A/N: The chapter title is a snippet of the line "I hear the secrets that you keep when you're talking in your sleep" from "Talking in Your Sleep" by The Romantics.
This chapter is not a song-fic, but anyone who is familiar with "Fantasies Come True" from the musical Avenue Q will notice some familiar lines. I consider it an homage, and I in no way mean any harm by their inclusion, nor do I own any part of the Avenue Q franchise or make any money from its inclusion.
Like Sherlock and his dancing, this song has been following me, I've been living in hope of the right (case) fanfic. It may have taken 11 years, but I finally managed it! But seriously, two roommates where the closeted (yet obviously) gay one is hopelessly in love with his supposedly straight roommate? COME ON!
Nightmares tend to take more out of Sherlock than most everything else in his life, so when he deigns to sleep with John again the next night, the older man is a bit shocked but accepting.
John comes in to Sherlock's room to find the other man already on his side of the bed, the camera set up facing them.
"Back to that again, eh?" John asks conversationally as he lifts the covers and climbs in.
Sherlock looks up from his phone curiously before putting the pieces together, "Oh, that. Yes. Well, the last couple of times it rather slipped my mind."
"Makes sense," John nods in understanding, not wishing to relive their nightmares, much less think about how calming each other's presence was to the other in those times. John has never experienced such a peaceful night sleep after waking from a nightmare as when Sherlock was behind him, subtly comforting him.
If he wants to be honest about it (which he doesn't) he hasn't ever slept as well as when Sherlock is in the bed with him.
He tries not to think about it as he settles on his back, head turned from Sherlock as usual. Sherlock sets his phone down and turns off the bedside lamp before assuming his customary position on his right side so that he can face John. John falls asleep within moments, but even with as tired as Sherlock is, he doesn't fall asleep until John has unconsciously rolled on to his left side and allows Sherlock's hand to grasp his.
The next day, as Sherlock reviews the footage, he's a bit surprised by what he finds. Physically they stayed close, even doing what most would classify as "cuddling", but it's the talking that catches him off guard. John had of course mentioned that he talks in his sleep at times, but Sherlock was unaware that he did it, as well.
In fact, in the few instances through the night where they spoke, Sherlock was the one to initiate the conversations. They weren't long or overly intelligent conversations, but a distinct back and forth in their sleep.
Sherlock first asked, "Is that a unicorn?" to which John responded, "Watch out for Voldemort, he needs the blood."
Awhile later, Sherlock made a statement, "No, I'll wear the purple shoes," to which John agreed, "They look better with the shirt."
Next came Sherlock's inquiry of, "Who painted the kitten?" to which John replied with such conviction, "The dog walker. Had to be."
Then the coup de gras: Sherlock admitting, "I love you, John," while pulling him closer, watching John smile slightly before returning, "I love your little laugh."
Sherlock buries his face in his hands, unaware how to cope with the information in front of him. He needs to research.
A quick internet search gives him mixed reviews on the honesty of sleep talking. Some articles claim that the coherent statements are true while the incoherent ramblings probably mean nothing. However, some scientists claim that there is no sound basis for declaring one way or the other, but that it's best not to place too much stock in the words being true.
But, Sherlock reasons, if he can work the experiment like a lie-detector test by asking easily corroborated questions, he should be able to tell that way. He spends the rest of the day coming up with a plan, as well as a list of questions for the night.
When Sherlock informs John that he should join him again, John becomes suspicious.
"You're going to sleep four nights in a row?" He asks with a skeptical eyebrow raised, as this would be an unprecedented event.
Sherlock shrugs nonchalantly, "Nightmare must have taken more out of me than I originally figured," he lies, hoping that John's empathy will drop the conversation now that the nightmares have been brought up again. John notoriously avoids the subject, possibly worried that it will cause one to occur.
He still looks uncertain about whether he should believe Sherlock or not, but he agrees hesitantly anyway, "Alright then."
John walks in to the same situation as before: Sherlock in the bed on his phone, the camera set up near the foot of the bed. He sighs warily as he lies down. Sherlock turns off the light and settles, everything feeling very similar to the night before.
