It is dark, pitch black. He is in a small space, his breathing rapid and painful, his ribs aching with every lungful of air he drags in. There are hands on his back, on his hips, sliding up to his ribs, nails digging in fractionally for a few seconds before loosening, soothing the skin beneath their touch. This tenderness is even more terrifying than the brutality he's grown to expect in these dreams and he recoils violently from the hands.
The sound of laughing rings out above him, cold and unpleasant, as the fingers dig in again hard, and he cries out in pain.
"Stop" he tries to form, but his mouth is taped shut and he can barely make a sound. He thrashes hopelessly but is pinned down as easily as a butterfly on a board.
The floor is soft against his cheek, and he tries to focus on that as he feels the fingers slip lower, ghosting over his hip, curling around his flaccid cock and pinching cruelly at the base.
"Stop" he tries again, but the hands are pinning him down, all over him, probing and squeezing, and there are tears rolling down his cheeks, dripping onto the carpet.
"Please" he begs brokenly, tears coming thick and fast, and the hands still suddenly, before shaking him hard by the shoulder. Confused and disorientated he tries to look around, his shoulder cramping and collapsing under him…
He wakes up with a jolt, face first in his pillow, with hands gripping his shoulders and with a cry he pulls away hard and fast, knocking the hands away and rolling across the bed. The lamp comes to his hand first and he swings it towards his assailant, adrenaline surging through his veins. The other man is clearly more alert though; he catches John's wrist in a strong grasp and flicks the switch with the other hand in a beat, illuminating the room.
"Sherlock" he breathes, "What the hell?"
Sherlock is straddling him, lamp still in one hand and John's wrist in the other. His eyes are wide and his hair even more on end than usual, his breathing marginally faster than normal.
"I heard a noise"
They both stay like that for a few moments, frozen into place. Sherlock's hand feels like it's burning John's wrist but the physical contact, the sheer caring, makes him stay where he is, his heartrate slowly returning to normal.
"It was just a dream" he breathes, willing it to sound believable. He can tell he's failed, but Sherlock doesn't press it although it looks like it's paining him; instead he leaves his hand covering John's wrist and places the lamp on the floor, the room immediately darker.
"What happened to your wrist?" asks Sherlock evenly, his eyes cast down to where his hand joins John's arm. Of course, it would never be too dark for Sherlock to spot an inconvenient truth.
He thinks quickly; surprisingly quickly, given how drowsy he feels.
"There was an incident with a patient the other day. Got a bit aggressive."
Sherlock seems to accept that, humming lightly under his breath as his fingertips ghost over the marks.
"It looks painful."
"Could have been worse."
Sherlock's hand stills and moves away from John's wrist slowly.
"Sorry. I…forget you don't like to be touched sometimes."
John smiles tiredly, stuck by how childlike Sherlock looks in the half-light, lacking his usual confidence and swagger.
"It's fine, Sherlock. I'm fine."
Relieved, Sherlock moves back, awkwardly patting John's leg.
"Night, then" he says, and is gone.
Sleep comes slightly easier to John after that, and while he can't feel the slight curve of his lips that lingers long after he's passed out of consciousness he is aware the next morning that his dreams have been less sour than usual.
Sherlock can't sleep.
Not only can he not sleep, but he can't play the violin for fear of waking John, and he certainly can't talk to John.
The idea of someone hurting John, especially someone John was trying to help, twinges at his fragile temper. The idea of some ill educated, obnoxious patient grasping John's wrists hard enough to leave bruises, maybe even pushing him against the wall, and with John too damn nice to defend himself…
He exhaled in a puff of anger, rolling over in bed and staring at his wall.
He couldn't help the protective feeling and it bothered him. It felt so…so trite. So human, not to be able to control his emotions; not to even be able to figure them out.
And the idea of being so indebted to John, brave John who had saved his life and never hesitated once before throwing himself into danger at Sherlock's bidding, and yet not being able to protect him from some overly aggressive clinic patient…the irritation needles at his chest until he turns over onto his other side, humming softly under his breath, and letting sleep come to him.
Time goes by, and John's bruises heal, the skin lightening from blue to black to green and finally back to its normal colour. It is impossible for either of them to fully know whether John's behaviour has regressed back to the normal or whether Sherlock has adapted to the change; after all, he became easily accustomed to John entering his life. Possibly a combination of both, and aided by the unspoken agreement to let the issue drop.
Even when John wakes in the night (and it is still almost nightly; but Sherlock is out so frequently that he doesn't know it), gasping for breath and shuddering with revulsion and residual fear, Sherlock doesn't go. He doesn't ask on the days when John trembles imperceptibly at loud noises, and doesn't insist when John declines to go out for dinner with him.
For his part, John carries on in his attempts to hide everything from Sherlock. He forces himself to lie still and quiet when sleep refuses to come, and keeps anything incriminating in his bedroom where he trusts Sherlock not to snoop. Whether or not he's right to do so is something he tries not to think too carefully about sometimes.
Mycroft stays out of it, although both John and Sherlock know that it is only for the time being and they carry on like this in their own inimitable equilibrium for several weeks. But the thing with life, and with equilibriums in particular?
They exist to be disturbed.
AN: I'm glad people were so positive towards the last chapter. I was really concerned you'd all hate it! So in return you got a little awkward hurt/comfort in this chapter. Please let me know what you think; reviews mean a lot to me.