. Sherlock rubbed John's back and continued to whisper comforting words until John took a deep breath and fell back asleep peacefully. Sherlock prayed no one heard.

In the morning, John woke up first. Bags sagged under his eyes, but the comfort and warmth of Sherlock soothed him, and gave him strength to roll out of the bed and stand up. Sherlock looked so peaceful sleeping, chest rising and falling, face half hidden by a fluffy pillow. Sherlock's eyelids fluttered open soon after and rubbed his eyes, tired from the unexpected interruption in his sleep. He caught John looking, who sheepishly averted his gaze and said in a slightly cheerful tone, "Morning." Sherlock responded with a yawn and a "morning," before slumping back into the warmth of his covers.

Sherlock's mum came knocking at the door, "time to get up boys, school today." John groaned, Sherlock did the same but got up anyway. His eyes travelled up John's body, he'd slept in his clothes, of course, he hadn't any or anything. Sherlock should've offered. Next time. John cleared his throat and slipped on his jumper that he discarded before dinner yesterday, comfortable with the familiarity and warmth. John went to the bathroom while Sherlock changed into his day attire, formal but normal, for him anyway.

The boys walked down the stairs, where Mycroft was waiting at the kitchen table, typing away at his laptop, his mum bustled around the kitchen. Upon entering, Mycroft looked up at them and smiled, "I heard some screaming early in the morning, did you get scared of the trees in the window?" Sherlock grew furious, and was about to yell but John touched his arm and shook his head. Sherlock calmed himself, taking a breath and ignored his brother's comments. John seemed a bit fazed, and looked at Sherlock, "I'm just going to take a walk, clear my head, kay?" John turned to walk away when Sherlock grabbed his arm suddenly, whispering in his ear. "I can come with you, if you want?" John looked down, "I appreciate it, but I really need to be alone for a bit." Sherlock looked hurt, and John mentally slapped himself. "But I'll be back before school and we can walk together, it's not that far."

Sherlock's eyes brightened a little before dimming again, "John, can I tell Mycroft, not everything, the basics, otherwise he won't understand, he'll joke about it and it's not fair to you, once he knows I promise he'll be a better person. He's… special in his own way." John chuckled and said "sure, just wait till I'm not here, please." Sherlock's gaze turned from fury to appreciation, he nodded and stalked into the kitchen. John started to walk down the hallway when Mrs. Holmes called after him, "Not staying for breakfast?" She asked. "I'll be back soon, you don't have to make me anything though, I'll live." John smiled and walked out the door, shutting it behind him.

He breathed into the frosty air, thinking about last night's events. He hadn't told his story to anyone, nobody. What had made him trust Sherlock after a day? Was it just that he was desperate for a friend, someone who would listen? Or did he truly trust Sherlock.

Live for Sherlock Holmes.

The words echoed in John's mind as he began his mind-stretching walk in the chilly morning.

Sherlock sat down at the table, picking up the daily newspaper. "So, Sherlock, acquired a new pet?" Sherlock glared up at him. "Mycroft…" He said in a warning tone. His brother pretended to act surprised, "Well I just assumed, you know, offering to take him on walks, feeding him, petting him…" he drawled. Sherlock became angry and pounded a fist on the table. "SHUT UP MYCROFT!" Sherlock shouted, now standing and leaning over the table, glaring at his brother with a venomous stare. "Sherlock!" his mother scolded, but the boys ignored her.

"Why should I?" The elder asked, returning a glare, though not as intimidating. "You don't understand! Stop meddling with my life! I don't need your commentary! You're too caught up in 'deducing' and insulting my life and my friends when maybe there's something bigger going on!" Sherlock retaliated. Mycroft's stare didn't falter, "I do understand. I'm the smart one. I will alwa-"But Sherlock cut him off.

"No! No you don't understand! You will never, not unless your life gets turned upside because of one stupid driver. Not unless your mom gets killed because a stupid drunk decided to drive home. Not unless your sister got beat by your dad, and in an attempt to help her get beaten yourself. Not unless you ran away from home with barely anything to escape the one place you're supposed to feel most comfortable and safe. Not unless your sister goes off to university, leaving you on the streets to fend for yourself, managing school, work, health and your own safety. All. Alone."

Mycroft broke his glare, softening his gaze and sitting back in his chair. His mum was staring now, her hand over her heart. "Sherlock, i-"Mycroft started but Sherlock once again interrupted. "Oh, I forgot to mention his dad became an alcoholic, he had a temporary drug addiction and recent suicide attempt. He had nightmares about his dad, dreams about his mom. So no, you don't understand." Sherlock sat down, finished with his rant. Mycroft placed his head in his hands. "Sherlock, I'm sorry, I was stupid and impulsive." "Don't apologize to me." Sherlock said each word slowly, like dripping poison.

Mum had a tear running down her cheek, "Oh that poor boy." Sherlock got up and left the kitchen to sit on the porch swing to wait for John's return. He was breathing heavily, sweat soaked in his hair, pulse racing. Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Calm down.