It's my birthday! So to celebrate, I'm...giving everyone a chapter? Yeah, that's how it's gonna go. (happy birthday to me, here's a present for everyone else!)
This story is inspired by ausherlock's Little Companion story collection.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. I own my birthday *Leaves and eats cake until sick*.
It was during a three A.M. thunderstorm when Sherlock noticed John wasn't in the room.
He was finally giving up on a particularly lengthy experiment for the night. Sherlock supposed it was as good of a night as any to actually sleep. In his bed. For seven hours.
How he despised his body's "ordinary" needs.
He sighed and leaned back to crack his spine, stiff from leaning over too long. As he settled, Sherlock took a minute to listen to the storm outside.
The lanky detective reveled in the harsh strike of raindrops against the flat. Sherlock loved the rain. Loved it almost as much as cases. The steady drone of storms did wonders to calm the raging voices in his head. He allowed himself a moment of uninterrupted listening to appease him.
As he stood up from his spot at the kitchen table, he gazed around the living room for John. Craning his head to look near the fireplace, he noticed John's red dog bed was empty. As was the couch, Sherlock's chair, and the rug in front of the fire.
Strange, he thought. That meant John was sleeping in the second dog bed in Sherlock's room.
The mutt insisted there be one there. He literally dragged the second bed into Sherlock's room when they acquired it. Why that was, Sherlock would never know.
Even so, ninety percent of the time John vouched to sleep in the living room, where he was able keep an eye on the door. A nice trait that made him a brilliant guard dog.
White light illuminated the living room as lightning struck nearby. It was followed by a deafening crack that echoed throughout the flat.
It was immediately followed by a yelp and a loud bang from his bedroom.
Sherlock turned from the window and nearly sprinted into his room, envisioning a criminal lurking in the dark.
"John?" Sherlock flipped on the light switch as he entered.
There was no burglar; however, John was standing in the far corner of the room. The banging had come from the bedside table being knocked over, and Sherlock rightened it before turning to John.
Sherlock observed him closely and didn't like what he found.
The mutt was shivering violently. The fur on his back stood on end as he stared blankly at the wall.
Sherlock edged closer to him, "John?"
The dog didn't stir, but Sherlock could now hear faint growling. John's lips curled away to expose gleaming, white teeth.
As he moved closer to John, he noticed the dog's eyes were glazed over, unseeing and unmoving.
Oh…
Oh!
Sherlock reached a hand out to stroke the dog's head, "Now John, sleep-walking is very unbecoming of you. Wake up."
Another lightning strike, this time closer with more startling thunder. The loud noise spooked the ex-police dog in his sleep. John lashed out with an animalistic snarl to Sherlock's hand and bit down with unrestrained force.
Sherlock was unable to hold back the pained shout as John's teeth broke through the skin on his hand.
John bit him. Bit him. Not one of his playful nips either, no. An aggressive, brutal bite.
John was always gentle when he play-fought Sherlock. The dog's teeth never so much as scratching the surface where they made contact.
This was not like that. This was not a playful pup gnawing at his trousers. It was a painful, tearing bite that made the delicate bones in his hand shudder from the force.
Fortunately, the dog didn't rip. John simply bit in defense, released him, and dashed to hunker down in the corner. Sherlock cradled his hand close to his body, appalled. He felt warm blood trickle down his arm, stemming from a sharp, knife-like pain. He tried to flex his hand and hissed at the strain it caused.
And worse, he had a temperamental, sleeping dog he needed to calm down.
Sherlock pushed the pain of the bite to the back of his mind. He lowered himself to sit cross legged on the floor, "John, now listen. You're asleep. You're obviously experiencing some sort of traumatic nightmare, otherwise this wouldn't be happening. Is it Afghanistan? I read that dogs can dream of past experiences, frightening ones at that. You need to stop that, your limp will come back if you don't. Especially with you dashing all about in your sleep. Not healthy at all, that."
