CHAPTER 23. THE THINGS THAT HAUNT US
The first night Sherlock had John sleep over provided the younger boy with an surmountable amount of data that he would otherwise never have discovered about his friend. The first was John was uneasy about sleeping in unfamiliar places. He didn't say it but his body language spoke volumes. This idea intrigued the younger Holmes, the thought of new places always excited him although he never wanted to sleep anytime or anywhere especially in a new place so many things to inspect or research, and adventures to concoct.
"You can sleep in the guest room down the hall or here on the floor of my room. The maid has already cleaned, moving all my experiments, now I'll have to start over. It's so frustrating, why cant she just clean around them?"
"Because Sherlock she probably cant tell which are experiments and what's really an old sandwich left on a plate under your bed forgotten for days."
"It wasn't a sandwich John-"
"Either way, which do you prefer?"
"What?"
"Do you want me to sleep in the guest room, or I could put my sleeping bag on the floor?" Sherlock caught the hopefulness in John's voice but had no idea which option the blond boy wished for Sherlock to pick.
" I don't know how these things work or what socially acceptable customs apply. "
"Sherlock it's not so hard a decision, besides haven't you had a sleep over before?" John rolled his eyes.
" Certainly not. I have yet to willingly allow anyone, into my room. Anyway people are idiots John." His friends sudden look of exasperation made Sherlock shake his head "Oh, don't feel bad all people are. You're just not as stupid as most. Nowhere near my own intellect you understand, but at least a step up from the rest of the imbeciles that surround us. In short John you are the only friend I have, therefore it is easy to deduce you would be the only one to spend the night. "
"I see. Well." John shrugged. "I have been to a few sleepovers in my day, and it seems it's up to you."
The young Sherlock pressed his lips together and crinkled his forehead, an expression signifying deep thought " Would you be nagging at me to go to sleep?"
"No. In fact it is the expressed duty of the guest to try and stay awake as long as possible. And customary to have late night snacks, watch ridiculous action movies, comb over comic books and end the night with scary stories or pirate stories whichever you prefer."
"So in short you are here to entertain me?" John rolled his eyes once more but nodded.
"Well-it's supposed to be a mutual thing."
"And, will you be reading from that book." Sherlock pointed to John's overnight bag. One that Mycroft had surprisingly turned up with, John hadnt asked how the older Holmes had retrieved it, no doubt thinking that Harry must have packed up a few things.
"Yes?"
"Fine. You have permission to put your sleeping bag anywhere."
The younger dark haired boy, had turned to ask his friend another question about the rules and edict dictating such social occasions. He forgot whatever questions he was about to ask when John started to pull off his brown hoodie. John's white t-shirt came up a bit to expose the young boys badly bruised back. Sherlock flinched unexpectedly, it wasn't hard to deduce what would make those kinds of marks. John unaware of his audience neatly folded the hoodie, and he laid out his sleeping bag next to Sherlocks bed.
"This is ok right? Or should I move it to the foot of your bed? I didn't want to be in the way of you getting into your trunk of experiments. Not to mention the thought of sleeping near it did give me the creeps, knowing what you keep in there." John was frowning "Sherlock? You alright, that's the face you gave when poor Rita accidentally stepped on-or rather in one of your experiments."
"What?" Sherlock being so young didn't know why he felt a knot in his stomach form, now that the bruises fading from his friends arms were even more visible without the long sleeves to cover them. John put his hands behind his back realizing the intense scrutiny his younger friend had him under. Those gray eyes darting from John's left arm to his right then to his face.
"John?"
"Sherlock?"
"You said you fell?" John's shoulders tensed.
"Yeah. I'm not exactly the picture of grace like a certain person I know. I think you are descended from cats, I bet you'd land on your feet if you jumped off the roof." He quickly added "Now don't get any ideas. It was only a joke."
"John that is impossible. And a feline doesn't-" Sherlock realized his friend had changed the subject. This confused him more, why wouldn't he just answer the question? Why was he looking uncomfortable?
"Anyway John, right there is fine."
Having another person present while trying to explain an experiment was not at all as distracting as Sherlock first anticipated. Instead John played the perfect audience, he expressed slight interest, complemented Sherlock on his deductive reasoning and at Sherlock's request John started to read from Treasure Island. Sherlock was busy testing the durability of one of Mycroft's ties. So intent on the ties destruction, all in the name of science of course, he forgot John had stopped answering him, or even talking. Sherlock sighed having nothing left but to see how fire retardant Mycroft's hideous yellow and orange tie was. Unfortunately he knew how John felt about playing with fire especially inside the house. So he would wait. Moving over to his bed he carefully stepped over John.
Sherlock paused he pulled Treasure Island out of John's grasp careful not to wake him. When he reached to lift Johns hand from the book, he winced seeing the bruises around his friends wrist. Sherlock tilted his head studying John's face. His friend was sleeping on his stomach, on top of his forest green sleeping bag, and utterly unconscious. Sherlock envied this, he found sleep dull true, but he often wondered how it felt to sleep longer than four hours and so soundly.
"Goodnight John." He murmured switching the lamp off, sighing heavily, his mind was rushing around in all directions, he couldn't read or look at the pictures of Treasure Island, all hopes of this distraction was gone and his mind refused to focus on anything but John. His fingers drummed absentmindedly on the old hard back book still in his hands.
