"Greg?"

"Yes, it's me."

John was confused, for starters, he was half-awake and could barely see straight, as that five minutes of slumber that he got was enough to send him in a deep sleep for a few hours, until Greg called, that is.

"Why are you calling?"

"Because I need to talk to you and Sherlock, well more so you."

John gave something between a moan and a yawn when he heard that he was being summoned to Scotland Yard with the current drowsy state he found himself in. Lestrade was silent, but John knew that was because he was trying to figure out what was wrong with the doctor. He finally heard the DI speak up and ask, "You alright?"

John shook his head, but then remembered that he was on the phone with him and they were not speaking face-to-face.

"Yes, yeah, you just caught me in the middle of a kip, is all."

"Sorry about that."

John inhaled and then ran a hand through his hair that he noticed was going to need to be done sooner or later, he probably looked like a shaggy mess.

"No, it's fine. I'll pass out from exhaustion some way or another."

That caught a chuckle from the person on the other line.

"Yes, you should be so lucky."

John found himself smiling but then returned back to the original reason why Lestrade called in the first place.

"So, what do you need?"

"I heard that you took Sherlock to Barts to help him get his memory back, or some parts of it. And I was thinking, maybe if you bring him down here, to the crime scene, maybe that will help jog his mind, or something along that line."

John's hand that rested on the sleeping man's back slowly started moving up and down on it. He could feel the soft snoring that came from Sherlock on his side. He looked down and saw that Sherlock was fast asleep from a mix of the medicine and just his overall mental and probably physical exhaustion. He was clutching to John's shirt like he would be swept away at any given moment. His face was peaceful, but if John knew what was going to happen next, he would probably have to wake him up and help him deal with his nightmare that was his memories. Snapping back to the man on the phone, John answered, "Thank you for the offer, Lestrade but I think I'll have to get back to you on that. Sherlock's not feeling too well at the moment."

"What's wrong?"

He could hear the concern in his voice. It was understandable, Greg knew Sherlock longer than John and he cared about him as well.

"I took him to Barts, like you said, and everything was going so well, until Molly said something, and it must have triggered something because he got this very strong migraine and was almost to the point of tears in my arms. He was saying that he looked sad, but I'm not sure what that means because he wasn't speaking in full sentences. I had to have Molly call a taxi and take him back home. He threw up a few times until I gave him tablets to ease his pain and he fell asleep soon after."

There was a brief silence between the two, even Sherlock's snoring seemed to halt at that exact moment. John's hand slid to the dark mass that is Sherlock's hair and started to massage the aching head. It seemed like an eternity before either of them picked up the conversation again.

"I feel sorry for him, John, I really do. He's a right git sometimes and he was too smart for his own good at other moments, but he doesn't deserve this."

"Does anybody?"

He heard the hoarse huff through the receiver.

"Well, whenever he feels up to it, give me a ring."

Before he could hang up, John said, "Wait, Greg. What is this case about? I've seen it all over the telly, Sherlock did too, that's why he wanted to see you initially. I said no because I didn't think he was ready for all of that, and from I saw today, I'm not sure if he can do this."

"It's a murder case, well, murders. We got a serial killer, calls himself 'Smiley' sick bloke, likes to carve smiles into his victims' face after he engraves his name into their skin."

"That sounds serious. How long has this been going on?"

"Well, it started with kidnappings here and there, after the whole...incident with Sherlock and Moriarty...and then the bodies started showing up."

Did John just hear him right? Somebody started serial killing after the whole scene at Barts, before Sherlock...It's still hard. It's hard to even think about it, talk about it, picture, even. Sherlock wasn't dead and God was John thankful for that. He could barely handle standing at the newly planted headstone, with his friend's name on it. He had so much to say, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, because Sherlock Holmes will never die. His body could be getting hollowed out by maggots, but John knew better. Sherlock would always be there with John whether in spirit or in person, he would still be dancing with his violin in his flat, he would still be pestering Mrs. Hudson to bake her chocolate chip cookies, he would still find a way to be around. It will always be Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

"Do you think it's safe enough for Sherlock to be running around London while a serial killer's haunting the streets?"

"To tell you the truth, no, I don't think so. It's not safe at all. But when did Sherlock ever do 'safe'?"

John had a hard time coming up with a counter-argument.

"Sherlock spent most of his time on crime scenes, this can help him more than Barts could."

"Yes but his headaches..."

"I understand that John, but we have to try something, or else he will just keep suffering and not even know why."

He did have a point.

"Besides, I know that you'll make sure no harm comes to him, John."

"You're absolutely right. Nobody is going to lay a finger on him, not while I'm with him, or ever."

"Right, that's what I thought. See you later."

John hung up and then placed the phone on the nightstand next to his side of the bed and then pulled Sherlock closer to him. He wouldn't normally do this but Sherlock was so desperate and panicking and in so much pain that he couldn't deny him. This can also pass as an excuse to cuddle with him, because normally, Sherlock wouldn't anybody, save for Mrs. Hudson, who was the only one that he allowed to get close enough to him on a regular basis. John always related Sherlock to those Youtube videos of the incredibly hostile and grouchy cats that would swat and hiss at whoever was attempting to touch them. Well, he wasn't a cat, but he could very well pass as one, he curls up into a ball, he grooms like one, he hissed at John once, and he could have sworn that he heard Sherlock growl while watching telly with John. Sherlock's hair was now tickling John's nose and his hand moved to John's chest, right on top of his heart. John found himself perfectly comfortable and was attempting sleep for the second time when Sherlock's nails dug into his chest, making him yelp out of pain.

"Sherlock..."

The detective's face was scrunched up as he dreamt about the nightmare. His head was shaking back and forth and he was murmuring but John couldn't hear at first. Then he started to speak louder.

"No, no don't..."

John wanted to wake him, but Sherlock was squeezing the life out of him and he couldn't pry him off.

"Sherl..."

"STOP! NO! JOHN!"

John did his best to try and comfort Sherlock as the other started flailing about, like he was falling. John held onto the hand that was latched to his skin and propped the both of them up and wrapped Sherlock in the tightest hug he could muster without hurting him. Sherlock was squirming around in the doctor's arms and would give a shout of John's name. He wasn't crying, but he was close to it. John knew that he was going to have a monster headache, but he couldn't give him any more medicine.

"SHERLOCK, WAKE UP!"

"NO!"

John had no choice but to pull him out of the embrace and to start shaking Sherlock. Not aggressively hard, but with enough force to wake him up without hurting him any more than he already was. Sherlock's eyes were squeezed together and he tried to fight John but the ex-soldier was stronger and he kept shaking him. John was panicking just as much as his friend was. He didn't want to be reminded of it, he would want to remember every day but that one. He can't feel all those emotions that coursed through him.

"SHERLOCK, YOU'RE DREAMING!"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he screamed and looked around the room, John held him in place. He was drenched in sweat and his breathing was frantic and unstable. He grabbed John's arms instinctively as he took in his surroundings. His terrified eyes, colored grey now because he was so emotional and high-strung. Sherlock's lip quivered as he and John made eye contact. Intimate, sorrowful, tense eye contact.

"John?"

John stared at the crest-fallen expression on his best friend's face and just pulled him back into his bear hug. Sherlock was silent, but John could feel the soft fingers resting on the back of his neck.

"I...fell...John..."

"Shhh..."