Paths Woven

Nightmares

I sit bolt upright. It's still dark out. Someone is moving upstairs, and that's probably what woke me. I grab my Swiss army knife and slowly creep up the stairs to 221b. The door is ajar. I push it open all the way. A limp form is on the couch, tossing a little. I walk over, pocketing my knife. It's Sherlock. He's having a nightmare. I take his shoulders and shake as hard as I can. He doesn't stir in the slightest.

"Sherlock! Wake up!"

He cries out in his sleep. "John! Mary! Molly! Scarlet! Elizabeth! No! Get away from him! Please! I don't want to lose anyone else! Moriarty, no! Don't you dare touch them!"

"SHERLOCK!!! I'm right here!"

I try everything, shaking him, yelling, anything I can think of. He still doesn't show any signs of leaving his nightmare. Finally, I just break down, holding him and sobbing. I hate seeing him in pain.

"I'm -- right -- here." I gasp.

I just lay there for a while. I realize that Sherlock has stopped tossing. I look up at him and see that he's opened his eyes. He looks down at me.

"Elly?"

"You were having a nightmare... I don't like seeing someone else suffer as much as I hate suffering myself."

"Why did you come up here?"

"I woke up and thought I heard someone moving. I came to see if something was wrong. I saw you, and you were yelling names in your sleep. My name, Scarlet's, John's, Mary's, Molly's and Moriarty. The last one was because you were yelling for him to stop hurting us."

"He was holding you off the edge of Barts, Elly. And he was just about to shoot all of you when you woke me up."

"Why Barts?" My eyes widen. "Oh. Oh my gosh."

He nods.

I just stay there, shocked. I look up after a while and realize that he's fallen asleep. I try to get up, but he won't let go of me. Darn it. Apparently I'm going to be what he's holding for the rest of the night. Might as well make the most of it. I rest my head on the side of the couch, closing my eyes. Sherlock shifts a little and I feel his soft curls touching my face. I open my eyes and see him smiling in his sleep. Holding someone instead of something must help. I fall asleep right there, in a sitting position.

*****

"Sherlock -- holy crap." I hear a phone taking a picture.

I open my eyes and yawn hugely. I see John, probably sending a picture of me and Sherlock to Lestrade and Mary and possibly Molly.

"John!"

He looks up from his phone. He smiles, then bursts into laughter. Once he's stopped, he asks, "Would you care to explain why you're Sherlock's cuddle toy?"

"He was having a nightmare and I woke him up. He fell asleep again holding me. I tried to get up but it's almost impossible to get a sleepy detective off of you."

I turn and shake the sleeping beauty's shoulders. He groans and sits up, rubbing his eyes. I try not to giggle, failing miserably. His curly black hair is sticking up on one side.

"John, don't take pictures of me while I'm sleeping! I told you this at least thirty-five times before!"

"I know, I know. I couldn't resist. You were sleep-cuddling Elly."

"I was?"

"Yes. Apparently you wouldn't let go of her."

Sherlock puts his face in his hands. "You sent that to Molly and Lestrade, didn't you?" His face is bright red underneath his hands.