Had the idea for this one long long ago and now find myself not being able to remember if I ever finished it and published it or not.
Also, 381 reviews! THAT'S A LOT. Thanks so much guys, the fact that I've gotten that much feedback is so touching. I hope to keep writing stories you like! Enjoy! (P.S. Can anyone name the classic SH story referenced in this one? Hint: It's in "The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes")
Sherlock Holmes was not so much an early riser as he was a "never went to sleep"-er. So it didn't surprise John when he was awakened at three in the morning by his flatmate welcoming a client into their home. Though he knew rolling over and going back to sleep would be the more logical option, he was just too tempted to see what adventure they'd be involved in this time.
Before he joined Sherlock and the distressed woman he was talking to, he went to the kitchen to make some tea to help him focus better. He could overhear their conversation and began to wonder why Sherlock was interested in the case at all.
"Every night when I go to bed he's there, outside my window." The woman's hands clenched and unclenched nervously. "Just some man in a hood, I can't see his face."
"This happens at the same time every night?" Sherlock asked, his dark eyes studying the woman with great curiosity. John couldn't help but notice that the client was very attractive. Maybe Sherlock was finally showing some interest in the opposite sex and that's why he continued to entertain this simple stalking case?
"2:30 A.M. on the dot." The woman nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. "I know because that's when I wake up from..."
"Take your time." Sherlock replied in a voice he must have assumed sounded kind. Although the detective was normally inpatient with cases he found too boring, he was always oddly comforting to the cases he did take. John was always shocked by his capacity for understanding human emotion when it suited him to try to understand.
"The nightmares." The woman finished, she put her head in her hands, and Sherlock took that as an opportunity to fill John in. He turned to the doctor, who was entering the room with a mug of tea in his hand and headed over to his armchair.
"This is Beth Varian." He gestured to the woman. "She lives a street over, and she's being stalked." He redirected his attention to the client. "Tell me about the nightmares, Beth."
"They're terrible." She half sobbed. "I've only started having them a week ago...and everytime I wake up at 2:30 to see him standing outside my window. He watches for a bit and then walks away."
John gave the woman a sympathetic look and offered her the mug of tea he'd made, thinking she needed it far more than he did. She accepted it graciously with a half smile.
"You two are really nice." She sniffled, taking a sip of tea and setting it aside.
"That's hilarious." John snorted. "You should see us when we're more awake."
"Beth, I'll take your case." Sherlock interrupted. "Continue with your normal routine, I'll be observing your stalker."
"Thank you so much, Mr. Holmes." Beth smiled and toyed with her sleeve anxiously. Sherlock peered at her arm and nodded towards a nicotine patch.
"Quitting?" He asked.
"Yes...is that important?" She looked at the patch curiously as though maybe it held some sort of clue.
"Most things are." Sherlock shrugged. "Go home and get some rest." He waved her off and then pulled his legs up into his chair and folding his hands together against his lips. He was clearly thinking about the case, and would ignore the rest of the world until he'd thought of every possibility. John saw Beth out and that was the last he heard of the case until a few days later.
"Her stalker has gotten smarter." Sherlock commented casually, picking at the strings of his violin absentmindedly.
"Who?" John asked, placing the grocery bags on the counter. Once again he'd been chosen to carry out one of the chores Sherlock couldn't be bothered with and so had to do the shopping.
"Beth Varian." Sherlock replied. "I've been to see him twice, the first time I followed him a few blocks before he vanished. Last night he was quicker."
"Have you got anything else?" John asked. "That woman seemed traumatized."
"No doubt." Sherlock played some high and frantic sounding notes and then placed the violin on the table. "There's something else going on. John, my patches." He commanded, reaching out his hand. John sighed and grabbed the nicotine patches from the grocery bag and tossed them to Sherlock. The detective caught them easily and slapped two on his arm.
"I'm going to bed." John announced as the detective applied more than the recommended dose. "You should too, you remember what happened last time in Surrey with the Cunninghams?"
