Work Text:
James had always struggled with nightmares. He had had them ever since he was a little kid, what with his family problems and all. They would be about his dad, or about failing, or about the other boys at school who would beat him for being different. At some point, he got used to them. They were never really all that different from each other, anyway.
That was, until recently.
After he witnessed his newly acquainted friend Sherlock get shot in the abdomen by the princess, who we now know is actually called Xiao Wei and is in fact not a princess, the nightmares had changed.
He would continuously see Sherlock get shot. That part was always the same. But the ending was always different. One time he could not get through the crowd in time to save him. Another time he failed to get help. And another time he died in his arms, which James considered to be the worst one yet.
Of course, he knows that Sherlock survived. He sees him every day. But it just will not go away, no matter how hard he tries. Only the thought of actually losing his first and only friend makes him sick to his stomach. Especially given the recent change of feelings he had been harboring for him. But that was a problem for another time.
~
One night, when solving a case, Sherlock and James had to share a room at a hostel. The case had been frustrating; neither of the young men had an idea of who had committed the murder yet. And on top of that, they were very, very exhausted from all the running they had to endure that day. They decided to pour some whiskey and go over the details of the case together.
"We're still no closer to finding as much of a suspect. I feel like we've missed a key detail." Sherlock began.
"I took some notes. Maybe you could go over them and see if you can make something out of them?" James replied.
"That would be interesting. Please."
James handed over his notepad, briefly brushing fingers with Sherlock. It seemed like Sherlock did not react to it, but James could feel his heart skip a beat. Previously, he had never felt anything weird when touching Sherlock. Sure, he was always interested in the character, but it was not anything more than friendly interest. But that had changed recently. He has only ever felt that kind of sensation with women before. How could he feel that very same feeling with a man?
"...James?" Sherlock snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Sorry?"
"I asked if you could explain how you found "victim rendered unconscious some time before murder"."
"Oh. Right. Well..."
~
They talked on about the case for a good 30 minutes until they ran out of ideas. The bottle of whiskey had already been halved, thus the boys were feeling quite tipsy. Although that was not something new for them.
"Sherlock?"
"Hm?"
"Have you ever wondered where we get our dreams from?"
"I suppose so. Why are you asking?"
"Just something I've been thinking about. It seems I keep getting the same kinds of dreams recently."
"Well, there are theories on how our dreams are based on what we think about most throughout our days. Does that apply to your returning dreams?"
"I suppose... I do think about it quite a lot."
"Well, that's settled then. Speaking of dreams, I think I'll call it a night."
"Very well. I am quite exhausted as well."
They got up out of their chairs, almost like they were in sync, as if they had choreographed every move. As they walked to their beds, James lingered for a second and called out to Sherlock for one last time.
"Sherlock?"
"Yes, James?"
James paused for a second, before continuing.
"Eh... Sorry, nevermind. Goodnight Sherlock."
"Hm. Goodnight James."
~
James had difficulty falling asleep. What if a nightmare occurred again? What if Sherlock noticed? What if he talks in his sleep and he finds out about the nightmares he has been having? He had been spiraling like that the whole night. But he was so tired and it was two in the morning and he so desperately wanted to fall asleep… so he did.
"Ngh… Fuck… No… Please… Don't…" James murmured.
Sherlock woke up from James' sounds. He was never a tight sleeper, since he was always on the look out for danger. That is what you get from being different in an all-boys boarding school (although it is safe to say that he also got some rather positive experiences out of it).
He walked towards James' bed, which was creaking from all the turning and twisting James was doing in his sleep. Sherlock slowly sat on the side of the bed, laying a hand on James' shivering shoulder.
"James?" he whispered. No response.
"James, please wake up." he slightly shook him, which seemed to have some effect on him.
"Nghh… Wha… No… S-Sherlock…" his eyes slowly fluttered open. "Sherlock?... oh fuck you're alive. Oh god…"
"Of course I'm alive, James. Otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here, woul-"
Before Sherlock could finish his sentence, James embraced him in the tightest hug they had ever shared. Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. They had never hugged like this before, not this close, not this intimate. He ran his fingers through James' curls to calm him down, which seemed to work. His breathing slowly got steady again.
"Shh… You're alright. James?"
"I know… I know… Fuck… Sorry…"
"Don't apologise. Just focus on your breathing. You're okay."
They stayed there in each other's arms for what felt like hours. James' breathing turned stable and he stopped sniffing.
"James?... Do you want to talk about it? You don't have to, of course…" Sherlock began.
"No, no, I need to." James responded. He cleared his throat before he continued. "Do you remember what I said about recurring dreams just then?"
"Yes, of course I remember. Is it this dream that keeps returning?"
"Well, technically, yes. But it always has a different ending."
"...Would you like to share it with me?"
James took a second before deciding that Sherlock needed to know.
"It's always about that night. That night in Paris when you got…" James choked and cleared his throat again. "You know… shot. The sight of you lying there, in so much pain, I- I will never forget it."
He took a breath before continuing.
"And of course, I know you survived. But my mind keeps trying to convince me otherwise. One time you got shot straight through the heart and died immediately, another time you died right there in my arms… And this time… this time you died so slowly and painfully…"
"James. I'm here. I'll always be here. You know that, right?" Sherlock said, before pulling him into a warm embrace. "Shhh…"
"I'm sorry, Sherlock."
"Sorry for what?"
"Well, I kind of woke you up, didn't I…" James snorted through the sniffing, which made Sherlock smile in turn.
"You did. But I don't mind when it's you." Sherlock replied softly. He just blurted it out, like he was speaking his thoughts. "As in… uh… I mean-"
But before he could finish his sentence and convince himself and James that he meant it in a perfectly platonic and friendly manner, James cupped his face and kissed him. Really kissed him. Sherlock shrieked upon impact, because he did not anticipate it, which he was not used to. But after a second he melted into it like their lips were moulded to fit perfectly into each other.
As soon as it started it was over. James pulled back first, and murmured against Sherlock's lips: "Thank you. I think I might be able to sleep again, now."
And, being the flirt that he is, he continued in a dramatic tone: "You may have to sleep next to me though, just in case it comes back…"
"Oh, shut up, James."
This time it was Sherlock who initiated the kiss. It was more passionate than the first one, less impulsive. When they broke apart, Sherlock laid down next to James and bid him goodnight.
And that is when it finally dawned on him:
"Oh god.
I kissed James Moriarty."