After.

"Can't sleep?" I look up, surprised to hear his voice.

"What? Yeah, I couldn't. Today was just..." I look down at my lap, searching for the right word, "Today was just hell." His dark head nods, and he sits down next to me on the  couch.

"Yeah, it was... I can't sleep either," his long, slender fingers reach up to push through his dark, disheveled curls. "Do you want a cup of tea?" I find myself nodding.

"Why not," I reply. He smiles a bit.

"I'll go get it." Without further ado, he stands up, leaving me alone in the dark sitting room.

Every time I close my eyes, I can see today's events again. The blood red painted walls stand out as vividly in my imagination as they did in real life. The gaunt face of Sherlock's sister haunts the insides of my eyelids. And I keep picturing what that man-- the Governor-- did to himself. What I almost did to him.

My hands won't stop shaking as I raise them to my face. I wish it never happened. I wish to God I could just say today was all a nightmare.

But it wasn't.

My fingers dig into my skin, as if the pain they bring can maybe ground me to the present.

"John?" Sherlock's voice startles me, making me jump. I raise my gaze to him. He's got two cups of tea in his hands, and he's holding one out to me. The expression on his face is almost unreadable-- fear? Pity? Worry?

"Here's your cuppa," he tells me quietly. I manage to force a small smile, taking the mug.

We drink our tea in silence, still sitting side-by-side on the couch. He's so close I can practically feel his body heat. It's comforting, more than anything, to know he's next to me.

His cup clinks against the coffee table, and he stands up.

"I'm going to try and get some sleep..." He says. I nod, but don't say anything. With a small sigh, he turns to leave the room.

He gets as far as the door before I call out,

"Sherlock?" His head turns, and his eyes catch what little light there is. I feel my cheeks heat up, and I'm grateful for the darkness to cover the blush.

"Yes, John?" He asks. I clear my throat and stand up.

"Um... Can I..." I clear my throat once more, and my fingers fiddle uncomfortably with my shirtsleeve.

"It's just... I was thinking..." I sigh, wishing I could just spit it out, "Can I... Can I sleep in your room tonight?"

Silence.

This is it, I've screwed up royally. I sound like some attention hungry drama queen.

"Of course," two words, barely more than a whisper. I look up, finally meeting his gaze.

"Of... of course?" I stammer. Sherlock smiles the smallest of smiles.

"Of course. Follow me," he confirms. A warm feeling settles in my stomach as I follow him down the hall, my socks padding against the floorboards.

Sherlock's room is very plain. He's got a few photos up on the walls, and a simple nightstand with a plain lamp sitting on top. But never has any room seemed so wonderful. He walks up to his bed, pulling back the covers and climbing in. Slowly, I crawl in after him, pulling up the blankets after me. The bed is soft and warm, and I can feel Sherlock's weight beside me. It makes me feel like I can forget about today; like it really was a bad dream. Like I'm safe.

"Goodnight John," Sherlock whispers.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," I murmur in reply, sleep already starting to envelop me. I fall asleep next to my best friend, knowing that, for once, I am perfectly safe.