Water is rushing over my head thumping against my face, I'm struggling for breath. For the first time in my life I'm panicking in the water, taking in massive lungful's of salty water. I'm dying and drowning and all I can do is try and fight the cold aquamarine that is smothering me. Somewhere in front of me some one is screaming and pleading. I fight harder trying to get to them, breaking through, desperate.
I wake up covered in sweat, fighting against the thick soft duvet I've managed to wrap entirely around me. For once the dream isn't receding if anything the scream is getting louder, more high pitched, I hear my own name and I suddenly I know I'm not dreaming. Sherlock is screaming for me.
I fling myself out of the ridiculous bed, it's massive and soft and delicately carved, for pities sake it has a canopy. I struggle against the pyjamas I'm wearing, for the first time in my memory I'm wearing pyjamas, and I realise how ridiculous I must look. I stumble but Sherlock's pleading spurs me on. My patient needs me, and I would crawl through a million times worse than a pair of silk pyjamas and a thick duvet to get him.
I try the door of his bedroom, decided by a toss of a coin earlier in the evening, and am relieved when it opens widely. He's lying in the centre of his bed, naked and covered in sweat. His limbs are stretched and rigid, and his eyes are wide. However I can see, and hear he's asleep racked by nightmares of his own, probably withdrawal induced, but whatever it is, his veins are raised, his heart racing dangerously and I need to wake him up.
"Sherlock?" I call sharply, "Sherlock, wake up" He doesn't respond, still screaming and sobbing, so I climb onto the bed beside him and grab his thrashing wrists. He screams become roars a wracking sobs, but the sound dies down. "Sherlock, it's John, can you hear me?" His eyes close slightly, and his eyelashes flutter, the nightmare is receding. "Sherlock it's just a nightmare, you're safe I'm here" He locks me with a glare I can't believe, seconds ago this man was drowning in a withdrawal induced nightmare, but now he is fixing me with a crystal clear gaze.
"Don't think for a second we are safe here, John" he breathed, his voiced edged with fear and screaming. "We are prisoners here, prisoners of the most dangerous man you'll ever meet, we are certainly not safe."
"You are always safe with me, I won't let anyone, even your brother harm you, I promise." I wipe his forehead with the handkerchief from my pyjama pocket, and picking up the lost duvet to wrap around him.
"You seem sure of yourself, John. For a man who can't remember who he is, you seem sure of your constancy." He was drawling, whether from sleep or his damaged body rebelling I wasn't sure, but I gently settled him back into his pillows.
"When you have nothing else, you start to rely on yourself." I tell him as quietly as I can. "I'm going to get you a glass of water, I won't be a moment." His eyes snap open with fear again, but he nods and settles back down.
As I walk to the kitchen through the darkened living room, I think about this strange child man. He is clearly terrified, and whether through the paranoia of an addict, or some deeper reason I have no way of knowing. As I wait for the water to cool, I try and clasp my own nightmare in my memory, I know there is water, there is often water but something else, cold and pain. When I was in hospital they told me to try and remember my dreams, they were the key to my locked memories, but I never seem to be able to grasp them fully. Just when I get somewhere they slip from me again.
When I walk back to Sherlock's room, he is peaceful and snoring lightly in his sleep. Putting the glass on his nightstand, I think of my own new bed, and wonder about returning. My eyes however fix of the chaise-longue at the end of Sherlock's bed, the beds counterpane, lying carelessly on top of it. I'm a vagrant, this makes a bed a thousand times more comfortable than I'm used to, and I think I would be much closer in Sherlock needs me. Lying down gingerly I stretch my legs out, using the cushion as a pillow. I pull the counterpane over me and in seconds I fall into a deep dreamless sleep.
Just as I close my eyes, I think I here hundreds of miles away, surrounded by surf and death a quiet voice screaming my name.