"I was exaggerating my fatigue to benefit the case!" Sherlock insisted, but John raised an eyebrow at him.
"So when you passed out as soon as we got back to the hotel, that was an exaggeration too?"
Sherlock just rolled his eyes. Despite his annoyance at John's suggestion of sleep, he did find himself drifting off a few hours later. His eyes closed and he fell into a dream.
He dreamt he was in 221B but something was wrong. The floor was covered in blood, a whole path of it led through the front door and into the living room. Sherlock followed the trail warily, trying to keep quiet. He entered the living room and froze, his mouth falling open and his voice betraying him with a horrified gasp.
John and Mrs. Hudson's corpses lay on the floor, the walls around them littered with bloody handprints. Their eyes were still open and staring at Sherlock as though he could still help them.
Sherlock heard a growling behind him and turned to see Moriarty with a mouthful of sharp canine teeth. He laughed at Sherlock, pushing him to the ground.
"You failed them!" He howled joyously. "You failed your boring little people, Sherlock!" Moriarty's face stretched and his body contorted until it was no longer Moriarty before him but the hound of Baskerville. Only this hound had Moriarty's eyes, and his voice. It laughed at Sherlock and then sunk its vile teeth into his neck.
Sherlock woke up with a gasp, his body was covered in a cold sweat. He was laying on the kitchen floor though he could have sworn he'd fallen asleep in his armchair. He felt sore, and realized the reason for that was that he had been sleepwalking and had tripped over the usual debris that covered their flat and had fallen on his face. He sat up, not sure if he was more shaken from the dream or embarrassed by the outcome of his sleepwalking.
"Sherlock...?" John suddenly appeared at the doorway to the kitchen, his eyes were barely open and he yawned loudly. "Are you okay? I heard something."
"I'm fine!" Sherlock snapped a little too angrily. John raised an eyebrow, shook his head, and then went back to bed. Sherlock, however, couldn't even think about going back to sleep. His heart was pounding and the visions of the corpses and the hellhound with Moriarty's soul inside it still flashed behind his eyelids. He'd get no more sleep tonight...
"Alright so three beheaded bodies sitting in an alleyway. What do you think?" Lestrade gestured towards the bloody mess with an irritated look. Clearly he was not happy that he'd had to call on Sherlock to help solve the recent murders that newspapers were beginning to call the work of "The Horseman". Named of course for the headless character. The serial killer had been rampaging, no one stayed out later than seven anymore and Lestrade had gotten desperate enough to call on his consulting detective.
Sherlock crouched down to examine the bodies closely, but to John it seemed like something was wrong. Sherlock had dark circles around his eyes and they weren't the ones that were usually there. His shoulders were hunched instead of proudly raised and his eyes seemed almost listless.
"...basic factory workers..." Sherlock muttered. "...tell from the hands..."
"Yeah, but do you know who killed them...or where their bloody heads are?" Lestrade scoffed, not impressed with the usual deductive reasoning.
Sherlock stared at the corpses, as if trying to pry the answer from them with his gaze alone. Suddenly he flinched and fell backwards, startling both John and Lestrade. John ran up to Sherlock to help him up, and couldn't help but notice the detective was shaking.
"Are you alright?" He asked. Sherlock pushed John's hands away and glared at him.
"I'm fine." He growled. "But Lestrade is wasting my time. I'm not going to look at headless corpses today." He declared, turning on his heel and storming away from the crime scene. Lestrade and John were left behind, gaping in surprise. No, surprise was an understatement. Sherlock abandoning such an interesting case warranted more than just surprise.
"Is he sick or something?" Lestrade asked, and John honestly didn't know how to answer.
"I better... I better go catch up with him." John said, knowing that by now the detective would have already gotten into a cab to go home, regardless of the fact that John had stayed behind. He was used to getting left behind at crime scenes.
What he was not used to was being attacked when he tried to enter his flat.
