It was difficult not to get too excited once I realized John recognized me. Thankfully, things did progress steadily for the next stage. With me figuratively holding his hand through the entire process, John re-learned how to use the toilet and began eating food that was a bit more solid. I wasn't willing to teach him the ways of stairs yet so I tried getting him to sleep in my bedroom one night. That hadn't turned out so well. As soon as I flicked off the lights John was stumbling out of the bed in a panic. I had spent the rest of the night trying to calm him down and assure him I was there, he was safe, everything was okay.
But even during that one panicked night, John stayed utterly silent. I continued to talk even though I knew he couldn't hear me. I suppose it was a comfort to myself. And there were times I caught him watching my lips and I slowed down my speech, knowing he was trying to understand.
Slowly, as if he were waking from a dream over several weeks' time, John began to respond to things. This meant that I had to try my best to stay in his line of sight at all times. There were several occasions that I forgot this and, when I returned, no matter how gently, it would startle him. Once he knocked over a cup of tea, tripped over his own feet, and his hand landed directly on the glass shards. The tears streaming down his face as he looked at me with pathetically wide and bright blue eyes were enough to make sure I never made the mistake again.
Because of the failure of the experiment trying to get John to sleep in a proper bed, he continued to sleep on the couch. I wasn't entirely pleased with this, noting the strain it put on his bad shoulder. Luckily, what with personal boundaries having already long been crossed, John had no qualms with my massaging his shoulder to relieve the muscle tension.
His sleeping on the couch also meant I was always there to watch him sleep. There were a couple times, rare as they were, that I did end up falling asleep though it was always a restless nap, and I always woke up terrified something had happened to John. But I wasn't the only one having troubles sleeping. Along with the growing responsiveness and jumpiness, John's nights were growing plagued by nightmares.
These nightmares weren't too bad. Or, at least, John didn't to respond to them too badly. He had had worse reactions to nightmares when he had first moved in to Baker Street. All the same, I would sit in my armchair and watch him whimper and flinch, wishing desperately that there was something I could do. I didn't have the heart (I realized with surprise) to wake him. The times he managed to actually fall asleep it was mainly because he severely needed it. He seemed to dislike the idea of sleeping, keeping his gaze fixed on me until exhaustion forced his eyelids shut. As if he was as afraid of something happening to me while he slept as I was afraid of something happening to him.
One night I was sitting there, watching him, the same familiar desperate thoughts running through my head. John's face was scrunched up and a tear was slipping out from under one tightly shut eyelid. His knees were pulled up to his chin and the tension in his body told me I was going to have to spend a bit longer than usual working at his shoulder when he woke up. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and his head jerked up slightly.
"Sherlock!" he cried loudly.
My mouth dropped open and I stared. John was quickly pulling himself to a sitting position, movements jerky and panicked.
"Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock..." he muttered, eyes looking wildly about. The shock died down ever so slightly and I moved to him, taking his hands in mine.
"I'm here," I cooed needlessly. "John, I'm here, I'm here..."
Eventually he found me, eyes wide with terror softening when they found mine. I let go of one hand and raised it to his face, giving him a genuine smile.
"I'm here."
"Sherlock," he whispered brokenly. My smile widened, tears of gratitude welling in my eyes, and I nodded.
"It's me, John. It's me."
White.
Too much white.
Darkness.
Too dark.
Smooth voice.
Always there.
Scared.
Endless.
Always scared.
No!
Dream!
No!
Wake up!
Pale man nice eyes warm touch Sherlock
Sherlock!
Where?
Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock
Where?
Pale man nice eyes warm touch Sherlock
Safe.
Not scared.
Sherlock
A/N: I continue to be blown away by the reception of this fic. You all are amazing and I thank you so, so much. I hope I continue to live up to your expectations.
I love reviewers and live for constructive criticism!