The Charred Remains
Chapter 16: The Dreams We Become
A/N: You are all so lovely, putting up with me and my random updating. I'm trying to make it regular, but I hit a rut in life and it's been a bit of a climb to get out, I'm almost out and writing this is just one more foothold to the top of the hole! I hope you enjoy! Grizziesmom is amazing.
The stillness of midnight was disturbed by the sound of a choked off gasp. The noise stopped almost as soon as it had begun swallowed in the darkness and pulled back into the maw from which it had come. The man whose mouth formed the noise trembled beneath the sheet on his bed, a bed he failed to recognise. His hands scrambled, their final destination unknown. His mind was blank, but his heart thundered in terrified panic.
Having had more than enough experience with nightmares, John squeezed his eyes shut and let his body calm down in the darkness he created. He listened to his breaths…in and out…too quick, too shallow. They needed to calm down, become slow, regular, and deeper. John knew all of this, but still caught in the last webs of his nightmare, he struggled to control it. He squeezed his eyes a bit tighter, reminding himself and his body that he was awake and in control. There existed a different darkness beyond his eyelids, a darkness he couldn't control, but this, the darkness he manifested was his and his body was his.
This is what he always had to tell himself, to reassure himself that he was in control. His nightmares, the world that tormented him beyond his control was not holding him any longer. He was the one in control now and his body had better damn well come to terms with it. It took a few minutes but his muscles finally relaxed and his breathing came out in one long whoosh before regular breaths expanded and contracted his lungs. Slowly, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, John's eyelids finally fluttered open.
It wasn't an inky black that greeted him, but a dull, muted dark. The light from the moon coming in through the large windows glowed off the walls. He sighed, his palm coming up to rub along his face, removing the last vestiges of the nightmare he'd. There wasn't much John remembered about it, but it wasn't an arid and hot desert like it usually was. This time it was a cool London street. There was a feeling of completely lost panic, his heart stopping in his chest, and then the agonizing wrench of it tearing itself in half. There was blood, a body, and a building. Other than that, nothing made sense to John and his head full of scrambled memories locked behind thick doors.
He wondered for a moment if his dreams—nightmares were these memories trying to escape. He'd heard of memories surfacing within your dreams, but the dis-jointed way in which it was happening left John wondering if they were actual memories or just his nightmares taking on a new form. He glanced around the unfamiliar room, taking a few, calm moments to remember where he was, why he was there, and who else was with him. It took a startlingly short amount of time for everything from the past few days to come back to him. He was married…to a man…and living in a rather quaint cottage somewhere in the countryside. It was still a bit hard to come to terms with the marriage, but he figured if Harry could do it, then it couldn't be that hard.
He sighed, looking down the line of his body to the large lump of blanket gathered over the cast on his leg. He wanted the bloody thing gone so that he might be able to walk through the garden and beyond. It had been a habit of John's since he was little. Things in his house weren't always sunshine and roses when he was growing up. To escape all the noise he'd climb out his window and just wander the streets. One night Harry had silently joined him. That was how they had formed the tenuous bond between them. John hated that Harry had replaced walking with drinking, and it was a battle he'd fight until the very bitter end.
Knowing sleep was now a far off dream, John glanced over at the blue glow of the alarm clock. It shined back, letting him know it was a little after 4AM. He groaned, his head falling back into the pillow. He ran his hand over his face once more, crusty bits of sleep falling from his eyes as he settled himself into the bed. His blue eyes flicked around the ceiling, tracing the shadows. The sound of crickets chirping was lulling him into a half sleep when he heard the gentle rapping against the door.
"John?" Jim's voice whispered.
John shifted some, turning his head to look towards the door. A gentle smile graced his lips as he lifted his head.
"Yeah, 'm here," he answered back.
It was a bit cute, he could admit to himself, to see Jim shift his weight unsurely before opening the door and stepping inside.
"Well obviously you're here, I just…I know your nightmares can be bad…I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright."
John smiled. Knowing that he wasn't alone to fight the nightmares that would come for him gave him an odd feeling of comfort. Aside from Harry silently walking next to him or sitting with him in the past, John hadn't had anyone to be there in the aftermath. John watched as Jim took another small step into the room. He scooted towards the middle of his bed, finding himself actually wanting Jim's company.
"Come sit?" he implored just before his mouth opened into a wide yawn.
Jim looked uncertain for a moment before he smiled and strode all the way across the room to slide into the spot John had made.
"So you did have a nightmare?"
John sighed, shifting slightly. Warmth spread up his leg from where it was in contact with Jim's before he nodded slowly.
"Yeah…it was…it was different though. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but I felt so lost and just overcome with sadness. I was standing below a building…St. Bart's I think and just looking up…do you know why I might be dreaming that?"
