Sherlock sat in his armchair contemplating the latest developments in the case. It was early in the morning and John was in bed. In fact, everyone was in bed. London was at a standstill. Even the drunks and addicts had long since succumbed to sleep. It felt so eerie yet Sherlock enjoyed this time more than any other. Everything felt so peaceful and still, he could think. No distractions, just him and his thoughts. The sun was just coming up so there was a cold blue tinge to the room seeping in through the gaps in the curtains.

It was then that he heard it. It started as a faint whimpering sound coming from John's room, then it grew louder and louder.

'Help me. Someone. Please' It was a desperate voice. It was John's voice. Sherlock immediately ran across the flat. His heart was in his mouth. Millions of possibilities were flashing across his overactive brain, none of them were good. Was he hurt? Was he alright?

Normally he didn't venture into John's room. He knew that his flatmate wanted space whenever he came in here, and Sherlock knew better then to disturb him. But John was yelling for help. He needed him. He opened the door and found John sprawled on his bed, lying there is his pyjamas. He had kicked of the duvet and looked as if he had had a fight with the bed sheets.

'No, don't leave me, someone help me, I don't want to die' he cried out.

He was sweating, yet had his eyes clothes. Sherlock immediately knew he was having a nightmare. He wasn't sure what the correct medical procedure was. But he hated to see John in pain, so he shook him gently.

'John, wake up, John it's ok I'm here now, you are going to be alright'

John took a few seconds to wake up, however he thought he was still dreaming, he was so startled that he thought he was under attack so, in true solider mode he clenched his fist and then punched Sherlock.

Sherlock stumbled backwards clutching his nose. He smelt blood, then felt a warm trickle fall down his face.

'Sherlock, oh god I'm so sorry are you ok?' Sherlock held his nose. He began to feel lightheaded. He closed his eyes and felt faint he sat on the edge of the bed trying to compose himself. He heard John run to the bathroom. Next thing he knew John was standing over him mopping up blood.

'You were having a bad dream'

'I know. It was so real Sherlock. I thought I was back in Afghanistan.' He held the tissue in place and the bleeding began to subside.

'Oh god I'm so sorry'.

'It's fine. It's all fine.'

Sherlock tried not to stare at John, with his bed hair and in his boxers. He had an old t shirt on which was slightly crumpled. After the initial panic was over and they had both calmed down, John pulled a dressing gown on.

'I doubt I can sleep now. I'm going to make some tea. Would you like some?'

Sherlock nodded.

'Right stay here'

John left leaving Sherlock at the bottom of his bed. Sherlock sat in silence. Using the the time to stare around John's room. Minimalist design, hardly any furniture. Incredibly tidy. No dust anywhere, old army habits, it made a sharp contrast to Sherlock's room, which was the very definition of organised chaos. Case files and old cups of tea littered the space. His bed wasn't made despite never being slept in. An experiment or two.

John's bed sheets smelt of the same generic washing powder that his clothes did. There was another smell, one that was purely John. It was unique. It was of a mixture cold London air and 221B and something purely John. Of soap and his aftershave. He placed a hand on the middle of the bed where the springs had begun to sag. John had slept here. John. God he wanted John. God he loved John. He wanted to shrink himself down, nestle amongst John's sheets and his smell. And have John come in the dead of night and lie with him. He wanted to watch him breath and sleep, and chase away the nightmares.

John came back with two steaming mugs of tea in his hands. He looked ill, like he had aged twenty years in one evening. He sat hunched up next to Sherlock on his bed. He looked so small, like a child who had stayed out to long and now could not find the way home.

'You must think I'm so stupid. Going on about how much I love danger, yet at the same time having nightmares.'

'No. It's who you are John. You know you remind me of a case I once had. There was a girl, her boyfriend went to prison for domestic violence. She found another man yet hated being with him, hated that he treated her well. She found him boring. So when her ex came out of prison she went back to him. Despite him being violent she couldn't leave him. In the end she was killed by him. She couldn't let him go, despite all he did to her, just like you can't let go of the war, just like you need the war even after all it did to you'

They sat there, drinking the tea. John let out a small sigh.

