I'm actually a little disappointed in how this one turned out, but hopefully it still gets the story across. Enjoy!
John's breathing was ragged as he attempted to follow Sherlock. The detective was running at impossible speed, it seemed even more impossible when John remembered how earlier that morning Sherlock had been languishing on the couch and refusing to move unless there was a murder.
Sherlock's dramatic coat flared out behind him like a cape as he mounted the fire escape in pursuit of the murderer that had been responsible for getting him off the couch that morning, the thrill of the chase evident on his face.
John swore, wishing he had brought his gun for this one. He was just barely managing to keep up with Sherlock, but he worried about what would happen if Sherlock and the murderer got out of his sight.
They were on the roof now, and the criminal searched hurriedly for an escape. He ran and leaped over the alleyway from one roof to the other.
"We're losing him, John!" Sherlock shouted, and he mounted the edge of the roof.
John felt his heart stop, his breath caught in his throat. For a split second he wasn't standing behind Sherlock on the roof, he was on the street looking up. He could see Sherlock moving closer to the edge. He jumped and for a moment his arms pinwheeled loking like futile wings, as though there was still a chance to save himself. Then he hit the pavement and crumpled up, blood pooling on the ground.
"Sherlock don't!" John ran forward and grabbed the man, pulling him away from the ledge. The two fell over in a tangle of limbs.
"John!" Sherlock shouted, his voice furious and desperate. "Get off me!" He pushed the soldier away and ran to the ledge. He gripped it with both hands and then gave an angry growl, turning back to John with fire in his eyes.
"What was that?" He spat.
"I-I..." John searched for an explanation, but he couldn't say anything. How could he?
"He's gotten away. A murderer has just gotten away, because of you, John!" Sherlock yelled, he gave one last glare before retreating down the fire escape.
John stood up, staring after his friend. He was still shivering, and now his face was hot with embarrassment. Sherlock was right, he just caused a criminal to get away. Guilt weighed heavy in his chest as he slowly followed Sherlock into the night.
When they got back to the flat Sherlock went into his room and closed the door. John tried to drag his eyes away from the door as he pulled out his phone to call Lestrade.
"John?" The D.I. sounded tired, John couldn't blame him after the crime and consulting detective ridden week he'd just been through.
"So did you manage to catch him?" John asked nervously.
"Oh, yeah. Don't worry. We caught up with him a few blocks down and we have him in custody now." Lestrade reassured, and John felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
"Don't let him get to you." Lestrade sighed. "Everyone makes mistakes...and even though he probably hasn't gotten it through his thick skull that you were just scared for his sake, everyone else understands."
"Thanks..." John sighed.
"Good luck."
"Thanks. Goodnight, Greg."
As an afterthought John sent a text to Sherlock about the murderer's fate, knowing that if he tried to knock on the door and tell him in person he'd be refused.
John slid his phone back into his pocket and sat on the couch with a heavy sigh. Sherlock probably wouldn't speak to him for days. He'd interrupted his work and that was the only thing that mattered to the detective. John felt an overwhelming feeling of uselessness fall over him.
I failed him...
...his arms pinwheeling, his coat spreading out like wings in the air. Red blood streaming down his pale forehead...
John sighed and lay his head back against the couch, shutting his eyes. He wished he could forgot it all.
Sherlock woke up laying on his side and still fully dressed. He lay there for a bit before pushing himself up into a sitting position. His phone was laying on the nightstand next to him, he grabbed it and unlocked it. There was a message waiting.
Lestrade got him.
-JW
Sherlock blinked, confused by the mixture of relief and irritation that swept over him. He could ponder it later, right now he needed tea and maybe a smoke.
Emerging from his room looking like an angel with bedhead, Sherlock stepped into the living room determined to ignore anything John had to say.
He wasn't expecting to see John asleep on the couch.
Why isn't he in his room? He thought with annoyance. He ran his eyes over John's sleeping form, trying to figure it out for himself. Before his deductions could begin, John stirred in his sleep. He winced, and his hands formed fists.
Sherlock leaned forward, curious about the events of the soldier's dreams. John whimpered, then he bolted upwards shouting as he awoke.
"Sherlock!"
The detective stepped back, shocked. John was panting and clearly still confused as to where he was as most people are when they awaken from a nightmare.
"Sherlock don't..." He muttered.
"Don't what?"
John's eyes snapped upwards and grew embarrassed when he realized who was standing in front of him.
"...Nothing." He sighed, pretending to check his phone so that he could break the awkward stare between them.
"John." Sherlock came closer again. "What were you dreaming about?"
"It was nothing, Sherlock."
"You said my name. You said 'don't'. Don't what?" Sherlock pushed further.
"It was nothing, Sherlock. Just a dream. I don't even remember it." John insisted, still avoiding Sherlock's gaze.
"Don't what?"
"Don't jump!" John finally yelled.
Sherlock gave him a questioning glance, tilting his head to the side, and John shuddered.
"Don't jump." He repeated. "I didn't want you...to jump." He rubbed at his temples, looking at his shoes.
"...you are referring of course to the incident on the roof of St. Bart's?" Sherlock asked smoothly, no emotion showing on his face. John's jaw dropped.
"The incident on...Sherlock I thought you were dead!" John replied with disbelief. "I think I'm allowed a little...trauma!"
Suddenly it all clicked, it all seemed so blatantly obvious...Sherlock was a little frustrated he hadn't already thought of it. Last night he had been on a roof, it made sense that John would have an emotional response.
"Did you think I was going to fall?" He asked.
"What?"
"Last night. Did you think I was going to fall?" Sherlock clarified, sitting next to the doctor.
"...Not exactly. I just...I saw it happening again." John sighed.
"That is not something you'll ever have to worry about again." Sherlock muttered. His mind searched for a way to reassure John, to make him feel safe. Only one option came to mind.
"John, look at me." He demanded, and the doctor complied. Then Sherlock held John's face in his hands and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. "I promise. You're not going to lose me again."