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John POV

Few hours later we were already on the back seat of the cab back to London, knowing we have at least two hours drive. Finally, back to Baker Street.

This day could not have been more exhausting. I was tired and hungry, and Sherlock, as usual, wasn't.

How is that possible?

After finding Janine he was oddly quiet, just sat next to her and held her hand until the ambulance arrived.

He answered all Lestrade's questions with integrity and didn't mock him or insult him even once.

He didn't deduce anyone, didn't annoy any one. He seemed to be just swamped in his train of thought.

Even when it was just the two of us in the cab, for almost an hour, all he did was stare out at the rushing streets of London. The city full of life.

Only god knows what might have been going on in his brilliant brain; What thoughts might cross it, what revelation he might discover. I wanted him to say something, just so I could know that he was alright. Because trust me, he didn't look alright at all.

I had to break this heavy silence.

"Where are we going?" Sherlock moved his gaze from the window yet didn't respond to my question. "Sherlock, are you alright? Where are we going?" His gray-blue eyes were fixed on mine, like he was trying to tell me something without using words. Like if actual speaking would drain him of his remaining energy.

"Have you read the letter?" He inquired.

"What letter?" I looked at him, confused.

"The letter I told you not to read. Have you read it?"

"Of course not," I assured him; he had told me not to. He looked at me, smiling gratefully, swiping his gaze back to the window.

My curiosity about the letter only Increased. He really shouldn't have said anything.

"Bart's. And then home, you look like you need to get some sleep."

"What are we looking for at Bart's?" I hated this place. Sometimes even more than Afghanistan.

"Molly" he mumbled and didn't elaborate farther. Of course, Sherlock thinks she might be next on Moriarty's list.

"Don't you think he knows you would try to warn her? Or anyone else, for that matter?" I noticed his eyes were once again, fixed on me. He barely even blanked. His gaze made me feel exposed and uncomfortable, not that it even matters, he already knows everything about me.

Well, maybe not everything. I really hope not everything.

"I know he does. That doesn't mean I will just give up. Molly has the right to know, she saved my life last time, so probably Moriarty is going to be extremely cruel to her. I'm not going to let that happen. She doesn't deserve it." He sounded so sad and guilty. I almost started to pity him but I knew this would only insult him and make him feel worse.

Control yourself John Watson. Sherlock will be fine. He has you and you are not going to let anyone hurt him. Right? Right.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I could swear it had only been a minute since I closed my eyes, but when Sherlock nudged me, it was already almost an hour later, and we were outside of St. Bart's hospital.

"You can stay in the cab if you would like, I'll only be a few minutes."

I shrugged as I opened the cab door, "No that's fine, let's go."

We got out of the cab and entered the hospital. I had been here only once since Sherlock's alleged death, when Sherlock was high. I'm still angry with him about that by the way.

After Sherlock's false suicide, I wasn't planning to ever go back there, but I couldn't leave Sherlock now, it had been a long day, and this place only reminded me that I was about to lose him again today. I knew I would probably feel better if I stayed with him.

We walked through the door to the familiar morgue and saw Molly completely concentrated on the dead body in front of her, she didn't even recognize we were in the room. I cleared my throat and smiled when she jumped a little in surprise.

"Oh thank god!" she ran into Sherlock's arms and hugged him tightly. "Why are you not answering my texts?! I was so worried! I can't believe he is back" she cried quietly and didn't let go of Sherlock, who kissed her forehead lightly and mumbled something I couldn't hear.

She took a step back from Sherlock and wiped the tears, which almost made their way to her cheeks. She took a deep breath, "I know, I'm not stupid Sherlock. I know what to do."

"I never said you are. No more than anyone else, at least," he smiled bitterly. "I just hoped you didn't forget our plan."

She rolled her eyes at him and sighed "Like I could ever forget it, but don't worry, I'm ready" She was staring at me now; as if she just noticed I was here. Her expression changed and she seemed worried. Sherlock looked at her and asked me to wait outside for a minute. I didn't like it. I didn't like it a bit. Why does she always know everything? Furthermore, why does Sherlock let her help him, when he's keeping me away? That was not fair.

A few seconds later, he was out of the morgue, and we left the building in silence.

"What are you hiding from me?" I murmured, barely even trying to hide the hurt in my voice; Sherlock would know anyways. The whole thing was just too frustrating.

"Nothing. I just needed to talk to her alone."

"Yes, but you talked about me. I'm not thick you know, I saw how both of you looked at me, like I'm just going to drop dead any minute now."

He rolled his eyes but didn't even look at me, and it didn't seem like he was ever going to answer me. I sighed my frustration.

"I know it's dangerous. I know it's possible that Moriarty will try to kill me. I know all of that. But seriously, as long as I choose to be here with you, I need more details. You can't just not tell me stuff and expect me to go blindly to my death. Especially when you have no problem telling Molly everything."

"Oh for god's sake, John! Can't you see what's going on?! I don't want you to die! I won't let anyone kill you! You should have got on that bloody plane with your bloody wife to bloody Paris!" He sighed heavily, and it seemed like he was trying very hard to control himself. Once he regained his composure he whispered, "I wouldn't be able to handle it if I were the cause of your death."

