Don't Be...Dead

8- Dreams

The screams woke me. I ran downstairs, expecting to see Sherlock fighting with some unknown villain. What I saw scared me even more. Sherlock lay in bed drenched in sweat, arms and legs thrashing violently. The calm and collect Sherlock I knew was gone, a look of fear instead on his sleeping face. I rushed to the edge of his bed and sat down, taking his hand in mine. He struggled against me at first, but soon calmed, as if something about my presence soothed him. His hair was plastered against his head with sweat and I reached down to brush it out of his eyes. The instant my fingers brushed against Sherlock’s skin his eyes flew open. Eyes focusing, he stared up at me. “John?”

“Err- sorry I-” I pulled my hand out of his and stood up. Now what? I hadn’t meant for Sherlock to wake up, only to comfort him while he slept. “I’ll just…go…”

“No, John,” Sherlock reached for my hand and I turned back to face him. “Stay with me.” I hesitated only a moment before nodding. Sherlock made room for me and I slipped into bed next to him. He snuggled into me like a little kid cuddles with a teddy bear and fell asleep next to me.

He slept fitfully though. He would twist and turn, writhing, tangling himself in the sheets. Usually I would rub my hand on his back and he would slowly calm down. Once or twice though, I tried to do this and he clenched onto me, clawing at my shirt as if I were a life preserver. Needless to say, it was very late, early morning even, before I finally fell asleep myself.