Just Flatmates {Johnlock Oneshots}

John's Nightmare

Sherlock stared at the ceiling of his bedroom as he lie in his bed. A bed that seemed too big. It had always been that size, but for some reason it seemed larger than normal tonight.
He couldn't sleep. No matter how hard he tried, his eyes wouldn't stay shut. He tossed and turned until he finally decided to just lie on his back. His hands rested on his stomach, holding the edge of the sheets. He couldn't even think about anything. He was bored out of his mind. Sherlock was tempted to roll out of bed and find a cigarette to pass the time. So much so, that he unknowingly tightened his grasp on the sheets. But he took a deep breath. There was one thing that kept popping up in his mind. The only thing that he could think about. Even though it was the only thing he could think about, he kept the thought locked up in a chamber. But it kept coming back.
John. John Watson. John Hamish Watson. That man was... incredible. He writes about Sherlock and their adventures together. They solve crimes and fight bad people. John was an army doctor before he met Sherlock. He still possesses those traits. John's aim was more precise than Sherlock's. He was everything that Sherlock wasn't. That's why he admired him so much. Sherlock views John as compassionate and kind and caring and sympathetic, but when he views himself, Sherlock sees himself as a sociopath. He shows no sign of any emotion. He keeps his emotions bottled up, like ordinary people. But he has more control that normal people. Ordinary people are controlled by their emotions, while Sherlock can control everything in his brain. But for some reason, his emotions began pouring out.
     He thought for what seemed like hours. Sherlock thought about the man who sleeps just above him. The man he shares a flat with. John. His name was the only thing Sherlock could think. The image of the blond army doctor that slept upstairs flashed in his mind.
     His emotions took control of his mind by this point. Sherlock's heart fluttered. He smiled to himself. John was brave, kind, protective, intelligent, and, not to mention, rather adorable. Sherlock could sit up. He could set his feet on the floor. He could stand and walk out to the stairs. Sherlock could walk up the stairs and into John's bedroom. He could climb into John's bed. He could wrap his arms around John's warm body. Sherlock could be happy. The trouble was, he didn't know if John would be as open about it as Sherlock.
     Of course John was in love. In some way, Sherlock knew. He could just tell. Love is complex and difficult to understand. But not to Sherlock. It's all just basic chemistry to him. Until he's involved.
     Oh, the happiness he could share if only John would admit his feelings. Sherlock was happy just being around John and watching him try to be as clever as Sherlock, or save someone's life, or admire Sherlock's skills. Sherlock would catch John gazing at him in the corner of his eye sometimes, but he knew how to pretend he didn't see him.
     Sherlock realised why John wouldn't confess. Since he bottled up his feelings so often and never showed one sign of affection towards John on any occasion (unless he's being threatened), John had never been comfortable with it. Of course. But how would he tell him? He could ease into it so that John wouldn't notice. That may take ages... He could tell him right now. What would he say? How would he say it? What—?
     'Sherlock,' the voice of the brave army doctor whispered from Sherlock's bedroom door.
     Sherlock immediately sat up in bed. John looked terrified. Sherlock deduced that John had a nightmare. He almost forgot that ordinary people could have nightmares too.
'I-I had a nightmare,' John admitted.
Sherlock felt a new feeling. Sympathy? Care?
'Would you like to sit with me and talk about it?' Sherlock asked gently.
John hesitated. He didn't expect Sherlock to say anything like that. He was hoping he would say something like that. John nodded and sat down beside Sherlock. He took a deep breath.
'We were on a case,' John began. 'And something happened and you... you died.'
Sherlock wanted to say 'It wasn't real,' but he didn't. He put his arm around John's shoulders. Instead he said, 'It's alright.'
John took a shaky breath. He was still shaken by his dream. 'I'm sorry, it's stupid—.'
'Shh,' Sherlock calmed him. 'I'm okay. I'm still alive, see?'
John sobbed a little. 'Promise?'
'Promise,' Sherlock replied. 'Get some sleep, okay?' Sherlock gestured to the empty space in his own bed.
John seemed to be comfortable enough to climb in Sherlock's bed and cover himself with the sheets.
Sherlock rolled over to one side and wrapped his arms around John's warm body. Just how he'd imagined it to be but better.
Little did John know, Sherlock suffered from nightmares as well. Most of the time they involved someone he loved getting hurt or being killed. Usually John.
Lying together, Sherlock and John cuddled deep. And after a few minutes, they both fell asleep.