Why does he always have to make everything so hard and be such a drama queen? There was no other place I'd rather be. Why can't he understand that? I won't let anyone hurt him. And there's more chance for us to get through it all alive if we can actually defend each other, rather than leaving him to deal with this awful situation on his own.

He felt guilty, and he shouldn't. I want to be here, with him. This was my decision, and I stand by it firmly.

"Sherlock, I won't die if we work together. Even if I do - which I'm far too proud to consider - it would not be your fault. I'll be fine, we'll be fine. We can do this." We stood there for a few minutes. I just waited for him to say something, anything, for god sake. He didn't say a word, and I was far too exhausted to keep waiting for very long for his response. I was just hoping he would look at me again.

"Sherlock, please look at me, let's go home." he nodded and we walked in silence toward Baker Street. Every now and then trying to stop a taxi, but without any luck.

When we got to the flat there was no reminder to what was there this morning except for the little radio in the middle of the living room.

I sat on the couch, exhausted. Hungry, but with no desire to start cooking.

"Tea?" Sherlock offered as he handed me a cup. I took a mouthful of the English herbal tea, relaxing immediately.

Sherlock really should make tea more often.

...

"SHERLOCK" I jumped out of my seat, my forehead covered with drops of sweat. My pulse was quickening and I could barely breathe. The same nightmare every night. It never changes, not even now that I know the truth.

Every night when I close my eyes, I see my best friend jumping off Bart's hospital roof. I see his head smashed on the sidewalk and there is blood everywhere. His blood. Sherlock's blood.

The tears poured down on my cheeks yet again. I had long since lost count of how many nights I had been haunted by this nightmare.

2 years, and then months more of fear, of missing Sherlock, and now, a fear of losing him again. Every night I am reliving the most horrible day of my life.

Breathe. Just breathe; you already know how to deal with it.

I opened my eyes to see Sherlock staring at me. Pale and out of breath.

"Are you alright?" He seemed worried, as if I just said something horrifying. "You screamed my name before you woke up" he murmured, with an apologizing gaze.

Oh. Now that is just great.

"And you... Humm... Cried" he whispered.

I took a deep breath. Now that was irritating. I managed to avoid this for the 6 months that I stayed the night frequently (because the whole 'my wife tried to kill my best friend' scenario), and now is certainly not a good time to start talking about my nightmares.

"Well, you know Sherlock, ordinary people have nightmares sometimes."

"Right, but why was I part of yours?"

Did he really want me to say that every night when I close my eyes, I see his head smashed on the ground?

Maybe I could just ignore him, and he would forget it, or at least leave it for now.

I stood up from the couch and started walking toward the kitchen. I really needed some coffee. Sherlock grabbed my hand and pulled me to him. His pupils were dilated and his pulse raising.

"Why. Was. I. In. Your. Nightmare. John?" Every word was like a knife, increasing the tension between us. I could feel his warm breath on my face.

"Let go of me," I struggled and he just tightened his grip. "Why does it matter Sherlock? It's only a dream." He raised an eyebrow and clenched his teeth.

"Maybe, but it is not the first time. You are used to that dream. When you first had nightmares when we lived together regularly, you always seemed terrified. When they became regular, you were more relaxed. Now you seemed very relaxed, which means that it has been going on for a while now. What is going on John?" His breath was shallow and his eyes fixed on mine. There were a few seconds of silence, of just staring each other in the eyes. After a few moments, my gaze was fixed on Sherlock's amazingly beautiful lips.

My face burned with that realization.

Sherlock noticed. Of course he noticed. He is Sherlock bloody Holmes. Yet he was still holding me, his pulse was strangely high and his pupils extremely dilated.

"What do you think is going on?" I finally was able to say, before I did something I might regret.

Sherlock sighed and loosed his grip,

"Just stop. Don't have nightmares about me. It really isn't worth it."

He wasn't holding me anymore yet I stayed close to him, feeling the warmth that radiated from Sherlock's body. The urge to touch him was almost too strong to handle.

"You need to sleep well before the next riddle. And eat something, your stomach would wake up Mrs. Hudson. And make some for me too" I nodded at him and smiled with relief, thanking him without words for changing the subject.

He smiled a smile that felt like home. The only thing that made me feel safe, like I'm where I was supposed to be. Even though being with Sherlock was dangerous and it was completely reckless of me to stay, considering I already have a wife and a baby on the way, I couldn't possibly have felt happier and safer.

I walked towards the kitchen and made us some pasta with tomato sauce, nothing too difficult, so I could just go back to sleep (hopefully without nightmares).

I went back to the couch and closed my eyes, trying to fall asleep again without thinking too much about kissing Holmes. I'm not gay.

When I woke up again, Sherlock sat next to me, probably also sleeping lightly, and there was music playing from the little radio in the middle of the room.

Beethoven. Moonlight.

I sighed heavily and tried to wake Sherlock gently.

Here comes another riddle.


Thanks again for reading!
moonlight by Beethoven- watch?v=4Tr0otuiQuU