A/N: There are a couple of part on this chapter that I got from Ariane's Sherlock transcript, She's so brilliant and thorough I can't thank her enough to write all Sherlock transcript. That way, I don't have to paused every minute to quote the earlier part of this chapter (not that I mind, but with her transcript I can save a lot of time).
http: arianedevere. livejournal (slash) 31651. html
EDITED: This is the beta-version of the fourth chapter. Thanks to Eli.
Chapter 4 : Nightmares
John's phone rings. It's from Sherlock. John quickens his steps while answering the phone. "Hey, Sherlock, you okay?"
"Turn around and walk back the way you came now."
"No, I'm coming in."
"Just do as I ask. Please." Sherlock's voice is spiked with panic. Sherlock never seems to panic, and this worries John. He does what he's told and looks around. "Where?"
"Stop there."
"Sherlock?" John stops.
"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."
John turns and looks up and his stomach lurches with horror. "Oh God."
"I ... I ... I can't come down, so we'll ... we'll just have to do it like this."
'What the hell's he doing now?' John's heart beats faster. "What's going on?"
"An apology… It's all true."
"Wh-what?"
"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."
John stares up at Sherlock in disbelief. "Why are you saying this?"
"I'm a fake."
"Sherlock..."
His voice becomes tearful. "The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."
"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met, the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"
"Nobody could be that clever."
"You could."
Sherlock half-laughs and gazes down at John. "I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you." He sniffles. "It's a trick. Just a magic trick."
John has his eyes closed and is shaking his head repeatedly. "No. All right, stop it now." He starts to walk towards the hospital entrance.
"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move."
John stops and backs up, holding his hand up towards Sherlock in capitulation. "All right."
Sherlock reaches out to John, breath erratic."Keep your eyes fixed on me." His voice becomes frantic. "Please, will you do this for me?"
"Do what?"
"This phone call – it's, er ... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they – leave a note?"
John shakes his head and momentarily lowers his phone as the reality of what he's hearing hits him. 'Oh no you bastard, you cannot do this to me.' He raises his phone. "Leave a note when?" he asks shakily.
"Goodbye, John."
"No. Don't."
Sherlock gazes down at him for several seconds, then he lowers his arm, drops the phone onto the roof, gazes sightlessly ahead and steps forward. John lowers his own phone and screams.
"N - SHERLOCK!"
John woke with a jolt, soaking with sweat and gasping for air. His whole body was trembling as though he had run for miles without stopping. His chest was tightening, he placed his hand on it and inhaled deeply, trying to relax.
He turned his head to the left. No Mary. Then he remembered they were separated before the wedding.
"Nightmare," he whispered. "Stupid nightmare."
John started having nightmares after he was sent back to England. He had nightmares almost every time he went to sleep, rattling gunfire and blazing sun and delirious pain. After he moved in with Sherlock the frequency of the nightmares had reduced drastically. He was still haunted by his past, but with Sherlock's existence, everything seemed bearable. Now that there was no Sherlock anymore, the nightmare seemed to haunt him even more.
He stayed in that position for a while, his breath and heart rate gradually returning to normal. He took a glance at the clock, 2:45 am. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, threw his duvet from his body, stood up, walked from his room. Back in the day in Baker Street, John would sit up on the couch and then Sherlock would emerge from other room carrying his violin and playing soft tunes. Soothing tunes.
Half of the time, it was his own compositions. John had his favourite, and it was one that Sherlock had made.
"Can you play it, Sherlock?" John shifted to a more comfortable sitting position.
"Which one?"
"It's my favourite. You know," John pretended to hold a violin and moved an invisible bow. "Ngiik ngik ngiiiiiik ngik ngik."
"Oh John, please tell me you're not having an asthma attack right now."
"Tosser." John pouted but then the two of them laughed.
"It was one of mine. It's still untitled. We can call it yours." Sherlock shrugged and put the violin between his shoulder and his chin.
"'Yours'?"
"I mean 'John's' since you said it was your favourite. It's better than hearing your violin impression."
"Arse." John smiled and then nodded. "Can you play John's now?"
"With pleasure." Sherlock raised his bow.
There was no actual violin sound waves reaching his eardrum, but John could hear it clearly - the sound of John's playing softly, just like the way Sherlock played it. John closed his eyes, enjoying the beautiful tunes.
When it finished he sobbed quietly. Even after promising to move on he still missed him.
A/N: Thank you to EliMayz and nannily for the review :3
