That Ship Has Sailed

John & Sherlock III

The first attack came sooner than he'd expected. Not three months after getting the flat with John, Sherlock showed a side of him he wanted to hide from the man. It wasn't intentional, but with only one bedroom in the flat, it was hard to hide night terrors from the other.

Sherlock awoke, panting and yelling, sweat pouring down his face and back. He sat, breathing heavily and looked around. Across the room, he saw John, sitting up in his bed, looking at Sherlock, but neither moved. He swallowed, panting loudly again. Then, he rubbed his face with his hands.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said through the quiet room.

"You didn't," was John's reply.

Sherlock nodded slowly, "Good," he said, lying back down.

John remained sitting for a short while, then lay back down, though he still watched Sherlock. After a moment, he looked away, staring at the ceiling, which is what Sherlock did as well. John cleared his throat and said, "I've got sleeping pills that might help...if you ever want to try one."

Sherlock looked over at the man, confused, "I doubt it would help something like this. I have medication, but my brother took it away and no one within a ten block radius will sell any to me."

"What kind is it? Pharmacist or natural herbs and things?"

Sherlock paused, "Neither," he admitted, "Heroin, mostly."

"Right. I can't help with that, but anything else--I am a doctor, after all. Retired, but I can still get some. If you need it."

Sherlock didn't reply. Instead, both fell silent and Sherlock focused on his breathing, trying to keep it under control.

"You don't need to be embarrassed about it."

Sherlock didn't reply. Instead, his ears rang and he wished he could have some of his drugs in that moment so he could shut his brain off.

"I get them sometimes, too."

These words made Sherlock's mind go blank. He sat up and looked at the doctor, who also sat up. Both stared through the dark room and Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. John chuckled slightly, "What's the matter? No witty remark?"

"I didn't--I never realized it was so bad for you over there."

"Yes, well, war does that to a person. I suppose what terrifies me most is when I dream I'm back there. Getting shot was a blessing in disguise. Honorably discharged and only a limp as a side effect? I'd take that any day."

Sherlock nodded, "Yes. Well. Goodnight."

"Do you want a sleeping pill? It might help."

Sherlock sat a moment longer, then nodded, "Sure."

John pushed his covers aside and opened the drawer of his night stand. He pulled out a bottle and poured two pills onto the palm of his hand. He then stood, heavily limping over to Sherlock. With his boxers on, Sherlock could see the bullet wound in his leg. When John saw him staring, he scratched his head, "I'm not the only one, I see," he said, looking toward Sherlock's arms. Sherlock pulled his covers over his naked torso and held his hand out for the pills. "We all cope in our own way, I suppose."

"John," Sherlock stopped the man from limping back to his bed. John turned around and, after he took the pills, Sherlock cleared his throat and said, "I'd understand if you wanted to leave. It's not easy rooming with me."

"I'm not exactly anyone's first pick, either, Sherlock. Like it or not, you're stuck with me."

Sherlock paused, then nodded. As John began back toward his own bed, Sherlock called his name again. John turned around and, without saying a word, opened Sherlock's covers and sat in the bed, lying down on the pillow.

Sherlock was confused at first, but John just said, "I can see and hear you more easily from here. Besides, my leg is sore."

Sherlock nodded and slowly lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. John chuckled, a smirk on his face as he stared at Sherlock, "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Good," John said, closing his eyes.

Sherlock's mind was blank as he stared, but when he closed his eyes, thoughts raced at a million miles an hour, giving him a headache. He didn't realize he'd been rubbing his eyes until he felt a gentle hand touch his. Suddenly, though his eyes were closed, his mind went blank again.

"I don't know if you feel the same, but I feel that you're different than most," John said, "You seem to be in pain all the time. I might not understand the whole of it, but I understand enough to help. If you'll let me."

Sherlock opened his eyes, showing the redness to John as he looked over at the man. John held Sherlock's hand and looked into his eyes.

"Will you let me help?"

Sherlock paused, drawing a shaky breath before nodding. John nodded back and smiled. Sherlock closed his eyes again and felt John stroke his hand with his thumb. Sherlock liked the feeling of having nothing in his mind when John touched him. No thoughts. No deductions. No pain. No horror. Just himself and John. Two people. Together. Nothing more and nothing less.

Suddenly, he moved closer to John and John put his arms around Sherlock, holding him and stroking his hair as he held him. Sherlock began to cry and John gently shushed him, reassuring him that everything would be all right.

Sherlock moved closer to John, pressing himself up against the man, wanting to feel more of the delightful nothingness that he currently felt. Then, he began to feel something. Something in his chest began to hurt and he panted, pushing away from John to sit up.

"What's wrong?"

"My heart--I--my heart is--hurting."

"It's all right," John said, placing his hand on Sherlock's chest, "What you're feeling is normal. You're not dying. You're just feeling. For the first time, you're feeling something. Look," he took Sherlock's hand and placed it on his own chest, "I feel it, too."

Sherlock looked into John's eyes and as another tear dripped down his cheek, he shook his head, "I don't know what to do."

"Lucky for you," john grinned, "I do."

John then leaned forward and placed his lips against Sherlock's. Sherlock's eyes closed quickly and he suddenly felt nothing and everything all at once, but it wasn't the same. It was different this time. He didn't understand it, but he didn't want it to stop.