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It would be overly-generous of John to describe his state as asleep, but it was certain not one he wished to be startled from by the sounds of frantic pounding at the door. He was out of bed before he could even process the sound, and stumbled out of his dark room and into the hallway of the flat. Sherlock had beat him to the front door, loose, heavy clothes dangling from his thin limbs as his silhouette moved to open the door.
“Sorry–Oh–” Mariana said, sliding inside and slamming the door shut behind her, keeping a flat palm pressed against its wooden surface, “Thank you-”
“What’s wrong?” John asked, flicking on the light, and not missing the way Sherlock flinched at the sudden brightness, “Sorry mate,” He added.
The scene had a bit more context in the light, although none of it was reassuring. Sherlock was hovering a few feet from the door, his hair loose and messy and ear defenders still on his head. With the haste which Mariana came to the door, it was likely he’d been wearing them already, despite it being well past midnight.
The last time John had seen Sherlock was a few hours before, when he’d been coming off a meltdown, going completely silent and almost entirely unresponsive. John had made him promise to come and ask if he needed anything, and was satisfied by a single nod from the detective before they’d gone their separate ways for the night.
John realized he likely hadn’t slept, and was too worked up from the day's events. John couldn’t blame him; he’d spent his own evening on the verge of a panic attack as the smell of the bomb invaded his head in the space between memory and experience. Needless to say, no one had slept that night.
Mariana’s hair was messy, braided into one braid along her back as she often did before bed, but it frizzy enough now that she’d likely been tossing and turning like her upstairs neighbors. Her whole body trembled with adrenaline as she breathed deeply, laying her temple against the cold drywall.
“Mari, hey,” He said, stepping forward carefully. The last time she’d woken them in the night had been…had been the night she found Harriet’s wedding dress–the night she believed someone had died.
“Sorry–I–I thought I–” She stuttered, before slamming a palm into her forehead, “I just thought I heard–this sounds crazy,”
“No, no, you’re not crazy,” John said, deciding to take matters into his own hands by leading his friend over to their sofa. She didn’t protest and nodded gratefully as he sat down next to her.
“I heard his voice–maybe it was all in my head, or maybe I dreamed it, I-” She let out a low, shaky breath into her hands, struggling to control herself.
“Do you need to cry? It’s okay, Mari.” John said, rubbing a hand along her back, “It was just a dream, yeah?”
“No!” She said, “It didn’t seem like a dream, it seemed like a voice coming out of the walls, I tried to get the spider out. I tried everything I know. We don’t have any devices left that could’ve… I turned on all the lights and pulled all the books off my shelf, but he’d gone silent, and I panicked and–”
“Ok, shhh, ok,” John said, “Why don’t you stay up here tonight, and we can investigate in the morning, alright, Sherlock?”
Sherlock was in the exact position John had left him, with his gaze fixed on the door where Mari had been moments before. Was he studying it? Or was he perhaps so lost in his own mind he hadn’t even processed that Mariana had moved?
“Sherlock?” Mariana asked softly, now showing concern on her face, “Are you okay?”
“Not…terribly well.” He answered after a moment, still not turning around. Mariana and John paused, hoping he’d continue to speak, but as his shoulders sank and one hand went up to brace the doorway. John moved to try and see Sherlock’s face, but the detective was already moving slowly toward the other two, his body practically limp with fatigue.
“I’m sorry, were you asleep?” Mariana asked.
“Not really,” John sighed, “Just rolling around in bed, you know?”
“Yes.” Mariana and Sherlock said simultaneously.
They waited in silence a moment, as if processing that they weren’t truly as alone as they felt mere moments before.
“It’s like he knew,” Sherlock said finally, his voice low, strained, and breathy as it often was when he was feeling overwhelmed.
“How to get to us, yeah.” John said. Sherlock nodded, seeming relieved that John had finished for him. “I mean, I’m sure anyone would be freaked out by a bomb, but I…I lived through that. And he even, I mean the clip itself is just the moment that I hate hearing and-” John inhaled sharply.
“He knows all of my auditory triggers.” Sherlock said, his gaze fixed on the floor, “Those game show sounds, and the mix of different voices all on top of one another, disorienting me, stripping away all my defenses.” He spoke with dread mounting in his voice.
“He did something to me too,” Mariana whispered, as if afraid to speak it into existence, “At least…well I think he did, with dinner and having to all eat while he was just…watching. He wouldn’t stop staring at me, and I couldn’t even swallow–Sorry, I’ve said too much, it’s not even a big deal I just-”
“He has been listening to more than the podcast,” Sherlock said, “I suspected it before, but a conversation we had in private months ago–”
“What are you talking about?” John asked.
“I told Sherlock that I struggle with eating in front of others,” Mariana answered, “And he told me about some of his sensory triggers, the exact ones that--God.” She buried her head in her hands again.”
“We’re all staying in this room tonight.” John said, “Today was a lot, and none of us needs to be alone on top of all that.”
“I don’t think I can sleep tonight,” Mariana said, “But I’d appreciate not being alone.”
Wordlessly, Sherlock stood and disappeared into his room, leaving the door hanging open. A moment later, his hand appeared again, gesturing for them to follow.
Sherlock’s room was bathed in galaxy-patterned light from a little ball on his desk. Sherlock sank slowly into his bed as John settled down on the swing in one corner and Mariana took his actual comfortable chair, pulling her feet up to her chin.
“Stay,” Sherlock requested, sliding his ear defenders off slowly and pulling his blanket over his head. Then he appeared again a moment later, adding, “There’s extra blankets and pillows in the closet.”
John smiled, maybe he would reattempt sleep tonight.