Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.
"And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had"
"Mad World"- Tears for fears
He woke up in a sweat. The damp curls plastered on his forehead, the dry mouth...the sensation of estrangement. Another nightmare...They had returned with renewed vim, after Moriarty's return. Every time he tried to close his eyes, to let his manic mind rest, to regain energy, they were there. Images of his friends, wrapped in the consulting criminal's coils...begging him to save them, once again. Sherlock had lost count of the times his tormented dreams had shown him the lifeless faces of John, Mary, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson...Molly.
He exhaled a shaky breath at the recollection of the vision that had haunted his rest during the night: Moriarty's triumphant sneer, his teeth transforming in fangs while he hissed "You cannot save her, Sherlock dear...Not anymore! Your heart...I burnt it, finally!", over Molly's pale corpse.
If only he could dream of his own death! He hoped that at least his demise could protect the people he loved, and placate his nemesis' insanity...He would welcome that kind of dream with open arms, instead of those destructive hallucinations...
A tiny hand, with delicate yet calloused fingertips, brushed against his shoulder. "Sherlock, you alright?". Molly's voice was barely audible, but with her soft touch and her worried whisper had managed to calm him down almost instantly.
He turned to her, taking her petite frame in his arms. Her warm breath caressed his collarbone, and he could picture in his mind her comforted smile. She needed her sleep, he couldn't disturb her sleep. "Yes, everything is alright. Sleep, you know you both need your rest", he lied, touching lovingly her baby bump.
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