John opened the door, wondering about Sherlock's behavior at the crime scene. He was still pondering it when a dark shape moved behind him and tackled him to the ground. He yelled in surprise and then rolled onto his back to crush his attacker against the ground. The man only tightened his grip and attempted to strangle John, but the ex-soldier gave his attacker a quick elbow to the stomach to get him to relent. The attacker let go and John managed to turn around and pin him to the ground.
"...Sherlock?" John gaped at the man he was holding to the ground. Sherlock struggled to get free of John's grip, his eyes were so wide that they almost appeared completely white and he was shaking on top of the struggling. John held the detective down, wondering what experiment this was for.
"Get away!" Sherlock shouted. "I'll kill you for what you did to them!"
"What I did to who?" John asked. "Sherlock!"
The detective had tried to bite John's wrist and so John had to take action to keep the detective immobilized. He straddled the detective and then pulled his arms above his body with one hand and steadied the detective's legs with the other. He tried to ignore what the scene must have looked like and focused on the fact that his best friend was threatening to kill him.
"Monster." Sherlock hissed, the word staring as an accusation. Then his face grew more terrified and the word became a plea. "M-monster..."
"Sherlock, calm down..." John tried to soothe the detective and soon enough Sherlock stopped struggling. He blinked, looking confused.
"...John?" He almost seemed to ask, as if he wasn't sure who was above him.
"What's going on, Sherlock?" John asked desperately. He let the detective go, and Sherlock pushed himself up into a sitting position, rubbing at his wrists where John had had to hold him down.
"I-I'm sorry. I thought you were..." His voice trailed off.
"Thought I was who?" John scoffed. "The man who shares your rent, does your chores, and basically takes care of you? Why did you attack me?"
"I thought you were...the hound...or Moriarty...or the cabbie...or..." Sherlock frowned. "You were dead...I think..."
John felt his stomach twist. Clearly Sherlock was not in his right mind, and he had no idea what was causing it. Sherlock shook his head and took a deep breath.
"Nevermind that." He said. "We have to go...Beth...I told Beth we would come see her." He stood shakily. "I still have to solve her case..."
"You're not going anywhere." John refused him. "Not until we find out what's going on with you."
"Just a nightmare..." Sherlock kept rubbing at his wrists. "It was just a nightmare John. I apologize if I hurt you. Now come on, we have to go see Beth."
John couldn't believe he was letting Sherlock go, but as long as he was with him it would be okay...right? After all if he tried anything else John could stop him. He was still concerned though.
His concern only grew when they made it to Beth's flat. The place was a wreck, furniture was toppled over and dishes were piled up in the sink. Beth herself was in her bedroom on her bed, her knees drawn to her chest. She still looked as beautiful as she did when she came to visit them at 221B but she also looked quite disheveled. Her hair was unkempt and unbrushed and her eyes were wide.
"Killer..." She moaned. "The killer will get me..."
"Hey, it's okay..." John moved to her side to comfort her. He couldn't help but notice the stunning similarity in her's and Sherlock's behavior.
"No! The killer will get me!" She shoved John away and stared at Sherlock accusingly. "You said you'd get rid of him! Go get rid of him!"
"I'm trying." Sherlock promised her. "I'm trying."
John woke up to a scream. He nearly fell out of bed trying to run towards it, and when he made it into Sherlock's bedroom he found the detective panting and pale faced, his eyes seeing something that John could not.
"Hound..." He gasped.
John climbed into Sherlock's bed and pulled the detective into his arms. He knew physical contact would be best right now. His friend had been plagued by this nightmares and hallucinations for a few days now and John still could not tell what was causing them.
Sherlock turned his face into John's shoulder and the doctor felt hot wet tears seeping through his shirt. He shushed Sherlock and kept him still.
Beth and Sherlock were a mess, but why? What was the common link. It had to be the stalker causing it, going after his prey and the detective hired to help her, but how was he doing it?
