Bit of a filler chapter. Sherlock said he felt like it was going to be a bad night... here's an inside into one of his nightmares:
Sherlock was in the lab as usual, but for some reason he was sat working in the pitch black. He felt his hands go through the motions of setting up an experiment, but he couldn't actually see anything. It should have been strange, but it felt oddly normal. After working for a few minutes, his eyes got accustomed to the dark, and he was able to make out the rough layout of the lab. Relaxing into his experiment, he felt sufficiently content.
Abruptly, something in the air changed. He felt increasingly tense, and his body was on hyperalert. It felt like there was danger near, but he couldn't see anything in the darkness. He couldn't hear anything either. Trying to relax again, Sherlock squeezed a drop of ethanol into his solution.
Suddenly, he felt someone grab his waist from behind, whilst simultaneously burrowing their head into his neck. He jumped out of fright, but the strong hands held him still on the lab bench. He felt the short hair against his skin, and he smelt the familiar aftershave. The man began to softly kiss his neck, and Sherlock froze with sheer terror. He had never experienced fear to the extent in which he physically couldn't move. He fought with his mind to send signals to his limbs to just move. In Sherlock's mind, he was pulling away from the man behind him, yet in reality he was as completely static. The man's hands loosened their grip on his waist, but it didn't matter, he didn't need to be restrained when his mind had locked him to the chair. The broad hands made their way over his stomach, caressing their way slowly down to his thighs. If possible, his heart sped up even more, and he felt his throat tightening, making his breath come in hoarse, cut off pants. His heart was pounding, and the lack of breath was making him feel lightheaded, making the beakers on the desk before him sway. The man started moving the hands on his thigh closer together, and Sherlock made one last attempt to move….
In a light sleep, John woke to the feeling of his partner's breath coming in short gasps. They had broken apart in their sleep, but John was still facing towards the detective with an arm strewn across his chest. Similarly, Sherlock was laid on his back, and had tangled his left leg behind John's. The doctor moved away from the detective, knowing touch worsened the situation. Apart from the breaths wracking his chest, his partner was unusually still. In nightmares, he would normally curl up in a ball, yet right now his arms were tense and pushed flat to the bed. His head was pressing further and further into the pillow below, and his toes were curled so tightly it had to be painful. John was about to speak when Sherlock sprung up out of the bed, like he had just broken free of tight chains hold his body to the bed.
Eyes wide and watering, the detective began to hyperventilate, finding it increasingly difficult to fight for breaths. John noticed straight away what the problem was.
"Love you're ok, you're having a panic attack." He soothed.
Hoping it would be received well, John ran a soothing hand down his partners back, rubbing the thin detective's back firmly to help him calm down. Thankfully, Sherlock did not pull away.
"I-… Can-t…" Sherlock gasped.
"Shh shh shh, it's ok, don't talk, I know." John comforted. "Can you bring your legs up in front of you and put your head between them?" He asked, helping the detective into the position once he had made the attempt to move. "Ok, just focus on my voice, we're going to breath together. Breathe in, two, three, four, and out, two, three, four…"
Sherlock battled with his lungs to follow his partner's instructions, and the doctor repeated the counting until the detective's breaths completely evened out. Sherlock was still shaking slightly, and he was scarily pale, but finally able to breath he fell back against the bed, exhausted.
"Same one?" John asked. They never discussed his nightmares, only whether it was a recurring one or a new one. However, maybe now he knew what they were about, he would open up to the doctor.
"New. It wasn't even the worst I've had, but somehow it was more terrifying." Sherlock confessed. It was like a damn had broken in the detective. John cares, and he never judges him, so maybe if he finally allowed himself to share the burden slightly, he could fully move on from the past.
John lay down beside his partner, looking at him openly, conveying the message that he could carry on if he wanted to, yet making sure not to push him.
"I couldn't move. I was literally frozen with terror. I tried so hard to make my limbs move; I was internally shouting at myself, but I couldn't get anything to respond. The feeling of having my mind turn on me like that is unlike anything I have ever experienced." Sherlock confessed.
John opened his arms and looked pointedly as his shoulder, inviting his partner to come in for a hug, only if he was ready to be touched. His eyes conveyed nothing but love and comfort. Sherlock relaxed as he saw the emotion there, and shuffled over to rest his head on his partner's broad, warm chest.
"I want you to know something, and you're not allowed to argue with me." John started, playing with the detective's soft curls. "I see the doubt in your eyes before you confide in me, worrying that I'm going to think differently of you in some way if you let me see emotion." Sherlock's mouth opened in protest, but the doctor quickly cut him off. "It's ok, it's natural. I just want you to know, that whatever you say to me, I will never judge you, and it will never change my opinion of you for the worst. When you confided in my last night, I was so worried I would treat you like you're wrapped in bubble wrap, but I now know I never will because I would be losing all the things I love about you the most: your fierce independence; your strength; your individuality. And I've realised something. Every time you open up to me, I don't see weakness. I see so much strength. I know how hard it is for you to give in to emotion and vulnerability, and I feel so privileged that I am the one you have trusted to confide in. I hate knowing how much hurt you have had to carry around for all this time. And you need to know it is ok to be so strongly affected by something that happened in your childhood, because you have never had the chance to get over it. Even if you had, your first relationship after one like that would never have gone smoothly. I want you to keep being open with me. I will never hurt you like he did, so you need to work with me so I don't do something unintentional that triggers you. We're going to work through this together, ok?" John finished, pulling his arms tighter around his partner.
Sherlock nodded into John's chest, increasing his grip on the soldiers t-shirt before bringing his eyes up to meet the comforting gaze above him.
"You love me?" Sherlock dared to ask.
John cast his mind back to his words, trying to figure out where he made the slip. He did not want to scare his partner away, but Sherlock did not look worried at the confession, just apprehensive.
"How could I not love you? You may be an insufferable git sometimes, but you're my insufferable git." John smiled.
Sherlock rested his head back on John's chest, nuzzling his head into the crook of his partner's shoulder. He wasn't ready yet to make the acclamation himself, but he knew John understood that. Instead, he relaxed into his doctor, a content smile on his lips as he finally slept through to morning.
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