Jim was glad for the darkness that hid the scowl that took over his face at the admission. Jim didn't think he'd have to deal with emerging memories so soon, but he was a changeable man and plans could be rearranged. Remembering that John was next to him, still at a loss as to what truly happened in his life, Jim reached over, his palm coming to rest along the top of John's thigh.
"I haven't the faintest. There was a period of time where I worked in the IT department at Bart's when we met, but there should be no reason to have nightmares about it," he injected a bit of comical mirth into the final bit of his sentence, hoping to put John off the path his mind was taking.
John chuckled.
"I suppose the meeting couldn't have been that bad given I married you," he teased, leaning into Jim.
Jim grinned, the intent behind it more malicious under the guise of darkness.
"You did marry me and we'll get through this. After all it is 'til death do us part," he muttered, turning his head into John and pressing a faint kiss to his temple.
John sighed, his eyelids actually beginning to grow a bit heavier as the comfort of Jim's presence coaxed sleep back to him. He turned slightly, snuggling a bit more into Jim to draw strength from him.
"You don't have to stay with me, 'm be alright now."
Jim huffed, wiggling a bit to settle himself firmly next to John.
"Just sleep Johnny boy. Everything will be alright," he murmured, turning his head to catch the glint of John's blue eyes.
John smiled sleepily in response, nodding his head, "Alright, alright, I'll try," he conceded, humming contentedly. His head nestled into the safety of the pillows once more before his lids finally closed.
Four thirty AM was a pocket of silence. Sherlock was sat upon his duvet, knees bent as he arranged the CCTV photos again. The soft snores of agent Graham drifted under Sherlock's door. The agent had fallen asleep some hours ago, sleep coming for him in the midst of tracing possible routes Moriarty had taken from the city. Sherlock hadn't bothered to look the map over. Instead, he ignored the presence of Graham altogether, still hoping it would make the man disappear. So far everything had been useless, pointing them in a direction where infinite possibilities presented themselves.
Nearing five AM Sherlock's mobile chimed with a new a new message. He wouldn't have paid it mind while caught up in his search for John, but the number coming up blocked made him reach for it. He swiped his thumb across the screen, bringing the message to life. His quick silver eyes swept across the screen, his brows furrowing.
Your pet feels so good pressed up against me. It's a shame you threw him away so carelessly. –JM
A snarl ripped its way from Sherlock's mouth. He wanted so badly to chuck his mobile across the room and feel the satisfaction wash over him while he watched the plastic device shatter into pieces. He forbid him mind from picturing any part of John pressed up against any part of Jim Moriarty. Reeling in the unfamiliar emotions Sherlock slipped to the end of his bed and got to his feet. The blue dressing grown swished about his ankles as he moved towards his closet, pulling out a white shirt and black trousers to dress himself. He dressed quickly and strode into the sitting room. The excitement built in Sherlock's stomach as he realised Moriarty had made the mistake he'd been waiting for. He had known Moriarty's need to gloat concerning John would be the downfall of his nemesis
"You have five minutes to be presentable and join me. You might be useful," Sherlock rumbled as he passed the sleeping agent.
It actually surprised Sherlock, not that he would admit or show it, when Graham gave a sort of snorted huff and sat up. The agent was ruffled, his hair pointing in disarray over his head. A large yawn made the hinges of his jaw creak so loud, Sherlock could hear it across the room. He blinked bleary eyes, a moment of confusion washing over him before remembering where he was and what it was he was working on.
"What are we doing?" he asked, slowly rising to his feet, his back cracking back into place from its slumped position on the sofa.
"Going to Mycroft. Maybe he will take you back," Sherlock stated moving about in the kitchen.
Four minutes later Graham stepped out of the bathroom, nearly knocking Sherlock over in his haste. He pulled up quick, blinking at the detective.
"So, what are we going to see Mycroft for? Are you going to demand he take me back, again?"
Sherlock frowned before turning away, "Unfortunately he has made it very clear that you will be at my side for the duration of this case, which will hopefully not be for much longer. Now let's go."
Graham sighed, snagging his jacket from the back of the couch as he passed.
"I hope so," he muttered, shrugging into the jacket before following Sherlock's flourish down the stairs and into a cab.
"So what's going on, what happened now that would make you deign to ask big brother for his help?"
Sherlock looked up from the glow of his phone, giving Graham a sharp look of almost disgust, "Because he can help and when it is John's life at stake I will go to any lengths to get him back."
Graham had the wherewithal to actually look a bit cowed. He nodded, leaning back in his seat.
"Apologies, just been a long few days," he sighed, closing his eyes to wait out the ride to Mycroft's office.
Not twenty minutes later and the cab had stopped in front of a sleek looking building seemingly made of glass. Agent Graham exited the cab and stood staring up at the office, wishing he could be back up there or out on a different case. He knew it would be a huge challenge to work with Sherlock, but as the order had come directly from his superior he had no way out. To say the man was a nightmare would be a severe understatement.
