It became a routine for John to sleep in Sherlock's bed each night, waiting until after the detective was fast asleep before crawling under the covers in what soon became designated John's spot in the bed. Some nights he would awake with Sherlock's arms wrapped around him, but most times not.
John eventually came to the realization that it was on the nights when the nightmares began to appear that Sherlock would hold him close to his body, the mere touch chasing them away. He couldn't tell whether the action was a subconscious one by the detective or whether Sherlock knew he was doing it, but he got used to the feeling of the other man against his back, strong arms protecting him.
The problem came one morning when John awoke to find that he must have turned over in his sleep, the two men's noses almost touching as their heads shared the same pillow, breathing in each other's air. The faintest of snores escaped from Sherlock's slightly parted lips, his grip on John loose but firm.
John realized it was the first time he'd seen Sherlock so unguarded, his mind appearing to be shut down. There were no signs of the normal fast paced thoughts that were typically apparent in his facial expressions, no stress that seemed to come with the job of consulting detective.
John contemplated how exactly he got to this point in his life, sharing a bed with his best friend, blogging about their adventures together. He could hardly remember his life before Sherlock, before Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft, DI Lestrade and even Molly. He wondered if he was the only one lucky enough to ever see Sherlock like this.
The longer John watched Sherlock sleep, the more he wondered if anything had changed since the first time he attempted to kiss him, the thoughts of the rain coming down around them and the look in Sherlock's eyes afterwards making him shiver.
He wondered why everyone seemed to see something that wasn't there, wondered if he was missing something that was. Did Sherlock feel the same as everyone else? If he did, he didn't show it, not that he ever showed any type of emotion in that manner. Even holding John against his body at night felt platonic, something slightly more than friends might do, but not to the extreme that John believed Sherlock wanted to be shagging him into the mattress every night.
The detective was an enigma, no matter how long John spent with him he could never really quite figure him out. He wondered what it would be like in Sherlock's head, what he thought about when they weren't on a case. For hours he would lie on the couch or stand at the window, violin in hand, not saying a word. His expressions were hard to read, no emotion, and his body language was even less useful to interpret.
"What goes on in there?" The question was asked in a whisper, barely audible on John's lips, not meant to be heard outside of his head. Sherlock shifted, John fearing that he might have woken him, but after a moment he settled back down, his face closer to John's than before.
John was motionless, afraid to move, afraid to blink in fear of waking Sherlock. Sherlock mumbled something inaudible, his lips barely moving, his eyebrows coming together, and John could tell he was in the beginning of one of his own nightmares.
John could feel the panic rising in him; he wanted Sherlock to go back to the peaceful Sherlock of a few moments ago, no nightmares, no fears, just peace. He dealt with enough during his waking hours, the thought of being chased by demons in his sleep almost hurt John to the core.
He wrapped his arm around Sherlock the way the detective did to chase away his nightmares but it didn't seem to work, Sherlock's body tensing up, his hands balling into fists against John's back. When John gently rubbed his hand along Sherlock's cheek, his thumb against the defined cheekbones, Sherlock finally began to relax, his hands flattening out against his back and his body leaning slightly forward into John.
After a moment the nightmare appeared to have retreated, but the feel of lips brushing against the corner of his lips and a whispered "thank you" told John that Sherlock had simply woken up, John not getting a chance to respond before the sound of heavy breathing departed Sherlock's lips again.
Next chapter: The First Goodbye