A/N: So here's Chapter 4! I'm so awesome. At least, I hope I am. To you people, anyway. And this does not tie in with any episodes from the actual series, because I've only seen, like, three and a half. That may change, though. Here you are, my good people!

John should have been used to the nightmares by now.

He shouldn't have been frightened by them, waking up in a cold sweat, breathing hard, his bed and clothes soaked. He remembered he would wake up and cry because he was so scared and because he was so relieved that it was just a dream.

He didn't have that luxury now. Now, John would wake up from a nightmare and it would be real. It was basically the same each night.

It started with the sound of gunshot. Every time, that's what it started with. John would be running with some other men he knew, and he watched as one by one of them fell. There was only one left. He looked over to see who it was. He was tall, with long, thin arms and legs, and pale skin.

It was Sherlock. The detective turned his head and the gray eyes pierced John like knives. The scenery suddenly changed, and they were running in a dull, muddy place with barbed wire fences and ridiculously thin, dying people. A smokestack omitting thick black smoke caused him to cough, and he was covered in soot that smelled like burning flesh. They were dressed in disgusting black-and-white-striped clothes, John's being far too large for him, and Sherlock's being too small. They turned a corner, and John heard the click and the sound of one gun in particular being fired.

John jumped over and pushed Sherlock out of the way. Sherlock stumbled, let out a surprised huff of air, and he and John both tumbled to the ground.

John had been shot. He could feel it. It hurt. He couldn't put it into words. He had been hit in the back; he could feel the bullet embedded in his spine. He couldn't feel his legs. He couldn't move his legs. Nothing could help him or the pain. He saw Sherlock lying a few feet away. While the bullets kept coming, John army crawled through the mud over to his friend.

That's what could help. Knowing Sherlock was OK. Knowing that he had done something right; that he had saved his friend's life. Only that would ease the pain- if only a bit.

"Sherlock." John's call to his friend was a breath, a murmur, one voice divided into ten. Sherlock's head was turned straight up at the sky. John sat himself up and looked down at his friend. "Oh- oh, no..."

Sherlock's eyes were open, blank, shrouded with a mist that would never leave. He was staring at the sky, though he couldn't see it. Blood covered his head, matting his dark curls. And John was sure Sherlock couldn't hear him, but nothing would stop him.

"Sherlock!" Where was John's voice? It seemed to be gone, yet just a moment ago it had been there. He couldn't hear himself. John was screaming his friend's name. It should be loud enough to carry through their entire flat and farther. But this wasn't their flat. This was a sick dream, and John was filthy and covered in mud, stuck in a concentration camp filled with innocent children, the sick, and the dead.

Sherlock was one of them, now.

"Sherlock!" John screamed silently, apparently gone deaf. He continued to scream. "Sherlock!" He shook the detective, but all he did was stare at the sky with those misty, blank eyes that would never see again-

"Sherlock!" John sat up in bed. It took him a minute or so to realize that it as a dream. None of it was real. He breathed deeply. He needed a glass of water and a change of clothes. John moved to leave his bed, and remembered that not all of it was just part of his dream.

So John Watson could do nothing but lie back down in his bed and sob, breathing in the scent of Sherlock that he loved so much that covered the bedsheets.

It was loud, but he didn't care. John cried, he let tears flow down his cheek. he was crying harder than he had in a long time. Sobbing. Wailing. Like a child who had lost his favorite toy. He was lost in everything that had happened. If he hadn't moved in front of the detective, it would be Sherlock who was paralyzed and in a wheelchair, not John.

It's better this way, John told himself. Lives depend on Sherlock. You're just a doctor. Just an assistant. Just a blogger. If Sherlock couldn't move his legs, it would be horrible. It's better that it's me. Better me than Sherlock.

That didn't make John feel any better. He continued his loud sobbing, not noticing the footsteps creaking almost silently down the stairs and over to the room that was actually Sherlock's. He did notice the door opening and someone walking over to the bed where he was crying. John turned away from the person, not wanting to feel any more ashamed. He couldn't stop crying. He had failed Sherlock. What if his friend was really dead outside of the dream as well? What if he had been dreaming this entire time and he was still in the hospital? What if he hadn't really saved Sherlock?

That only made John's sorrow increase. He continued to sob, continued to let tears flow, continued to embarrass himself. The person slipped into the bed next to John and turned him towards him. The person held John close, allowed John to sob openly into his chest. He ran his thin fingers through the doctor's sandy hair, soothing him greatly.

John fell into a dreamless, peaceful sleep in warm and caring arms.

When John woke up, he was alone. No one was holding him dearly, no one telling him that it was alright. He supposed that it had simply been another delusional dream. John sighed, disappointed, and only brightened when Sherlock came to help him into his wheelchair and made him tea.

John did notice, however, that his door was already open. He distinctly remembered Sherlock closing it after placing him in bed.

A/N: Wow, that was a lot of italics, I'm sorry. I find it necessary to italicize during dreams and thoughts. And don't worry, this story won't be the plot and then John angst every other chapter. At least...I wasn't planning on it being.

Fun Fact: I'm pretty sure that my mom still thinks Morgan Freeman is playing Bilbo Baggins in the new Hobbit movie.