"You have seen this building a million times. There is nothing interesting about it this time around," Sherlock drawled with boredom as he bypassed the agent.
Sherlock brushed past security and the guards knowingly let him pass. As he stood near the bank of elevators, he huffed in frustration as Agent Graham dutifully stopped at each checkpoint.
"So, are you going to tell me what this is all about, or is it some sort of secret plot?" Graham asked as he slid inside the lift car just before the doors closed completely.
Sherlock sighed, pocketing his mobile, "No. Moriarty sent me a message this morning. I lack the technology at the flat to trace a blocked number, or rather, the blocked number that Moriarty would use. Mycroft on the other hand has the means. We trace the message back to its originating mobile tower and we know where to start searching. It is most likely the only clue we will get. Moriarty boasted, and slipped up. His biggest downfall will be his showmanship. He simply cannot do something without showing off."
"Well that's good for us then."
Sherlock huffed, his lips turning into a cruel half smile, "Very good for us, though I would have found him despite his message. He just raised my chances exponentially."
Graham nodded, "Right, well, let's get on with it then."
He nodded towards the doors as the lift stopped. Sherlock gave him a look before stepping out past Anthea and right into Mycroft's office.
The elder Holmes looked up from various papers on his desk, his fingers interlocking over the top of them, "And to what do I owe this particular pleasure? Have you made progress?"
Sherlock glared, tossing his phone onto the desk, the incriminating text open, "Trace it, now."
Mycroft blinked. He was about to open his mouth when he caught the look in Sherlock's eyes. He nodded instead, taking the phone just as Anthea entered. He held up the mobile so that his assistant could take it.
"It will take a few minutes. Please have a seat. I do have a few things to discuss with you both."
He indicated the chairs before his desk. Graham sat while Sherlock elected to remain standing. Anthea appeared with a tea service and sat on the edge of the desk before disappearing again. Sighing in agitation at the raised brows, Sherlock finally plopped into the chair.
"Do hurry. We haven't all day to listen to your babble," he grumbled, grabbing the tea if only to have something to focus on other than his brother.
"Right then, we need to discuss extraction options for when we find Dr. Watson."
Sherlock frowned, hunching his shoulders almost like a sulking child,
"Fine, if we must," he drawled, his tone bored. The staccato his fingers beat against the arm rest told a different story.
Morning found John well rested with a warm weight pressed against his back. He hummed, smiling to himself, and mumbled a few incoherent syllables before turning to face his bed partner. He blinked, startled to see a dark haired man. He closed his eyes for a moment and everything came rushing back to him like a sort of tidal wave. He lifted a hand to wipe over his face.
"Mmm, go back to sleep," the man muttered, voice rough with sleep. He shifted closer to John, his arm coming up to wrap around John's waist.
John chuckled, bending his head, his smile actually unbidden this time as he smoothed his hand along Jim's arm, "And here I was thinking my lovely husband would dote on me, possibly make me a proper fry up?"
Jim burrowed his head deeper into the pillow, his arm tightening around John, "'m still tired."
John chuckled, his hand skimming up Jim's arm to playfully pinch his elbow.
"Oi, none of that, now get your arse up and cook for me, I will play my injured card if I must," John teased merrily, a feeling of contentment actually settling over him.
Jim heaved a sigh into his pillow before lifting his head, his hair mussed and sticking straight up from his forehead. He frowned sleepily at John who only beamed back at him from where he lay.
"You are an evil man John Moriarty…truly evil," he huffed before dipping his head for a kiss, only to pull up short, remembering that John wasn't fully accepting of his married role.
John grinned, his hand smoothing back up Jim's arm to cup his neck, he traced his thumb along his hairline.
"I want to be back to normal again and not be so afraid of who I really am," John breathed quietly before lifting his head to press his lips against Jim's.
The other man gave a soft sigh-cum-groan at the sudden contact. He moved his own palm up John's side, curled it further around him possessively. He didn't ask for much from the kiss, but reveled in the pressure of dried lips. Jim pulled back, a small smile curling his lips as he looked down at John.
"That was a proper fry up you wanted?" he asked, his voice a light teasing lilt with the hint of a Scottish accent.
"If you would be so inclined," John teased back, chuckling as he pushed himself up gently to sit propped against his pillows.
Jim grinned, nodding as he rolled away.
"Right then, just rest and I'll come for you when it's ready," he murmured, leaning in to brush some stray golden locks from John's forehead and pressing a light kiss to the still sleep-warmed skin.
"Sounds good luv," John murmured, grinning as he allowed himself to melt back into his pillows, the curly haired man from his dreams a mere echo lost now in the valleys of his wakeful mind.
A/N: Fair warning, the next few chapters will almost fully focus on Jim and John, with possible cameos by Sherlock and his team!