Who had done that to John? And why? The hand prints were too big to be a kid so it wasn't a fight with the local idiots. And John's sister had smaller hands so not his sister; anyway she was always gone according to John. A knot started to form in Sherlock's stomach once more, and it was starting to become annoying.
Had John been bad, misbehaved in some way? But why such a severe punishment, and why did Sherlock feel embarrassed by wanting to ask John about it? Sherlock thought about asking Mycroft, but Mycroft was always to busy and would probably feed him some half-truth. Still Mycroft would know if it was wrong to ask John about this. Mycroft was an annoying older brother, but he fixed things.
Like the time Sherlock lost his favorite scarf, Mycroft had the whole house searched, until it had been found. And when one of his violin strings broke Mycroft was sure he had extra's. He'd shown him how to properly repair it. One time Sherlock had been careless and broke the bridge, his brother fixed that too. Whenever mummy was sad, or father was upset Mycroft fixed it. This was mostly why Sherlock hated his brother, well hate was a powerful world. He resented it because Mycroft didn't know when to stop fixing things.
This was different, this was John. Maybe Mycroft could explain it to him, these feelings. Explain why John lied about being sick, why this was happening. It couldn't be normal, could it. Father often became frustrated but it resulted in sending Sherlock to his room nothing more than that.
John couldn't deserve something like that, everyone was always saying just how polite and well mannered John was. So in conclusion it wasn't John's fault. He looked down on his sleeping friend and wondered if he knew that.
It was well after three am when Sherlock was startled awake, he thought it was one of the house staff coming in to wake him, but a glance at the clock said otherwise. Then he heard it again, he looked over to the floor where John was sleeping, except his breathing was labored and heavy and something else, Sherlock turned the lamp on to get a better look. John was tossing and turning, trying to wake up. Sherlock tried to make out the words his friend was saying, it became apparent that John was having a nightmare. Sherlock wasn't a stranger to the concept, he often enough was terrorized by unspeakable things in his sleep. Like boredom, and never having the right supplies for experiments, the darker ones had monsters with his fathers eyes or ghosts that looked like his mother.
"John?" Sherlock sighed, he wouldn't get any sleep with the whimpering, besides it made him feel helpless hearing John make those noises. "John wake up." Sherlock jumped down from his bed, crouching next to his friend he put his hand on John's chest. "John, wake up." More forceful. "JOHN!" that did it, blue eyes startled confused and terrified met and locked with gray.
"What? Sherlock? You alright? Whats wrong?" John was panting, his words breathless.
"You were having a nightmare?"
"Yeah, hey. Sorry if I woke you." John's voice sounded weak, something Sherlock never associated with his only friend. With trembling hands the blond boy wiped his eyes and ran the back of his forearm across his sweaty forehead.
"It's fine John. You alright?"
"Oh, yeah. It's nothing. Go back to sleep."
Sherlock could only rely on his own experience with nightmares, he recalled climbing into Mycroft's bed and allowing his brothers presence next to him to reassure him as illogical as it sounded, that everything was going to be fine.
"John-"
"Yeah?" Johns voice still had a crack to it.
"I was thinking, well there is more than enough room on my bed, I don't know what the social edict is but it's far more comfortable than the floor, if you wish it. I would allow you to sleep next to me." Sherlock climbed on his bed and put his back to his friend, a heavy silence filled the air now, and John's breathing started to return to normal.
Sherlock thought John was going rebuff him or reply with a polite 'no thanks'
Instead to Sherlock's surprise there was movement and then pressure on the bed, signaling that John accepted his invitation.
"Do you mind if the lamp stays on?" John's voice was small almost a whisper.
Sherlock shrugged. "Doesn't bother me." The younger boy could feel the tension leaving his friend, so he turned to face John, who was laying on his back, eyes staring at the ceiling.
"John, if you were a pirate what would your pirate name be?" a smile started to form, making the bruise around his eye remind Sherlock of a plum left out in the sun to long, "The Doctor."
"Just the Doctor? John that doesn't sound awe inspiring at all."
"Well it works for Doctor Who. Besides you do know you would need a skilled Doctor as part of your crew and an expert swordsmen" Sherlock had to agree with that. "What would yours be?"
"Sigerson the Ghost of the Seven Seas"
"Impressive in deed. I see you have put thought into it."
"John of course. And I would be needing a first mate as well as a doctor" he studied John out of the corner of his eye.
"Of course, someone has to keep you out of trouble."
And Sherlock found himself discussing the finer points of a pirates life, and the things he would change about taking on such a persona. To his surprise some time later John was in a deep sleep, his face no longer pinched, and his breathing easy and steady.
"Goodnight John." Sherlock rolled back to his book and started flipping through the pages. Felling as if he accomplished something just not knowing what.
~0~
Sherlock pulled himself away from the details of that memory, he neatly closed the book of Treasure Island and went to place it on the book shelf. Nothing here was helping, there had to be something. John wasn't a child anymore so he would certainly not wish to sleep in Sherlock's bed, it didn't bother him he hardly used it but for some reason his friend would no doubt find it uncomfortable and awkward. He glanced around again, the walls of the room papered with emails and John's blog entries. Nothing useful to this situation, how frustrating. There was a backpack, red to the left of a rugby uniform. Uni had been the first time Sherlock and John actually lived under the same roof for extended periods of time, certainly there was some stored data there that would be helpful.