John pulled down Sherlock's head to kiss him on the forehead. Seeing that Sherlock looked exhausted, he put his arm around the waist of his consulting detective. He led Sherlock up the stairs and into John's bedroom. There, he lay him down on the bed. "Do you want a change of clothes?" he whispered in Sherlock's ear.
Sherlock fell onto the bed in a heap with John following. "Are you?" he whispered taking John's soft hand.
"Probably," John replied quietly. "But, I can wait a little longer if you want." He took a piece of Sherlock's hair and started playing with it.
"I might fall asleep though," he replied, yawning. "Could you get me a pair of clothes?" he asked, curling up onto John's lap.
"Sure," John said with a small grin. He slowly got up and went into Sherlock's room. He stood and stared at the battleground that had remained untouched since Sherlock went into the hospital. He glanced over all of the destruction. How could Sherlock bring himself to do this? John's insides cried, but he moved swiftly over to the bed and pulled out a new shirt and pair of pants out of the pile that had been haphazardly thrown about the room. He quickly got out and closed the door, hoping to make it help him forget about what was behind it. He entered his bedroom quietly to find Sherlock half-asleep. He smiled and put the clothes on the end of the bed. He then walked over to his dresser, pulled out a new pair of boxers and then opened another drawer and pulled out some sweatpants. He went into the bathroom to get changed and cleaned up a little. He pulled off his sweaty shirt and threw it into the laundry basket. He then proceeded to take off his trousers and boxers. As he took off his boxers, he looked at the mess he made. He smirked and whispered to himself, "Damn you, Sherlock." He threw them into the laundry basket, took a towel and wiped up around his member, pulled on his clean pair of boxers, and then his sweatpants. He didn't bother to put on a shirt, because he just didn't want to. He walked back over to his bedroom, and climbed into bed next to Sherlock. He practically fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Sherlock heard John's rustling and as he opened his eye not more than a centimeter to see John stark naked in the middle of the room. He blushed as he watched John so elegantly clean himself and couldn't help but whimpered softly at the sight. He quickly shut his eye when John turned around and flopped on the bed carelessly. As soon as he did, Sherlock proceed to get up to change as well wincing as his wounds pulled on his healing flesh. He grabbed the clothes John so kindly picked out for him and sneaked out into the hall to change. He closed the door gently behind him so that he would not wake his John. Once in the hall he got changed quickly, closing his eyes tightly so that he would not have to see his words of truth. He was a coward he knew, for not even being able to see his own fault, for leaving John when he needed them most, for not being able to tell John he loved him back. After getting his new fresh set of clothing on, he stealth fully waltzed back into the room and slide into his side of the bed, sighing in content as the warmth of both the cotton and John encased him.
John wrapped his arms around Sherlock when he laid back down on the bed. His consulting detective, so torn and tired. John hummed a soft lullaby into Sherlock's curls. He slowly closed his eyes and kissed Sherlock's forehead. Then he whispered, "My sweet Sherlock." He sighed and circled one of his fingers on the nape of Sherlock's neck. "My precious Sherlock."
Sherlock once settled in comfortably, which was almost instantaneous, as John cradled him in into the land of the sleeping. He dreamed of John and himself around the flat, laughing and giggling high after a good case, or them together in one another's arms curled up on the couch watching crap telly. He felt himself sigh out of content as they were very pleasant dreams indeed.
Suddenly, the scene changed. He was no longer in the kitchen nor the hall or even the living room, but in his own room. He stood in the middle of it, still trashed from his previous outrage of emotion. The bed thrown to the wall, covering the very large dents in the pale wallpaper, his dresser was torn and scratched, finger nails marks visible. He swallowed thickly, had he really done all this? Guilt welled up in his chest, he didn't mean to do this, and he was scared, afraid, and angry. He took a staggering step back and heard a piece of glass shatter. He looked down expecting to see his own form on the ground, lying in his own blood.
However, he found a much more of sights; John Watson was the one who took his place. His eyes went wide with fear as he gazed upon the doctor, he couldn't look away. John's skin was yellow, that of an old musty candle that was left in the attic for far too long. He looked pasty, as if his skin its self was made of wax. John's eyes were the color of his own, making his nightmare a reality. His shirt at been discarded and in place of Sherlock's scars of red, black angry burn marks stared back at him. He tried to walk over to John but his feet seemed to be glued to the hardwood floors.
"Sherlock," John called out. "Sherlock," he called again, stronger. The detective opened his mouth to reassure John that he was here, but alas words ceased to flow.
The pitch black burns that were on John's skin began to bubble, as if a fire source was held above them. John groaned out in pain, as the boiling of his flesh intensified; he screamed when his skin began to run down his sides, leaving trails of cooling wax along them. As sudden as it came it was gone but merely replaced as the words seeped red wax, as if it was blood. John cried out to Sherlock screaming his name out before the seeping wax began to corrode his other flesh, making the holes bigger by the moment. Sherlock was frozen all he could do was watch John suffer before him, smell the burning hair and skin of John that lingered in the air and hear John's yells that were all angry words toward him.
"Sherlock look at what you did to me?! Not that you would care anyway would you FREAK!" John spat out malevolently, "Think I'm so kind of experiment do you? Well, you're the experiment Sherlock! Just. Look. At. You," he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Look at your helpless self with no friends no anyone! That's what you'll always be Sherlock! Alone! You don't deserve me or anyone's time of day you monster! Nothing but a low life addict is what you are! Incapable of love!" John seethed though his gritted teeth
Sherlock stood still as he watched John melt away into a puddle of human smelling wax. He was frozen with fear and although he couldn't speak or make a sound he was screaming 'I'm sorry, please forgive me.' over and over again. He watched the puddle of John steam for a moment before cooling completely, and with a final touch the words 'You are a fraud Sherlock Holmes. -JW' were carved into the red-pink wax of what used to be John. He could still hear John's angry hateful words ringing in his ears, and every time he closed his eyes he saw the seven words of truth before him. John Watson was right in all he said.