He couldn't focus with Sherlock breathing against his neck. Something about his terrified moans seemed to remind John of a more pleasured sort of moaning that he would hear in a more pleasurable sort of bed. He felt guilty thinking about that sort of thing when Sherlock was so disturbed, so he pushed it to the back of his mind. He held Sherlock tighter and thought some more. That night he fell asleep with Sherlock in his arms.
When he woke up he had his answer.
"The patches!" He exclaimed, waking Sherlock. He grabbed the detective's arm and looked for the nicotine patches. Sherlock was wearing three and John gingerly pulled each one off. Normally Sherlock would have conducted tests to find out if the patches were contaminated with some sort of chemical but he wasn't in the right state of mind for that at the moment. He could try Molly maybe...
John heard his phone ringing in the living room and he forced himself out of bed to go answer it.
"Hello?"
"You know that woman from Sherlock's case?" Lestrade asked, and John heard quite a commotion on the other end of the phone.
"What about her?"
"Well she's trying to throw herself off the roof of her building. Thought you ought to know."
John hung up and raced to get dressed. He had to convince Sherlock to do the same, as the detective had been staring off into space for the past few minutes at something that John couldn't see. Once the detective was dressed John grabbed his hand and pulled him to the door, they reached the stairs when Sherlock forced himself to a stop. John turned and looked back at Sherlock, who was clinging to the handrail.
"N-no...I can't..." He stuttered. Why was John headed that way? Couldn't he see it all? In Sherlock's vision the stairs went down for miles and miles, twisting and falling apart. At the very end was Moriarty, wielding a knife made of bones.
"Yes, you can." John replied forcefully. "I know you're scared, Sherlock. I know you're confused because your mind isn't working for you for once but I'm right here and I won't let anything hurt you."
Sherlock blinked and stared at John. "You won't let him hurt me...?" He asked, staring at Moriarty, who smiled a smile that split his face near in half.
"Of course I won't." John insisted. "I will always keep you safe. Now, Beth is in danger and we need to go. Come on, take my hand."
Sherlock took an unsteady step forward and took John's hand in his. The doctor wasted no time whisking them both off.
When they reached Beth's house they were still holding hands, John was more concerned about keeping Sherlock feeling safe than the jokes or rumors people would spread.
Beth was on the rooftop, sobbing and staring at the ground below. John walked up to the police line where Lestrade had a few men standing next to a parked ambulance. He tried to walk past them but Lestrade stopped him.
"You can't go any further." He said. "Sorry, rules and all that."
"We have to talk to her." John argued, and while the two argued no one noticed Sherlock slipping past the barricade and running off into the apartment while some more attentive officers shouted at him to get back.
Sherlock put a hand against the wall to steady himself, it seemed like the floor was writhing below him. He could hear the hound following him, snuffing and growling and barking. He tried to go fast so it couldn't reach him, he climbed the stairs quickly.
He turned around once to see the hound and saw a man in a black sweatshirt...he looked familiar...oh yes that was Beth's stalker.
The stalker growled and in Sherlock's mind he transformed into a giant black dog. The dog roared in anger and Sherlock too off up the stairs, he had to reach Beth before the hound did.
Moriarty blocked his way at the door but he pushed by him, determined to reach his client.
It's not real. It's not real. He tried to tell himself as he passed the corpses of Molly, Lestrade, and Mycroft on the rooftop. The visions are just getting stronger. Ignore them.
"Beth!" He yelled, and the woman almost fell off the ledge turning in surprise. Sherlock reached out for her but was struck down by the man that had been following him up the stairs. The man kicked Sherlock in the stomach a few times, reached down and bashed his head into the concrete. He had an ax in his other hand and was brandishing it dangerously.
"This is a family matter, gumshoe." He hissed. "Isn't that right, Beth?"
"Don't touch me, killer!" She shrieked.
"Don't go telling the whole world,sister." The man pulled down his hood, revealing a face that looked just a bit like Beth's, only with murderous eyes. "You found me with the heads, I know...that's why I had to poison your patches with Dr. Frankland's hallucinogen."
"...Baskerville..." Sherlock coughed out.