John opens his mouth to inquire, one last time, about the legitimacy of Sherlock's exhaustion, but Sherlock beats him to it with a yawn and a quiet, "Goodnight, John," before closing his eyes and feigning sleep.
John merely sighs quietly, an uneasy feeling in his gut, and echoes the sentiment back.
Once Sherlock feels John settle in to sleep, he opens his eyes to merely watch him. When John turns on to his left side and Sherlock has assessed that John has most likely safely entered a REM cycle, he begins his questions.
"What is your name?" Sherlock asks quietly, having tried to match the volume from the video footage from last night.
"John."
"What is your middle name?"
"Hamish."
"What is your sister's name?"
"Harry."
"What is your birthday?"
"April 1st."
Sherlock's brow furrows, "March 31st," he corrects.
"No, Sherlock never remembers when it is, either. He thinks it's one day earlier than it really is."
"Why don't you ever correct him?" Sherlock asks, consciously using the same terminology as John.
"Because I sort of like the idea of us celebrating it on our own day; to hear it from him before anyone else."
Sherlock is speechless at the admission, how tender it sounds coming from his sleepy mouth. The other answers were all honest, so it's reasonable to assume that this is, too. Simply because it's hard to believe doesn't make it all that less likely, does it?
Sherlock clears his throat lightly before following John's answers to a new question: "Who are you speaking to right now?"
"A stranger with a blindfold."
"Where are you?"
"A park."
"Do you trust this stranger?"
"Yes. I don't know why, but I know I can."
"Are you married?" He decides to return to his list of questions. They're designed specifically to test the validity of things said while asleep, not for any personal gain.
"Divorced. Now I consider myself married to my work."
Sherlock is taken aback by hearing his own words from so long ago parroted back at him, "Sherlock said that."
"I guess it's a sentiment we both share now."
"John, what do you do for a living?"
"I work with Sherlock Holmes. He solves these amazing cases and I try to relay on my blog how he does it. I don't think I do him justice, but people seem impressed anyway."
"Is that all?"
"I'm also a doctor at a surgery. I miss working with trauma patients, but my work with Sherlock helps with that."
"In one word, what is your work?" He asks with his heart racing, needing the clarity.
"Sherlock."
Sherlock freezes, unable to believe that he's understood this part correctly, even with the honesty of every other answer.
"Are you still there?" John asks.
"Yes, I'm here."
"Why did you stop talking?"
"Couldn't think of what to say," he answers honestly.
"What do you want to say?"
Sherlock hesitates, even with the prompting, "Do you love him?" he asks quietly before clarifying, "Sherlock, I mean."
"Yes."
His heart literally stutters in his chest and he feels a bit feint, "Why haven't you told him?" he asks with his eyes closed.
"And scare him off?" he scoffs, "No, thank you."
Sherlock's eyes open again, "Why would that scare him off? You don't think he loves you in return?"
John sighs, "Sometimes I think he might, but then I remember that he doesn't feel things that way and tell myself I imagined whatever it was."
Sherlock softly places his left hand on John's cheek, barely caressing, "You're wrong."
His brow furrows, "Which part?"
"He loves you, too," he admits on the barest of breaths before becoming emboldened, "I love you."
John wakes suddenly at the admission, groggy enough at first for Sherlock to remove his hand from his cheek in alarm, but not quickly enough for him to feign sleep.
"Sherlock?" John looks confused, hearing the traces of 'I love you' in what feels like a memory instead of a dream.
"Alright, John?" Sherlock feigns calm while in his chest his heart is racing. John is too tired to completely comprehend the fear in Sherlock's eyes, "You were talking in your sleep."
"I thought you were talking in your sleep," he counters in confusion, not entirely sure that's true. But those words…
"No, I haven't been to sleep yet," he assures him, then at John's continued look of confusion he takes a calculated risk, "Sounded like a nice dream, though."
John's eyes land on Sherlock's lips for a moment before he looks back up, "Yes. It was a nice dream."
Sherlock smiles slightly at this, reassured, "Goodnight, John."
"Goodnight, Sherlock."
John falls back to sleep quickly, but even if Sherlock thought he could follow suit at one point, he knows there isn't any hope after what just happened. He doesn't ask any more questions aloud, but spends the rest of the night deciding which answers he can trust and how that makes him feel.