'I was remembering when I was shot, lying on the ground thinking I was going to die. I think about it a lot. I don't understand why.'

'You are solider, it's who you are. You cannot change that. You needed the army, always have done, now it's gone and you cannot handle the real world. You are tortured by the nightmares yet you need to go back. Everyone is haunted by bad dreams John, they do not change us. A dog could go and bite a child, it could feel incredibly guilty that it bit, could be punished by its master and never do wrong again, it could even dream about the attack, yet it will never change the fact it is a dog. You are an army boy John, no amount of bullet wounds will change this.'

Sherlock drank the rest of his tea. 'You need sleep'

John nodded, placing his mug on his bedside table. He lay down on the bed and pulled the duvet over him, he was too tired to re arrange the sheets. 'Let me guess, you need be bright eyed a busy tailed for tomorrow?'

Sherlock nodded, 'Where would I be without my blogger?'

'Any theories yet?'

Sherlock smiled 'Maybe'

'Sherlock. Could you stay with me? Just till I fall asleep?' John sounded so meek and helpless that Sherlock wanted to give him a hug, which was weird, Sherlock didn't do hugging. He found any sort of bodily contact tedious and unnecessary. He lay on top of the duvet as John turned off the light.

'Don't tell anyone mind. I will never live this down'

'Your secret is safe with me.'

'Sherlock. You need to sleep. You haven't slept in three days'

'Four actually'

Even in the dark Sherlock felt John's eyes roll.

'Just try. For me'

John fell asleep pretty quickly. Sherlock wanted to think but he couldn't. Any brain power he had was being used taking in the sight of John sleeping. His pulse rate, his breathing, John had poured into his mind and took up all available space. Sherlock was on his back John sleeping on his side facing him. It was a double bed so both were comfortable. Sherlock brushed a stray hair out of John's eyes and let his finger trace his cheek. He was in a deep sleep, Sherlock could tell by his breathing. Maybe if he was gentle and quick...He leaned forward and lightly kissed John's forehead. His skin was soft and warm so he let his mouth linger. John lightly stirred and Sherlock immediately moved back.

'mmmmm' Was the only noise John made. There was a pause and John didn't move, or ask him what he was doing, he wondered if he had got away with it.

'Still awake?' John broke the silence.

'Yes'

John sighed again, he moved closer, he reached out an arm. He felt John's hand cup his cheek and rub his thumb along Sherlock's bottom lip. Sherlock moaned quietly and turned his head, he felt John's lips come into contact with his own. It was a small, quick chaste kiss yet Sherlock treasured the taste of John. John pulled away and Sherlock immediately mourned the loss of contact. There was a long pause filled with longing and want.

'Sherlock, if I kiss you again. Properly this time. Will you promise to go to sleep?'

'Yes.' Sherlock felt his heart race, he was about to kiss for the first time. And it was John. He hoped John didn't think he was a bad kisser.

'I have never kissed anyone properly before. I might be bad at it'

John laughed 'Your Sherlock Holmes, you risk your life to prove you're clever. I thoroughly doubt you are bad at anything.'

Sherlock leaned forward found John's mouth again. It started off like the first one did, their lips lightly touching, but then it deepened. Sherlock moved his head to the side to allow John better access to his mouth. They moved their mouth together and Sherlock let out another small moan. He felt John's tongue slightly brush his lip and almost without thinking he opened his mouth. Feeling John's tongue explore his mouth was the single greatest experience of his life. It felt like a rush, like chasing criminals only better. John began to rub his hands through Sherlock's curls. The kiss carried on like this till they both stopped to catch their breaths.

Laying is head on Sherlock's chest and his arm over his waist. John settled down to sleep. Sherlock slipped his arm around John's neck and began to run his hand through his hair. Sherlock felt very strange, he had never slept with someone lying on him before. Yet it was a good strange. It was a feeling that John should have always had been there.

John fell asleep at his side. Sherlock watched him before keeping his promise and going to sleep himself.