"That's right." Michael Varian smirked. "You know I loved his work. Still, he never went as far as he could have. Me? Well I found his chemical and refined it. I can put it into anything just like I put it into your's and my dear sister's nicotine patches. That was simple, I work at the store where both Beth and your little pet doctor shop." He tilted his head to one side. "Dosing the rest of the world...that will be the hard part. I'll have to get into factories and I'll need to produce the formula in millions of batches. Then I can have my prey running scared."
Michael strode over to his sister. "I dose all of my victims before I chase them. It's more fun if they're good and scared when they run. Then I cut off their heads for a little souvenir. They're calling me The Horseman now, but you two could have ruined that so I had to kill you too." He grabbed his sister's arm in the hand that didn't hold the gleaming ax. "You had to find the heads, sister. You had to hire the detective when I started staring into your window to watch the chemical work."
"I didn't even know it was you, I said I wouldn't tell anyone." Beth sobbed.
Sherlock crawled over to where the siblings were struggling against each other. With one quick movement he grabbed the handle of the ax and pulled with his whole strength, bringing Michael falling down on top of him. He kicked the man in the stomach and tried to pry the ax away from him. Michael slammed the blade not two inches away from Sherlock's neck and was pulling back to try again when Sherlock kicked him in the face. He fell backwards and Sherlock stood to kick the ax away, he was unsteady but he managed to be firm when Michael stood up and aimed a punch at him.
He kicked the murderer's legs out from underneath him and Michael's head hit the concrete a lot harder than Sherlock's had earlier. The serial killer passed out.
Sherlock turned to Beth who was still on the ledge of the building, he reached out to her. "Come down from there."
"No!" She yelled. "No, I have to run from the killer!"
"I know, it feels like there's monsters everywhere." Sherlock rubbed at his temples, trying to clear the fog in his brain. The hallucinations still played at the corner of his eyes. "But I won't let them hurt you. I promise."
"You promise...?" Beth sniffled and Sherlock nodded, remembering how John had reassured him so many times that past week.
"I will always keep you safe." He'd said.
"I promise." He said, inching closer and keeping his arms outstretched towards his sobbing client. Beth nodded slowly and fell into Sherlock's arms, the detective was so relieved that they were both still alive that he fell to his knees on the spot. Beth was happy enough to be on the ground too, and the two tortured people leaned against each other shivering.
"Sherlock!" John ran over to where the detective and his client were sitting. Sherlock looked up at John and gave him a sort of triumphant smirk.
"There you are." He sighed. "Must I do everything myself?"
"How are you feeling?" John asked, ignoring the jest.
"I can still see Moriarty...and the hound and the bodies and some other old foes...but I know they're not real, are they?" Sherlock chewed his bottom lip and gave John a worried look.
"They're not real." John agreed.
"It's wearing off then. Beth, her brother was using the chemical from Baskerville, he put it in my..."
"Patches, I know." John shook his head. "You're not the only one that can figure things out."
A few of the paramedics ran past John and escorted Beth down the stairs, one of them approached Sherlock but John insisted they leave him alone. No doubt adding human interaction and over stimulation to the mess would only make things worse. Instead he crept closer to Sherlock, willing to sit with him until he felt calm enough to descend the stairs again.
"So..." John asked, his face a bit red. "You saved Beth."
"Yes." Sherlock was staring out at the sky.
"She's rather good looking, isn't she?" John mentioned.
"Why are you talking about this?" Sherlock asked, turning back to John and raising a questioning eyebrow.
"Well you two were rather entwined is all." John pointed out. "I thought maybe..."
"John." Sherlock suddenly leaned against the doctor and closed his eyes. "I just want to be with the man that's been keeping me safe since he met me."
"Oh." John blushed. "Well...I do save your arse a lot don't I?"
"You do." Sherlock agreed. John thought about it for a moment and then pulled Sherlock's face up gently with one hand so he could press a kiss to his lips.
"I always will." He promised.