If only the night would pass peacefully, but unfortunately that is not to be. The emotional turmoil of the day and the unfamiliar surroundings, the unfamiliar weight of someone against him means that john's mind is unsettled enough to let the nightmares in. It's not the first or last time he's had dreams of Afghanistan, though they had mostly been overshadowed by nightmares of watching Sherlock jump off St. Bart's when he was still pretending to be dead. Tonight it's worse, the dreams combining so that it's Sherlock lying on John's operating table, that he's trying to save amidst the explosions and gunfire from the obvious fight outside.
Sherlock is not a heavy sleeper, so when John starts to twitch in his sleep it wakes Sherlock up. For a brief moment he's confused, and then he realizes what's going on, untangling himself from the older man since that doesn't seem to be helping. But he doesn't like the way John is starting to thrash around a bit, his whimpers turning into anguished cries, his name being mixed in with the rest. Plus he doesn't want anyone to wake up and come to figure out what's going on, so he leans down, shaking John's shoulders. "John, you're having a nightmare. John!" He says sharply as he tries to wake the other.
The shaking and such works, but maybe just not how Sherlock was expecting. Because while John wakes up he's not fully aware of where he is for a moment, he just sees someone slightly unknown in front of him, so he grabs one of the arms that, to his nightmare riddled mind, are holding him down, quickly flipping Sherlock onto his back. He straddles his hips, legs holding down Sherlock's, one hand on his throat, the other up over his head, looking like it's curled around the hilt of a knife, except there's no knife.
Though thoroughly startled, Sherlock doesn't fight back, having enough sense to know that would just make things worse. "John. It's me. It's Sherlock." he says in a firm tone, bringing his hand up slowly to touch John's cheek, not interfering with the hands on him. "Please, John, you're hurting me." he admits when John's hand tightens fractionally, his voice a little rough from the restriction.
It takes another moment for John's eyes to clear and for him to visibly focus on Sherlock below him. Lowering his arm slowly, he stares. "Sherlock?" he asks, voice rough from sleep and his earlier yelling. It takes another moment for him to realize he has his hand around the younger man's throat, and he jerks it back as if burned, scrambling off of Sherlock. "Bloody hell! My God, I'm so sorry, Sherlock. What happened?" he asks, running a hand through his hair. "I had a nightmare, didn't I? I'm sorry, I should have warned you." He says, but he keeps well back from Sherlock, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm himself down. "Did I hurt you?" he asks in concern.
Sherlock slowly sits up, putting a hand against his neck for a few moments. "I'm alright, John. It won't even bruise." He reassures, looking at John before he moves a little closer, frowning a little as he watches the older man wince a little at his approach. "It's alright.. I'm not upset, John. It's ok." he says as he moves closer again, slowly sitting down beside him, turning to wrap his arms around John, putting legs on either side of him to surround him as much as possible, leaning down to give him a light kiss. "You startled me, that's all. What were you dreaming about? You kept calling my name." he says quietly as he holds the other man, trying to reassure him that he's fine, not upset or anything.
Normally John would object to this type of coddling, but he is a little shaken up between the nightmare and then waking up to find that he's been strangling his best friend. So instead of wiggling his way free, he turns and cuddles against the taller man, taking a deep breath. "It was Afghanistan. We were under attack, I was trying to save a young soldier's life.. Lieutenant Lantham. He was so young. that's how the memory goes at least. The nightmare was worse. Instead of Lantham, it was you." he says, taking a slow, trembling breath. "You were bleeding, it was like St. Bart's all over again, except you were still alive and I.. I couldn't save you.. Then insurgents broke in, and they were pulling me away.." He says slowly, closing his eyes and taking a slow, deep breath. "Maybe us sharing a bed wasn't such a good idea, Sherlock. I could have really hurt you." He says quietly, lifting his hand slowly to touch that long, pale neck, stroking the skin lightly.
Sighing a little for a few moments and tightening his arms around John's body, the detective leans down to give his doctor a soft kiss. "No. We're not giving up. We learned something, and next time you have a nightmare I'll be prepared. It's been a long day. Your anger at Mycroft, everything we've gone through. You tend to have more nightmares after emotional upsets. And you had more when you first came to Baker Street, before you got used to it, so perhaps it also has to do with being somewhere unfamiliar." He says thoughtfully, absently rubbing one of John's arms. "We should try and get back to sleep." he offers, pulling away a little to slide down on the bed, tugging John until they're laying down again, but this time Sherlock slides up behind John, putting his arms securely around him, thinking it might be better if he doesn't feel like he's pinned down to the bed. "Alright?" he asks as he watches John's profile for a few moments.
Still exhausted, John nods a little. "Yeah. Good. Might take me a while to go back to sleep. Go back to sleep, Sherlock." he says quietly, closing his eyes as he squeezes Sherlock's hand for a moment, falling quiet but having trouble going back to sleep, even if he does manage it eventually.
So, yeah. Not really happy with this chapter, and I was going to just delete it and try something different, but I figured since I had written it, I might as well post it and let you all decide.
Anyway, here it its. Morning scenes will be next. I will try and get another chapter up today to make up for this fail. .