Sweet Dreams

Unsteady

Hold, hold on, hold on to me
'Cause I'm a little unsteady
A little unsteady
Hold, hold on, hold on to me
'Cause I'm a little unsteady
A little unsteady

John's eyes were burning. His head was hurting, his heart was empty. She was gone, Mary was gone. Everything was a blur, his feet were stumbling while he tried to reach the sidewalk to call a cab.

Every single part of his body was in pain. He wasn't injured, but at that point John wasn't able to tell if it was mental, emotional or physically pain. It was just hurting. Hurting like hell.

The first place that passed through his mind was 221B. He was desperately needed for some comfort, a friendly shoulder where he could cry out all that pain that was ripping his heart apart.

The flat was exactly the same; messed up, smelling of chemicals and dust. And, in his typical chair, playing his violin in total focus, was the one that John was desperately needed of.

"Sherlock...", before he could stop or notice it, he was sobbing, feeling his tears running down his face. "She's gone. She... She's gone."

The curly-hair man stoop up, remaining in silence, and laid a hand on his neck, pulling the blonde one closer to his chest. There was no need for words in that moment. For the first time in years, John felt safe.

In Sherlock Holmes' arms, he knew he was safe.