SUPERWHOLOCK Imagines

Imagine: Nightmares

This imagine was suggested by AlvaAkashi

Please enjoy!

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Images of war flicker through your mind every time you close your eyes. The screams. The explosions. The sounds of guns shooting. When you close your eyes, you enter back into that horrifying world, afraid you'll never return.

War is a dark and scary place. It's a constant battle to stay alive in a foreign part of the world while others try to kill you as if their life depends on it. Because it does.

It's kill or be killed.

You run through trenches to get to the other side. You dodge grenades and bullets as you race against time. You shoot your gun for your countries safety. You kill people to protect your own troop.

War is not a place for weaklings. There's blood, limbs, dead bodies just thrown about everywhere. You're lucky if you don't end up like those other poor souls.

But, in the end, what was the point? You killed hundreds, maybe even thousands of people just so your country can reign on. But for what? For freedom? It's not like there's much of that anyways.

You went into war to see the other side of things. To see exactly why countries fight each other. In reality, it's because they can't stay out of each other's damn business and be happy with what they've got. They're too damn greedy.

But that's not why you hate war.

No, you hate war for what it does to people. War takes innocent souls and turns them into killing machines. War teaches you to kill without question. To shoot on sight. After serving for two tours, you finally had enough.

You had enough of the horrifying screams as people were killed. You had enough of the blood and the pain. Enough of the countless hours spent killing people you didn't know. People who did nothing wrong.

Blood. Death. Sacrifice.

That's all war is.

You picture it everyday. You picture being back in that hell. You picture running through mud, dirt, and forests as you fight for your life. You picture every person that you killed life's escaping their eyes as tears stream down their face. Those poor, innocent people.

The screams for help is what haunts you the most. Even when your ears are ringing from an explosion, those screams make their way in. It's haunting.

I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I killed you. I'm sorry I was made into a monster.

"[Y/N]!" A voice yells as you shake.

Leave. Go. I'm dangerous.

"[Y/N], wake up!" The voice yells again. Your eyes fly open as you sit up quickly, breathing heavily.

"You were screaming in your sleep," that same voice whispers. You look to your right, facing the owner of the voice.

"Sherlock?" You whisper, ignoring the tears rolling down your face.

"Was it about the war again?" He questions, worry evident in his eyes.

"Yes," you reply, looking away to stare at the wall. "That's all I ever see when I close my eyes."

"It's fine. The war is done," he tells you, pulling you into a tight and comforting hug. He runs his hand along your hair, his chin resting atop your head.

"That's the thing Sherlock. War is never done. It has only just begun."