"This is the best ravioli I've ever had!" John said, grinning wide as he looked across the table to Sherlock.

Sherlock just smiled and drank a strange purple drink that fizzed over the sides of his wineglass. They were floating along quite happily, a few inches off a lovely summer meadow. Somewhere, there were bagpipes playing. If one strained ones ears, it could just be made out on the wind.

"This is a lovely date, John." Sherlock said, his voice strangely echoing as the table before them disappeared.

They were dancing now, the tips of the meadow heather brushing their bare toes and John was laughing loudly. Then the twirling stopped and Sherlock was kissing him.

John woke with a little start, grunting a bit as he turned over. Outside, the bin men went rattling down the street, probably to make more people curse them for the noise and the annoying whistle of the over cheerful guy who drove the noisy contraption.

-o0o-

Sherlock shifted in his sleep, managing to stay asleep even through the racket. He rolled over and sunk into his dream, humming to himself as he pulled the duvet tight to his chest, the corner of it tucked under his chin. He kept moving restlessly, having quite the strange dream.

Running, running, so much running. John's hand in his, clammy with sweat and slipping every so often until Sherlock griped it tighter. He didn't know what he was running from, but it put the fear of God into both of them.

Sherlock screamed as John's hand slipped out of his and the doctor fell with a yell. The thing chasing them had him now and John was screaming for Sherlock. Sherlock raced back and out of nowhere he was beating the formless shape over the head with his violin until it hung in tatters in his hand.

Falling to John's side, Sherlock scooped the bloody man up and held him tight in his arms. John was pale and bloody, Sherlock was nearly crying.

"This is just a magic trick…" John whispered, fading fast.

"No, no! You can't leave me again!" Sherlock was screaming, but he couldn't hear himself.

John was pulling on Sherlock, dragging him down into a deep black pit. Their bodies were pressed together, they were kissing and-

Sherlock woke in a cold sweat and sat bolt upright, panting hard as he clutched the duvet to his chest. He trembled for a few moments and gave a low groan of discontent as he flopped back to the bed, his brain already coming to life, the dream already fading away until all he could remember was his lips on John's and the black maw swallowing them up.

John was grumpy this morning, very grumpy. He was on his second cup of tea of the day, sipping it and looking like he'd like to murder the bin men if he could find a way of hiding it from Sherlock.

Sherlock himself was rather quiet, the fear from the dream still present as he sat down on the sofa with a cup of coffee, running both hands through his curls and hugging his head.

"Rough night?" John asked, his voice gravely.

"You could say that. Bin men wake you?" Sherlock's muffled voice replied.

"Do you even need to ask?"

There was an awkwardness between them that neither of them could quite put their finger on, each of them pondering the fact that they had kissed in their dreams. They knew why they were awkward, but what on earth did the other have to be awkward about? They were sure on one thing. They were both too embarrassed to talk about it.