A short one-shot with some fluff. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, they belong to BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss.
"How long has it been?"
Sherlock and I are sitting in the living room of 221b, Sherlock is staring into my bloodshot eyes, waiting for my answer.
"How long has what been?" I ask trying to shake off the edges of sleep that are creeping into the corners of my mind.
"You have not slept." Is Sherlock's only reply.
"Yeah I have." I lie simply.
"When?" he presses, those grey eyes staring into my soul. I know there is no use, he already knows, how could he not?
"It's fine." I say, forcing a smile.
"You are always telling me how important it is to sleep. So now, follow your own advice and go to bed." Sherlock leans forward from his position on the couch, sitting at the very edge now. He presses his fingers together and they brush his lips slightly. He is staring at me, reading my every movement and thought.
"I'm fine." I say again, standing up with some difficulty. I stumble for a moment then regain my balance. More tea, that's what I need. I think as I walk toward the kitchen, my feet shuffling on the floor. I hear footsteps behind me and turn to see Sherlock following me into the kitchen.
"It's been three days." Sherlock says matter-of-factly. I blink up at him for a few moments.
"So?"
"I do believe that is not healthy." Sherlock says, keeping his tone light.
"So?" I repeat, "You do it all the time."
"I am different, you are a simple man who needs simple sleep." Sherlock says, taking a step closer to me, "Why John?"
"Why what?" I say, swaying slightly.
"You know what." He growls, giving me that soul reading stare again.
"I just don't want to sleep that's all!" I say, forgetting the tea and walking back into the living room. Sherlock follows me again.
"But you love your sleep, it makes not logical since as to why you would do this." Sherlock says.
"No logical since?" I say weekly, staring into those pale grey eyes, "No logical since?" I repeat. "Do you know what happens every time I sleep Sherlock?"
Sherlock cocks his head to one side, confused.
"I have dreams… of you… committing your bloody suicide!" I yell. There is a sudden a flicker of sadness in his eyes.
"What?" Says Sherlock, looking slightly unnerved.
"Yeah. So… I don't… want to sleep…" I say, trying to hold back a sudden urge to cry. I blink away a single tear and turn away so Sherlock doesn't see me. But he does. He see's everything.
"I'm sorry." He says, and pulls me into a tight hug. I breathe in his sent, closing my eyes. I feel a single tear fall down my face. Then more tears come and soon I have my head buried in the Detectives shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I can't keep doing this…" I choke though the tears. Sherlock shushes me and strokes my hair, "Every night." I continue, "I see your face covered in blood and you falling and I go through it all again. I loose you every night." I say. Sherlock pulls out of the hug and holds me at arms length. My swollen bloodshot eyes meet his sad grey ones.
"Come on" he says quietly, leading me over to the couch. He tells me to sit and I watch him disappear into his room, coming out seconds later leaden down with blankets. He sits next to me and wraps the blankets around the two of us, encasing us in a warm cocoon of fabric. It is so warm and I snuggle closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder and close my eyes, my body is so tired. Sherlock's soft voice tells me to lie down and I do. And so does he. Together, under our warm blankets we lay down on the small couch.
Sherlock wraps his arms around me and I can feel his soft breathing on my neck. I let out a long sign and hear Sherlock whisper in my ear, "Sleep. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere." I smile warmly as I feel the darkness taking over my brain and sleep overcomes me.
From that day on, I have never had another nightmare of Sherlock's death.