He kept talking for another ten minutes, using his voice to bring John's mind back to the present. He relaxed when he saw John's eyes finally started to focus on him. Within minutes the dog was fully awake.
The frightened pup's stance changed immediately. John whined, high-pitched and laced with confusion. He edged close to Sherlock slowly with his ears flat to his head and his tail tucked tightly between his back legs. John lowered his belly to the ground, almost crawling by the time he reached Sherlock. The whining grew more frantic when his dog saw his injured hand. Sherlock understood John perfectly.
Sorry, sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to bite! So sorry, Sherlock!
Sherlock shushed the anxious dog. He scratched behind John's ears with his good hand, "You were having a nightmare. It wasn't your fault. And besides, I've had worse."
John lowered his head in shame and scooted closer to Sherlock. The dog tucked himself close onto Sherlock's lap and hid his head under his shoulder.
Sherlock let the dog cuddle close to him.
"Now, now. There's no need for such a fuss over this. I'm to blame, if anyone. Just a spell of foolishness on my part; reaching out to an agitated dog. I must be spending too much time around Anderson."
John huffed against his chest.
"Don't argue with me, you know it's true. Stupidity is like a disease."
Sherlock patted the dog's head a bit longer before standing. He studied his hand. The back of it was marred with two deep holes from John's canine teeth. The bleeding hadn't stopped and soaked into the sleeve of Sherlock's dressing gown.
Another whine sounded from the floor, and Sherlock looked down at John.
"Don't worry, it looks much worse than it is. It doesn't even need stitches. Although a bandage would be of some use. And I know I have some hydrogen peroxide somewhere. Let's just consider the both of us lucky that you're free of rabies."
The light from the street outside shone in through the rain. Torrents of scattered light brushed along the edges of the dark living room.
Sherlock went straight to the kitchen and fiddled around with the chemicals on the table. John followed at his heels slowly, body and head still low in submission. He stood with his body curled around the chair Sherlock sat in.
John couldn't believe what he'd just done. He attacked his alpha and injured him. He'd probably be pushed out of their territory now. Chased out and never be allowed to return. He'd have to wander, alone in the rain, for a new home. But who would take in a packmate prone to aggression in his sleep?
It was the nightmare that caused all this. The one that came to him some nights and had him twitching in his sleep. The one filled with loud noises and human screams. Of nights always on alert and days filled with the scent of blood. Of snakes rattling and jackals cackling at him from the bushes.
BOOM.
John flinched at the thunder. He stood stock still. He forced himself not to run and crawl under Alpha's bed like a newborn pup. It was only thunder. He shouldn't be afraid of thunder. He never had been before he went to the desert. Why now? Why when his shoulder was getting better? When he was finally comfortable this new place with his new pack?
John whined. He didn't want to leave.
Hands were suddenly around his middle and John felt his paws leave the floor. Alpha Sherlock picked him up with some effort, "You're afraid of the thunder. That's what set off the nightmare. Loud noises, ones similar to gunshots and explosives."
Alpha brought John back into his room and set John gently on the bed.
"You're not there anymore. You're safe, so sleep."
John sat on the bed and watched Sherlock slip in under the covers to fall asleep. He heard far-off rumblings from the sky, and laid down along Sherlock side.
John turned his head and licked at Sherlock's bandaged hand in apology before setting his muzzle on top of the detective's stomach.
After a few minutes, Sherlock's hand brushed along John's silky fur, "Don't be an idiot, John. I told you before, you're not allowed to leave…Although I said it when you were sleeping. Nevertheless, stop thinking and go to sleep. Or I'll inject you with a tranquilizer I borrowed from Molly."
John looked at him and let out a halfhearted growl to reprimand him.
He could almost feel his alpha roll his eyes, "Shut up before I change my mind about letting you up on the bed."
John couldn't help but wag his tail in amusement. Alpha was right, he was being an idiot. The mutt closed his eyes, and there were no more nightmares that night.