One shots (johnlock fluff mostly)

A fear of the dark

Johns pov:

Images. That's all he can see. Blinding white pain and ruby red crimson blood scattering over desert sands, from droplets to large puddles. And he wanted to escape, wanted to wake up but he couldn't.

Soldiers down. Enemies winning and gaining territory. Battles lost. Death. Blood. Violence. Gone.

John woke in a cold sweat, tangled in his sheets as though he'd been trying to fight them off in his sleep, just a few more seconds of life as bullets tore up the ground around him.

He held onto himself tightly, these dreams were more vivid and he couldn't sleep after that. He glanced at the clock, 1:22am, he'd only slept three hours. It would have to do, he wouldn't sleep again tonight.

A regular occurrence for John to suffer from nightmares, many nights sleep lost due to it. But not often did he get out of bed to make tea and then try to calm his nerves.

He untangled himself from the sheets and then stood weakly from the bed and walked over to the door.

Sherlocks pov:

Darkness enclosing him. Cold. Water rising. Fear escalating. Panic.

Walls getting tighter and closer. Claustrophobic. Mind out of control. Panic attack. Heart rate rising. Black. Dead. Gone.

Sherlock muffled his scream, biting hard against his fist and tasting blood. Iron. Like money smells.

Sherlock barely slept between cases, he didn't sleep in cases because his mind was too active. He only slept when his body could go no longer.

First rest in a week and then the darkness closes in and he can't sleep any longer. Pulling his robe over his body, sighing into the darkness, and fingers trembling. Mind ticking. Clock works. Bomb. Headache. Pain.

Sherlock whimpered into the night, his soul leading him upstairs. Step up twice. One step back. Two up. Two back. Quick five steps up. One step down and then racing the night, the next few steps.

Hand outstretched but fear and stupidity wracked his mind. Weakness. Collapsing to the floor in a heap and leaning against the wall opposite. Safety inside. Warmth. John.

Third person pov:

John opened the door, looking around onto the darkness, an unmistakable huddle on the floor. Shivering. Cold. Scared.

"Sherlock?" John asked towards the ball on the floor.

"John?" Sherlock replied, lifting his head from his chest, featured scared and frightened. Cold. Scared. Hope. Disappointment. Fear. Tear stained.

"Are you okay?" John asked gently, kneeling on the floor next to his best friend. Safety. Warmth. Weakness.

Sherlock huddled his knees tighter to his chest and tucked his head into his lap, rocking back and forth slightly.

"Nightmares as well?" John asked, gently pulling an arm over Sherlocks shoulders. Security. Protected.

Sherlock nodded weakly, whole body trembling. Tired. Waiting.

"Let's get back to bed" John said softly, standing up, taking Sherlocks hand and pulling him up to. Childlike. Small. Fragile. Delicate. Broken.

John lead Sherlock back into his room. Tidy. Clean. Warm. Safe.

Double bed in the centre. John lead Sherlock over and pushed him gently onto the bed. Caring. Tucked in john then moved around the bed and climbed onto the other side.

Sherlock turned to him and they faced each other on the bed. Warmth. Security. Safe.

"We'll look after each other" John whispered, wiping Sherlocks tears stained cheeks gently with his thumb. Sherlock nodded. Thankyou.

Sherlock continued to tremble, the icy water in his dreams leaving him feeling close to hyperthermia, the cold creeping through the flat like spiders on skin. Vulnerable. Pathetic. Weak.

"Am I allowed to hug you?" John asked cautiously, Sherlock looked wide eyed but nodded all the same.

John shuffled closer, legs touching Sherlocks, chest pressed against each other's. warmth. John held Sherlock in his arms, wrapped tightly around him, for his own sake as well as Sherlocks.

Sherlock slowly shuffled away from facing him, letting Johns arms hold around his waist and across his stomach. Sherlock lifted his own hand and placed it over Johns. Reassured. Friendship. Safe. Held. Cared for.

John pressed his head into the small of Sherlocks neck and held him tight still, hands gently tracing patterns onto Johns rougher skin. Invisible. Affection. Loved. Appreciated.

Sherlock felt the hairs on the back of his head stick up as John breathed warm air down his neck, past his collar and enveloping him in warmth. John released one of his hands and gently traced it up Sherlocks side. Ribs. Chest. Heart. Pure. Untouched. Valued.

Sherlock shivered at his touch and let John continue, gently exploring his skin through his thin Cotten pajamas and brown nightgown.

John traced delicate fingers along Sherlocks spine, disc after disc trembling at his touch. Shoulder blades. Nape. Curls that looped lazily around fingers and blew gently from Johns breath.

"Your beautiful" John whispered, barely audible. Mistake. Accident. Rejection. Fear.

Sherlocks heart beat faster, turning back around to John, blushing. Embarrassed. Scared.

"S-sorry" John stuttered.

Sherlock shook his head, "no it's -- fine" he reassured, a blush creeping along his nose.

"Fine?" John questioned. Sherlock nodded weakly.

Feet touching, little tentative movements, breathes mingling. Words unspoken but heard clearly. Silence. Darkness.

Thunder clapped outside, lightning struck through the window, its blue streak visible through the thin curtains. Power out. Darkness. Pitch black. Empty. Alone.

Sherlock cowered in the dark, reaching out for John and reaching his t shirt, pulling himself into it and whimpering as another flash hit the earth outside.

"I've got you" John said gently, one hand at Sherlocks neck. Holding him close. Another at the small of Sherlocks back. Touched. Felt. Cared for.

John gently ran a hand through Sherlocks curls, distracting him of fear and instead leaning onto John more. Comfort. John continued to stroke through Sherlocks hair until he then fell asleep against him. No fear. No weakness. Safety.

John fell asleep not long after. Darkness.. but safety, weakness but security, vulnerability but strength, cold but warmth.

Lost and found.

Hated and loved.

Weak and strong.

One but two.

Empty but full.

Broken but repairable.

Old yet young.

Dark but light.

Gone but-- home.

And in each other's arms, they were home and they were tiny but large, nothing, but everything to each other.