A/N: I am so so so sorry for the long absence. I still have writer's block. I know what I want to happen, but it just can't write itself. Anyway, hopefully it'll kick off again. Thanks for sticking around!
Warning for nightmares about murder.
The next time Sherlock and Danielle get together for their project, Sherlock finds it best to have Danielle go to his house. Danielle is fine with that, to Sherlock's joy, except that Paris is there with Clement.
"Sherlock!" Paris greets him.
"Oh, Paris," Sherlock says. "I didn't know you were going to be here today."
Paris shakes his hand and motions towards Clement's office. "Just helping your father with a few things, including your dinner for the evening. I found the best fish at a market around the corner and had to show your dad a recipe."
"Oh thanks," Sherlock says. He looks over at Danielle, who practically has hearts in her eyes. "Oh, Paris, this is Danielle."
Paris shakes her hand, then kisses the top.
"Bonjour," he says, with a wink. Danielle blushes fiercely and giggles.
Sherlock rolls his eyes. He wants to remind Paris that he has a girlfriend, but he doesn't.
"We have anatomy to work on," Sherlock announces. "We'll be upstairs."
"Wonderful," Paris says. "I'm making enough dinner for John, so invite him."
"Sure thing," Sherlock says, then points towards the stairs and leads a still-embarrassed Danielle up.
"Oh my god," Danielle says as soon as they get into Sherlock's bedroom. "Who was that?"
Sherlock laughs. "Paris, as I said. He's my friend, but he works for my dad."
"Does he…have a girlfriend?"
"Yeah," Sherlock says, "He's going out with Taylor."
"Oh," Danielle says, disappointed.
Sherlock tells her she can sit anywhere, so she sits at his desk and he rushes down the hall to get the desk chair from Declan's room. After that, they get started on their project.
Sherlock's phone vibrates with a text about half an hour in to studying.
From Unknown: No library today?"
Sherlock frowns and stuffs his phone back in his pocket without replying.
Ten minutes later, he gets another.
From Unknown: I heard your friend Olive's there. Mind if I pay her a visit?
He chooses not to reply again, hoping the threat is empty.
Another ten minutes later, he gets another.
From Unknown: What about your boyfriend? I can find him in a tick.
That's where Sherlock draws the line.
To Unknown: Leave them both alone.
From Unknown: But you want me to leave one alone more than the other? Of course.
Sherlock rolls his eyes and pockets his phone again. He doesn't get another text, but that doesn't mean anything much to him.
Danielle leaves a while later when they get a substantial amount of the work done. John arrives for dinner (in one piece, Sherlock notes), and they sit down to eat with everybody else. Clement asks about their projects and nobody really offers any information on how theirs is going.
Sherlock doesn't tell John about the texts, but John can tell something is wrong.
"Please just tell someone," John says while they're getting ready for bed.
"John, you don't understand," he says. "It's much more complicated than that now. He's watching me somehow, he'll know."
"And what if you just call Lestrade? Ben can't see you call anyone."
"What am I supposed to tell him? I found the guy, I have no idea where he is and he also might be stalking me?"
"Lestrade has resources, he can—"
"He has no more resources than I do," Sherlock snaps. "Ben is…he's too good."
"And you're a bloody teenager, Sherlock. Do you not see how big a deal this is?"
"I do, I promise, it's just…John, it's complicated. And I'm scared."
John sighs and takes Sherlock in a tight hug. "I know, love."
Sherlock tangles himself up in John, needing that closeness. "I feel better having you here."
"I feel better being here."
Sherlock kisses John's head and John kisses his shoulder.
It's dark. Pitch black, and Sherlock can't even hear anything. Maybe there's a blindfold around his head, or maybe he's just in a completely sealed tight room. Either way, he's still tied to a chair and every muscle in his body aches.
Suddenly, the door slams open and shut again.
Breathing next to his ear. His stomach turns. He can't make out any words said, but the next thing he feels a rip through his stomach, then another, then everything is bright.
Ben's face, laughing, smiling like he was the first night Sherlock met him.
Another stab, then the fourth, and Sherlock's crouches over. He tastes blood.
He sees John, scared, then feels the last two knives pushing through his skin and his heart.
He opens his eyes and looks down, finding his own body the way Danny's was sprawled out after Ben killed him.
"Solve it," he hears whispered in his ear.
Sherlock sits up violently and gasps. He nearly jumps out of the bed entirely, but John is up in a flash and holding his shoulder.
"Sherlock?! Sherlock, what's wrong?!"
His shirt is sticking to him from a cold sweat, but it makes him think of the blood plastering his shirt to his own dead body, so he rips it off while then climbing out of bed.
"I…" he pants, still trying to catch his breath, rubbing his chest to make sure there aren't any stab wounds.
John gets out of bed and switches the light on, and that's when Sherlock sees bright red stained onto his white pillowcase and sheets. He screams.
"Sherlock, Sherlock calm down," John tries to reassure him, moving around the dirty bed to Sherlock. "You've got a bloody nose, love. Come on, let's get you cleaned up." He holds Sherlock's arm while pinching Sherlock's nose and pulling him to the bathroom.
"P-please turn on all the lights," Sherlock asks, in a near whisper.
There are three lights in Sherlock's bathroom, one over the sink, one in the shower, and one more towards the toilet, and John turns on all three. He keeps the bathroom door open to let the light from Sherlock's bedroom stream through.
John steers Sherlock to sit on the toilet. He gets a cloth from beneath Sherlock's sink and instructs Sherlock to hold it against his nose.
"I'm going to get some ice," John says, turning to leave the room.
"No!" Sherlock yells. "Don't go!"
John goes back to Sherlock. "Okay, okay I won't."
Sherlock feels like crying. He's never felt so fragile before, but he's also never had a dream where he's being murdered before.
"What happened?" John asks, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair.
"I…it was just a...a nightmare."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Sherlock viciously shakes his head. He doesn't even want to think about it.
John nods. "Okay. You don't have to."
Sherlock closes his eyes for a second, to try to clear his head, but he can't. The images are too clear. He's still too terrified to delete.
He feels John press his lips to his forehead, then he opens his eyes.
"What about my sheets?" he asks.
"I'll take them off and put them in the wash, then I'll get us new ones, okay?"
Sherlock nods.
John instructs him to pull the towel away, but Sherlock is still bleeding. John wads toilet paper together in rolls and sticks them in Sherlock's nose to stop it all from just flowing out.
Once it's at least controlled, they go back into Sherlock's room so John can take the sheets off.
"They're soaking wet," John lets him know.
Sherlock is shivering, and John goes over to him and presses the back of his hand to Sherlock's forehead.
"Are you having a fever?"
Sherlock shrugs.
"Maybe you ought to take the day off of school tomorrow, love. You look terribly sick and I think you do have a fever."
Sherlock just shrugs again. Honestly, as long as Clement is home, he would feel better than being at school.
John kisses his cheek, then continues with the sheets.
They get settled back into bed when Sherlock's nose stops bleeding, but Sherlock insists they leave the lights on and he trade places with John so he's not next to the window.
"You'll be okay," John says over and over, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair.
It puts John to sleep before Sherlock, but Sherlock can't go back to sleep no matter how hard he tries.
He still feels ill the next morning, from the lack of sleep (when he has been sleeping fairly regularly), the bloody nose, and the nightmare. Clement takes one look at him and insists he stay home, which is fine.
"I'll tell Danielle," John says, "And I'll come here after school to spend the night again."
Sherlock doesn't say anything, he just nods in agreement.
It doesn't make him feel any better, but not having to leave the house all day puts him a little bit at ease.