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It was 5am and everyone was in bed in 221B Baker Street. John was snoring quietly. Gladstone was curled into a ball, asleep on John’s feet, a makeshift hot water bottle. Sherlock was awake silently watching the rise and fall of John’s chest as he slept. The air was cold but under the covers it was toasty. It smelled like them, John and Sherlock intermingled, so appropriate he thought. Sherlock should have gotten up and turned the central heating on, it was shockingly cold day for September. He looked over at John and decided he would rather stay and watch. Not that he didn’t get the opportunity often, he’d never needed much sleep. John looked younger when he was asleep, not any less beautiful, just tranquil. It was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen, and it was the furthest from bored he had ever been.
John’s breathing sped up and he shifted in his sleep agitated. His head rolled from side to side on the pillow and groaned. It was enough to wake Gladstone up. Sherlock watched as the puppy made his way over to his hand, sleepy and disorientated wanting some reassurance. Gladstone looked at his Uncle Sherlock, with what could be concern. Sherlock threaded his fingers through his soft fur to calm him. John’s movements became more pronounced. He was almost thrashing from side to side. Moans that sounded like pain came from his mouth. Sherlock didn’t know what to do. He lay still, afraid to reach out and touch him.
John sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes shot open. Sherlock physically sighed with relief. John rubbed his eyes and wiped away the small beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead.
“I could do with a cup of tea.” John said half awake getting out of bed. “When did it get so bloody cold?” Sherlock watched Gladstone jump off the bed and follow his dad out of the room.
He should try and talk to John about his bad dream, Sherlock thought. The problem was he’s not used to caring, and has no idea how to broach the subject. He listened as the central heating kicked in. The boiler mumbling and the gas lighting like a mini explosion. Maybe he could run John a nice hot bath when the water heated up, he could join him, rub all those taught knotted muscles. Sherlock grinned, if he was honest the idea of touching John all over was more for him. Selfish he tutted to himself. Sherlock slid out of bed his feet touching the cold floor and pulled on his dressing gown.
There was a cup of tea waiting for him in the kitchen when he got there. John was sitting in his chair, his mug on the arm and Gladstone snuggled up to his stomach. Sherlock took his tea and sat in his chair taking in the slightly dazed still sleep addled look on John’s face.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Sherlock asked. John didn’t look up, he just shook his head. “It’s ok, no need to be embarrassed. I’ve read that soldiers often have nightmares about war.” A smile of amusement formed on John’s lips.
“It wasn’t about the war.” He sighed.
“Oh.” Sherlock said his interest growing. John sipped his tea. Sherlock watched his tongue dart out to his lips, licking the vestiges of tea that remained away. John does like his tea, Sherlock thought as he felt a tingle in his groin. That should not be sexy, but for some reason every thing John does is sexy for Sherlock.
“It’s stupid.” John said finally tearing his gaze away from his mug of tea and looking at Sherlock.
“Go on..” Sherlock said resting his cup on the arm of his chair. John looked embarrassed. His mouth opened then snapped shut again.
“You’ll laugh.” John said.
“I can’t promise I won’t but I’ll certainly try.” Sherlock replied in earnest.
“Ok. We were being chased.” Sherlock had the feeling that wasn’t quite the whole story. After all being chased wasn’t that bad, John chased him all the time.
“By whom?” Sherlock asked.
“A Dalek.” John replied embarrassed. “He was trying to exterminate you.” Sherlock scrunched up his face trying to gain some control. “I knew you’d laugh. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I’m trying not to.” Sherlock said through gritted teeth. John suddenly laughed at the silliness of it all.
“You know what I need really? A hug.” John smiled. “Would you mind?”
“Come on.” Sherlock said. “It’s too cold out here, let’s go back to bed.” Sherlock walked back to their room. John followed, like he always did and climbed into Sherlock’s waiting embrace. Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and gently ran his fingers through his hair. John felt sleep reaching out for him.
“Next time, wake me up.” John said as he succumbed to sleep.
“I will.” Sherlock said as he kissed the back of John’s neck.