The Consulting Detective and His Blogger

Nightmares

~John's P.O.V.~

Sherlock!
My heart pounds against my chest. My head is hot, sweat dripping down my forehead onto the pillow. I havent had that dream for ages. I only had them up until one year after.... after.....
"John, dear, are you alright?" Mary asks sitting up, leaning closer to me.
"Yes, yes I'm.... fine."
"Okay, I will go make some tea then," Mary was just as observant as Sherlock and knew what was up, but she didn't seem to push the matter any further. She sits up all the way and runs her hands through her hair and tugging on the ends a bit as she does if she is frustrated. She sits so her legs dangle off of the bed then pulls back the duvet and shuffles out the door.
I remain laying in bed looking up at the dull ceiling. These dreams of Sherlock have been becoming more frequent now. They happen at least 4 times a week. I dream of the times I've had with Sherlock, all of our cases we've successfully solved, but something at the end of each one goes wrong. Very wrong. I imagine Sherlock dead. Usually he is killed the same way each time, a fall. I don't know how but every time we solve a case we are immediately transported to the top of Bart's Hospital. This time Sherlock falls is different however, now when he falls, I'm on top of that building with him. I'm able to reach out and stop my best friend, but when I reach out my hands goes right through him, like he is a ghost, a lost memory. Sometimes I'll even wake up crying.
Mycroft called me asking why I wasn't around his brother much. Of course he already knew why, I just couldn't face him, I felt like he wanted to say something different to me before he got on that plane and whatever it was made me anxious. Soon after I built up the courage and went over to Baker Street to visit Sherlock. the minute I walked through the door Sherlock was there about to go out. I'm not sure where he was off to but with a quick swish of his coat he was off without a word, almost as he was avoiding me.
"John!"
"Hmm?"
"That was the 5th time I called for you. "What is wrong with you these last few weeks?"
"Just work is stressing me out," I lied through my teeth. I had something very different on my mind, someone.
"Alright," she said scanning me up and down,"shouldn't you be off to work by now?"
"Oh yes, of course"
"Are you sure you're feeling alright?"
"Im. Fine." unintentionally snapping at her. I'm so tense.
I pull back the cheap, white duvet, jump off, and nearly end up falling trying to walk to my wardrobe. I just realized she had walked out of the room after I snapped at her. Struggling to walk I make my way to my old cane in the corner, next to the door in our blue painted room. I make it to my wardrobe safely with my old cane. I pull out a red shirt, some denims, red underwear, and some grey socks and put them into a small bag. I hobble over to my cloths from yesterday next to my side of the bed. I lean down, almost falling for the third time today, and grab my blue, plaid shirt. I sit on the bed trying not to fall once more and pull the garment over my head, then leaning down to grab the blue cardigan. I push my arms through the soft cotton sleeves and work on my buttons. Through the loop, through the loop till I stop buttoning when there are no more left. I grab my jeans from the floor and struggle to pulls those on. I find one sock next to the side table and another slightly under the bed. Grabbing my bag and cane I make my way towards the bedroom door. I turn the cheap knob to the left then pushing the door forwards.

I make my way through the short hall, to the kitchen. Mary walks to me, cupps my face in her cold hands and gives me a quick kiss. Nothing big just a quick peck. I wobble over to the coat rack where my brown jacket is hung. Grabbing the material in my shaky hands, i sling it over my left shoulder and head out the door.

A blast out cold air hits my face. It's rather foggy today, yet again it is most days now. I walk towards the damp street watching neighbors drive off to the main road on their way to work.

~Time skip~

I push the door to Saint Bartholomew's Hospital sighing after a long day of work. I transfer my bag to my right hand, struggling to keep me up striaght so i can hail a cab.
I notice my hands are shaking, as I bring the hand I used to signal a driver down. A jet black London Cab pulls up directly infront of me. I extend my arm towards the handle and grip the cool suface pulling it to me opening the cab door. I throw my bag in and swing into the back seat of the car and pulling the door closed.

"Sir! Sir!"

"Oh! Yes?"

"I need to know where you are going"

"Oh."

"Are you alright Sir?"

"Oh umm yeah, Baker Street please. 221B Baker Street."

--------------- I am sorry for the people who first started to read this story and now I changed most of it but same plot line and stuff but more detail, so thank you for reading!-----------