"Sherlock! Sherlock!" John screamed trying to wake Sherlock up. The taller man was tossing and turning and mumbling 'I'm so sorry, John.' He was shivering in his sleep until he finally screamed out in terror. "Sherlock! Wake up! Please wake up! Sherlock listen to me! Whatever is going on inside your head it's a dream. Wake up, for God's sake!" He was on the verge of tears. He knew exactly what was coming next.
Sherlock gasped with a start sitting upright within seconds and scrambling to get away from whatever was yelling at him. With his vision blurred he fell right of the bed, hitting the cool wood with a loud thud. His hair was plastered to his alabaster skin that was slicked with sweat. All his clothes were stuck to him and his breathing was a heavy wheezing. He was turned into a puddle of babbling goo shooting off apologizes to John in hot rushes of air.
John quickly jumped out of bed to Sherlock's aide. "Sherlock? Sherlock, are you alright? You were just having a nightmare." He held Sherlock close. "It's okay, love. I'm here for you and I will always be here for you." He held Sherlock for a very long time, until he stopped shivering.
Sherlock fell into the embrace, his body was beyond exhausted and John was so warm. "Ja-John." he whispered out after a while. "I sa-saw yo-you..!" He burst into tears, he hadn't meant to, but that 'dream' was the worst he had ever had. He sobbed out in hysterics hiccupping here and there as he attempted to speak, but merely broke down again. "You...sa-said I-I" he wailed out before collapsing in a fit of tears again.
"Whatever I said, whatever I did, it was all a dream. I would never say those things to you." John held Sherlock close to his chest. He felt himself cry a silent tear. He started humming a soft song, hoping to reduce Sherlock's pain.
Outside, a storm was brewing, the heavy down pour rattling the roof as the rain pattered on the metal. Wind was whipping against the flat, howling as it did. The dark room was illuminated with a clash of lightning, making the two men's shadows appear as suddenly as they came to be gone once again. The booming roar of thunder rumbled over them, loud and deep, making Sherlock yelp with fear, and jumping out of John's embrace and bracing his trembling frame against the wall. He could hear the voice of John mixed with the bellowing of the intense thunder making him shake with fear. He couldn't see John not only because it was dark but also because flashes of John's melting body vividly came before his eyes. "John! No I-I'm so -s Sorry!" He yelled out in attempt to keep the fake John to stay. "Don't leave me! Please I ...I need you! I'm sorry I'll be better!" he shouted to no one in reality. The fake John merely answered with angry remarks and called him a hoax. Sherlock felt his chest collapsing, each breath he took felt as it would be his last, and he gulped for air that would simply not enter his lungs. "I!" He cried out before trying to intake a breath that failed over and over again. His heavy labored breathing left him gasping for air; his eyes were wide and fearful, that of a strangled man who was trying to pry off their choker. "Can..t breathe " he yelled breathlessly before clawing with his own two bare hands at his throat begging it open. "John, make it stop!" he weeped, as he felt tears run down his face. He was afraid even more so then during the Baskerville case. He wanted John to make it better like he always did, "please John!" He begged his voice becoming rawer and hoarser by the second.
John ran over to Sherlock and hugged him. "Sherlock, I'm right here and I'm not going to leave you. Listen to me, whatever you think I'm saying to you, I'm not. I love you and I would never say such hurtful things to you." John was scared. He had only ever seen Sherlock like this once, during Baskerville, but this was far worse. He didn't want to lose Sherlock and he did not want to make another trip to the hospital tonight. He too started crying as he hugged Sherlock tightly. "Sherlock, please hear me," he said as his tears fell to the hardwood floor. "Please..."
Sherlock felt his hitch as John called his name and cradled him. The small change in breath caused his hyperventilation to go out of pattern, allowing him to take a full breath of air. He gasped loudly, trying to take in as much as the cool air as possible, breathing was no longer boring to him needless to say. "Ja-on!" he panted out heavily, his words broken and desperate.
John held Sherlock even tighter. "I'm here. Don't worry I'm not going to leave you." He pulled back a little bit to look into Sherlock's eyes that looked ravaged and damaged from the nightmare. "Sherlock, look at me...it was only a dream. You scared the crap out of me. Don't do that! I was worried I'd have to take you to the hospital again."
Sherlock's gaze fell to the floor at John's scolding, his breathing at least calmed down somewhat but he was incredibly vulnerable and tried. "I-I'm sorry to have burdened you John. I am incorrigible it would seem." he whispered to the floor, a tear falling to the wood making a small puddle. He curled up on himself so that he would no longer continue to shiver as violently as he was
John followed Sherlock down to the floor, wrapping an arm around him. "Shh...don't say that." He kissed Sherlock's forehead and wiped away the tears with his thumb. "Are you a bit better now?"
Sherlock looked up at him with his matted down lashes that were thicker than usual. "I..I don't know." he answered unsurely, perplexed by what exactly he was feeling at the moment. He knew he hurt all over, physically and emotionally wasted, and the fact it was exceptionality painful to talk, making his voice deeper than normal and it was as scratchy as sandpaper it seemed.