Johnlock Fluff (mostly) Oneshots

Nightmares

Hey so some of yall probably haven't read my books before so here we go. I'm gay and strange and I love Sherlock. In this oneshot, John and Sherlock are not dating. Also, I have no idea how long this is gonna be. The Fall doesn't happen in this one cuz we don't like Moffat for doing that to us. 

John's POV
There was a loud bang to my left and I looked over to see an explosion no more than a hundred meters away. Luckily no one had been over there, but I still needed to get out of here to go tend to the injured soldiers. I turned around to run out from behind my hiding place to see one of my friends Tommy. He was sprinting towards me, and he couldn't have been more than 2 meters away when all of a sudden there was a loud bang and he fell to the floor, blood pooling out of his head. Killed instantly by a shot in the head. I sat there in shock, tears rolling down my face. A man then found me in my hiding spot. Luckily, I shot him, but not before he shot me through the shoulder.

I woke up sweating, holding the gun I kept underneath my pillow . It was just another nightmare, though it wasn't just a dream. It was what had really happened. I sat up in bed with my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them shaking slightly with tears rolling down my face silently. I should be used to these nightmares by now but I still wasn't. Two years since the war and I was still having nightmare about it. I looked at the clock and it said 3:47. Sighing, I decided to go and make some tea in an attempt to actually try and go back to sleep though I knew that wasn't going to happen. 

I went downstairs quietly, not knowing whether Sherlock was awake or not. We weren't on a case right now so he was actually occasionally eating and sleeping normally when he wasn't shooting the wall or burning eyeballs to put into his tea. Hopefully, he was sleeping right now. I'd rather not explain why I was up at 3am making tea while crying like a small child. Cautiously, I looked into the living room. The lights were on but Sherlock wasn't crouched on the sofa or doing some strange experiment with body parts.

I busied myself by making tea as quietly as possible. Sherlock was an incredibly light sleeper and I'd rather not face the wrath of waking him up at this time of night. Once the tea had been made, I carried it to the living room and I sat down in my arm chair with a book. I sipped the tea and started to read. My hopes of falling back asleep had gone completely out of the window, even more so when I heard Sherlock's 6am alarm go off.

Sherlock walked out of his room wearing his usual blue dressing gown and his pyjamas. Frowning when he saw me, he asked "What're you doing awake?"  "Uh nothing, I just woke up early that's all." 

Sherlock's POV
He was clearly lying. He never woke up early voluntarily, he usually slept in until the last possible minute. He had a book in his lap, and he was well into the book, probably over half of the way through. It wasn't a book he had read before, so he must have started it at least 2 hours ago, given on the size of the print of the book and how quickly he reads.

I decided not to question him on it as not to make him uncomfortable. Without saying anything, I went and sat in my chair and went into my mind palace. 

A couple of hours later, there were a few more bullet holes in the wall. 

"BORED. BORED. BORED BORED BORED" I yelled shooting at the wall while looking straight up at the ceiling. "Calm down, Sherlock. I'm sure a nice murder will come along soon enough" Mrs Hudson soothed. I knew she was right, but why must one have to wait for some idiot to get themselves killed? John seemed to have retreated back upstairs though I couldn't think why.

John's POV
I know Sherlock's way of not killing himself was shooting the wall, so I just pretended that it didn't trigger my PTSD and my nightmares. It wasn't really his fault, but that doesn't mean I wish he didn't do it.