John floated around 221B, having nearly flung a fresh jug of water in to Isobel. She was wordless while he fetched his pyjamas a while later, afraid he might erupt at the slightest muttering. However, he had calmed somewhat by then, something Isobel was thankful for. That of course didn't mean he wasn't still angry with her, only that he had a decidedly better attitude towards her. That must be Sherlock's doing, she reasoned. He wasn't so pissed off either... Maybe that's the effect they have on each other.

John shut the door behind him with determination and strode into the main area. Where was he to sleep now? The couch looked utterly unwelcoming, as the past two days were catching up with him and causing aches in the most irritating places. Leg, back, neck, left wrist, all hurt. He considered a pillow mound on the floor.

Em, no. I haven't hoovered in a week. Another task, bloody hell.

He sighed and twisted around to view the apartment fully, considering his options.

Sherlock fell through the door at 4 o'clock in the morning. The thump wasn't all that loud, but his string of profanities would have made Mrs Hudson faint had she not taken to wearing earplugs at night.

Sherlock certainly wasn't one for using foul language, but he had had a frankly awful night. The worst of it hadn't been getting his lower half plastered with human excrement, but it had certainly worsened the experience. And now he was face down on the carpet, exhausted, irritable, in need of a shower and covered in somebody else's shit.

He was entitled to a bit of cursing, yeah.

Eventually, after wallowing in self-pity for a bit, he lugged himself upstairs on all fours. It was slow and squelchy work, but he eventually got in and started peeling out of his wet clothes. The shower beckoned welcomingly.

He basked in its warmth for almost half an hour. Most of that time was spent standing motionless in the stream, breathing in vapor and begging his mind to shut up with pointless thoughts. Like that would ever happen. After such an adrenaline rush not an hour ago, his mind simply would not quieten down. Images of blood, the smell of rotting flesh, the splash of squalling rain and the tease of "I'm going to find him. He'll never know how you died. Poor, sweet John. How he'll scream."

But it was over. It was done. Everything was... Fine.

He stepped out before his mind completely ran away with itself. He wrapped a towel around his waist and trudged, still dripping wet, into his bedroom.

It took him no less than two seconds to realize that something wasn't right. The room was warmer than usual. The curtains shut. The plug beside the chest of drawers was buzzing slightly, with a phone charger plugged in. And ah yes of course, there was John asleep in his bed.

How dare he invade my covers! What on Earth is the meaning of this?!

Only then did the detective remember that John's own room was occupied. He found himself shuffling on the spot for a moment, ashamed at the blip in his logic. Shock. Shock had caused the blip. John was asleep in his bed. Sherlock was wearing nothing but a towel. In the depths of Sherlock's humanity, he knew that something... Primitive could have sprung to mind. It almost had, and he knew something was itching to come to the fore, and even without being sure exactly why he should feel uncomfortable, he was terrified. There was something there and he simply could not crack it.

In a desperate attempt at ignoring himself, Sherlock quietly picked up his pyjamas from the floor by the other side of the bed. He was about to sneak out after pulling on his trousers when John murmured something into Sherlock's pillow. The detective froze. John shuddered slightly.

Overcome with curiosity, Sherlock leaned over his friend just the tiniest bit. He noticed the doctor's left hand, palm facing the ceiling, starting to shake. He whimpered pathetically, and soon enough he was turning in the bed covers, beads of sweat trailing down his neck.

Sherlock made to wake him up but found there was no need.

"SHERLOCK!"

John shot up bolt upright, eyes full of terror and breath evasive. The younger man backed away quickly, just so far as not to scare his blogger further.

"John?"

His face fell into his hands and his chest heaved. He said nothing, but tilted his gaze out through his fingers to look at his flatmate after a while. Sherlock slowly sat down beside him, pooling the covers back around his friend in as much a comforting gesture as he could handle.

"It's alright John. There's no need to worry, I'm right here."

"Jesus Christ..." John exhaled deeply, fighting to maintain his composure. "Jesus, Sherlock, I- Don't ever..."

Sherlock extended his hand as proof.

"I'm here now. The dream is done. We're all real here."

John timidly entwined his fingers with those outstretched, and brought his forehead to meet them with a sigh. He sat panting quietly, relishing Sherlock's presence and the fact that he was alive, warm, breathing, there.

"How long has this been going on, John?" Sherlock asked carefully. He wasn't really sure he wanted to know. How oblivious had he been to all this?

"Two years. Maybe more."

"After I left then."

"... Yes."

Sherlock wriggled his fingers out of John's grip and bowed his head, turning away from the questioning hand on his shoulder.

"This is my fault."

John dropped his hand in disappointment. No matter how awful his nightmares were, he would never want to shift the blame on somebody else, least not Sherlock. John had decided long ago that Cold Emotionless Sherlock was less worrying than Ashamed Self-Loathing Sherlock.

"Tell me a story. Come on." He nudged his friend's leg. "Tell me about this case of yours. I want to know."

The detective frowned at the floor.

"Please, Sherlock."

OH GOD I'M SO SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG

But here I am. I'm alive, hi. I mentioned before about exams, right? Well, exams. I had a German oral last Wednesday and I have my Irish one this Thursday. Then in about a week and a half from today I have a portfolio assessment and an interview for college.

Yaaaay.

So I dunno when the next chapter will be up, and seeing as it is gonna be the BIGGEST pain in my hole to write, it'll probably take quite a while. So please have patience with it. In the mean time, I put up the first part of a short story I wrote in my English mock exam (yeah I'm a bad ass bitch who does shit like that and gets away with it) and I've edited it for Johnlock fans to read. I'm thinking of lengthening it because as somebody pointed out kindly, the idea was pretty awesome. It's called "Forgotten the Real Thing." Please have a read and give us a review there!

Thank you and goodnight.