Hey guys, sorry for the long wait! Thanks for the reviews, they make me so happy :) Anyways, here's the next chapter and I hope it's up to scratch. It's a bit longer than the last one. I've discovered that Mary is hard too, as well as John and Mary's relationship dynamic. Hope you enjoy!
The roof again. John stood in the street, staring up at Sherlock.
"It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."
"What – leave a note when?" Every night the same, but John would never stop feeling that same terror and doubt.
"To the very best of times, John," Sherlock said. John watched as Sherlock threw his phone behind him.
"Sherlock!" John shouted. Don't do this to me again, please, Sherlock…
Sherlock jumped, but he didn't fall. Instead, he grew a pair of enourmous black wings and hovered for a moment as John stared, dumbfounded. Time to go, a voice whispered. With a beat of his wings, Sherlock took off into the sky, shrinking into a black dot in the distance and then disappearing altogether. And John knew that he was gone, could never come back, it was more real than it ever was after the fall. Sherlock Holmes was gone – not dead, but gone where John could never reach him. And he could never come back.
A whisper in his mind, cold and disdainful, said just one word: Sentiment.
And then Moriarty was there. "It is a weakness with me… but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness." The backdrop changed until they were standing in the dark pool where Sherlock and John had first met Moriarty. This time, though, John was alone. "No Sherlock to save you now, John. No more hero. He's left you all alone…" Moriarty said.
The word reverberated in the silent pool. Alone, alone, alone. "So alone, John," said Moriarty. John sensed the little red dot on the back of his head, and John knew he was going to die. The voices grew into a cacaphony in his head: alone, alone, and everything went white.
John woke with a start. He sat bolt upright. Alone… Not alone, I'm not alone, Sherlock is still here, he thought in an attempt to calm his racing heart. He felt Mary's hand on his arm.
"John? Oh good, you're awake. Are you alright?" She asked. Mary stood over him. John had been sleeping on the couch. "I heard you shouting and I thought something might be wrong."
"Fine… I'm fine," John said, once he had caught his breath. Mary was looking at him with an odd expression. He'd been shouting… had he yelled out Sherlock's name? That was the only thing he could remember saying in his dream. "I'm fine, really. Go back to bed," he added.
Mary said, "Alright then. I've got to go in early tomorrow, I might be gone by the time you're up." She went back to the bedroom and closed the door.
John stared at his hands. This was the second time John had nearly lost his best friend. His nightmares weren't as bad as they had been after the fall, but they were there nonetheless. He wished, for the thousandth time, that he had never met Sherlock Holmes. But of course, there was the other, ever-present voice with its same reply as always. Where would you be if you hadn't met him?
John remembered the day he met Sherlock. He had been so lost, so lonely… But in less than two minutes, Sherlock had completely changed that. He was so strange and intriguing, finally John had something in his life that was interesting. However annoying and destructive he might be, however many times Sherlock had left John feeling hollow and depressed, John needed the arrogant sod. Sherlock was the only thing that made his life interesting, and even though John complained about Sherlock's fits of boredom, he was the same way.
John got up to make himself a cup of tea. He couldn't sleep now, he was afraid he would land on the street outside Bart's again. For the ten thousandth time.
John sat down at the table to wait for the kettle to boil. As soon as he sat down, his phone, sitting on the coffee table, lit up and buzzed. He sighed and got up to grab it. He looked at the screen and sat down again. It was a text.
John, I'm bored. –SH
John raised an eyebrow. Of course Sherlock would text him in the middle of the night just to say he was bored. He began typing a response.
Sherlock, it's two in the morning. You texted me at 2 in the morning just to say that? And how can you possibly be bored? What about Moriarty? -JW
The kettle was whistling, so John went to turn off the burner. Sherlock really was ridiculous. He poured some water into a mug and put a teabag in. He left the tea to steep and checked his phone again.
Yes I did text you at two in the morning. And judging by the speed of your reply, you were already awake. Why were you up at two in the morning? –SH
Couldn't sleep -JW
John hoped Sherlock wouldn't pick up on the reason. As far as John knew, Sherlock didn't know about his recurring nightmares, and John wanted to keep it that way.
Back in 221B, Sherlock was lying on the couch in his dressing gown. The wall above him and the mirror across the room were plastered with case pictures and bits of information, and the desk in the middle of the room was covered in case files. The flat was a mess. Sherlock was staring at John's empty chair.
That's rare. Why would you be unable to sleep? -SH
Sherlock waited several minutes before John's reply came.
It's really not that uncommon. –JW
Sherlock stared at this cryptic reply. John usually slept very heavily, or at least he had when he was living at 221B. Sherlock typed his reply.
Alright, but why? -SH
Just a bad dream -JW
Sherlock wondered at that. John had had a nightmare? And from what he'd said about this inability to sleep being commonplace, the dreams must have been recurring.
You've been having recurring nightmares. About what? -SH
Sherlock waited a full ten minutes with no response.
John? -SH
There was a talking bird, and it sounded like Mycroft. –JW
Sherlock smirked.
What did he do, bore you to death? -SH
Pretty much -JW
I'm going back to bed, goodnight Sherlock -JW
Sherlock gazed at the empty red chair again. "Goodnight, John," he said into the darkness.