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 Troubled Dreams

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The Improbable One
helping Molly in the lab
helping Molly in the lab
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Posts : 56
Join date : 2011-01-04
Age : 22
Location : America

PostSubject: Troubled Dreams   Thu Jan 27, 2011 3:02 am

Sherlock

Oh God. I must have fallen asleep on the couch again. I should probably stop doing that. John always gets upset because he says he can't sit down. I did give him permission to sit on my knees, obviously he doesn't like that plan. I should probably wake up now. I don't like the dreams I have when I do sleep. They aren't any fun at all. Usually. Most of the time it has to deal with my father and my mother and the past. Sometimes it deals with John. And recently? Moriarty. I don't like dreaming about him. Wake up Sherlock. Wake up now. You'll regret it mate. I try to open my eyes, so heavy. I'm not sure I want to see the light, it feels good to be lying right here right now. I don't mind if John gets upset. Yeah I do. Come on, wake up enough to head for bed. How's that sound? It sounds good. I fumble with my limbs as I try to get up without opening my eyes. I know where I am and I can get to my bed without opening my eyes. I've done it before. Trying not to wake John up I start to make my way to my room. Not going to make it. My body hates me and is too fatigued to even try. With a small shout of protest my body drags my mind back to the black depths, and the strength leaves my body allowing me to slump noisily to the floor.

John

A small, almost insignificant noise pulls me away from my troubled dreams and I wake with a start as the muffled sound of someone falling enters my ears. It came from downstairs. Must be Sherlock. Groaning I get up and stretch. Best see what's wrong with him. Hopefully he hasn't cracked his ribs again. That was a night and a half. Rubbing my eyes I slowly tromp down the stairs, letting them creak all they want. One goal in mind. Get a glass of water, help Sherlock with whatever he's done to himself now, and go back to my bed, which will more then likely be cold by the time I get back. I stop and stare. Sherlock's on the ground, knocked out. He shifts a little bit and moans. Sleeping. Wait-Sleeping? When does he-? He does sometimes I suppose. Usually on the couch. Why he does that I don't know. He has a bedroom and a nice bed. I wonder what sociopaths dream about. I grab a pillow from the couch and put it under his head, I'm not going to move him, not tonight. I wonder why he doesn't usually sleep though. Maybe it's the dreams, or maybe he just doesn't need it. I know I wouldn't sleep if I could. Terrible dreams plague me at night, so I'm barely sleeping at all. Glass of water is all that's left now. Good. Maybe I'll actually get some sleep tonight. Stepping over the skinny body of my flatmate I make my way to the kitchen. Oh. That is rank. What's he done now? Left something in the drain like last week? I hope not. I just want a glass of water.

Sherlock


It's started. A burlap sack is removed from my face and my eyes start to smart and sting because of the sudden light.

"Hey there Sherlock." Moriarty. Again.

"What do you want?"

"Me? Why should you care what I want? You should be more worried about him!" Moriarty gestures behind him. Oh God. It's John. He's tied to a chair, looks like he's been beaten a bit. Oh God. Moriarty knows that John's my best mate.

"Why?"

"Why what Sherlock? I don't know everything."

"Why are you doing this?"

"You didn't stay away Sherlock. Remember what I said?"

"Enlighten me."

"I said I'd burn the heart out of you."

"And I said I don't have one."

"And I said we both know that's not quite true."

"Isn't it?"

"Not at all. Your best friend. You care about him don't you. It would just break your fragile little heart if I were to do this." He pulls out a gun. Where did he get that? Oh GOD! He's going to shoot John! He's going to shoot him! He puts the muzzle to John's temple and cocks it. Taunting me. "Oh. You should see your face. Are you alright Sherlock? What if I were to do this?" He puts a finger over the trigger and puts a little bit of pressure on it. OH MY GOD! He's going to kill John. He's going to kill him and make me watch. "Or this?" There's a shot and I close my eyes. OH GOD! HE'S KILLED JOHN!

"NO! YOU BASTARD! NO! OH MY GOD!"

John

"NO! YOU BASTARD! NO! OH MY GOD!" Sherlock's sudden outburst makes me nearly drop one of the only clean glasses into the sink, where it would probably break. Taking a quick gulp I turn to face Sherlock. He's twitching on the floor, looking shocked, scared, and angry all at once, eyes screwed up against some unspeakable horror.

"Sherlock?" No use. He's dreaming now.

"I WILL KILL YOU! OH MY GOD! JOHN! JOHN!"

Sherlock

"JOHN! JOHN!" I finally open my eyes, there's blood every where, even on me. How did I not feel it. Jim's smiling at me, holding the gun out.

"Bet you liked that. How do you feel now Sherlock? Will you stay away now?"

"Oh, it's just started. Let me go and we'll see how much I'll stay away. You've murdered my best friend, and I can't stand for that."

"Oh, he was just a pet! You can't say anything. He's so loyal, and then WHOOPS! Sorry Sherlock. Really I am. But it had to be done." He smiles before placing the gun in my lap.

"Thought you didn't like to get your hands dirty."

"This was an exception. The idea was just so... tantalizing, I had to do it myself. Plus it would hurt you more. Am I right? How do you feel?" Like a truck ran me over and over and over and over and over again. And like I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. And like none of this is real. John can't really be dead. Shock. Numb. OH GOD.

"JOHN! JOHN! JOHN!"

"Cry all you want Sherlock, because you are crying. I can see that much. Poor baby. I'm sorry. Had to be done though. I'm sorry. Maybe if you had backed off like you were supposed to..." He strokes my cheek. Oh God. I'm crying. John.

"John? JOHN!"

John

"JOHN! JOHN?" He has been doing that for five minutes now, with bits of mumbled conversation in between. What is he dreaming about? He gives another twitch, "I AM GOING TO KILL YOU MYSELF! OH MY GOD! JOHN! JOHN? Get away from me you bastard!"

"Sherlock! Sherlock. It's okay. I'm here, you're fine. You're going to be okay. Sherlock, I'm alright. It's all going to be okay. Sherlock. SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock

I'm going to kill him. Going to kill him. And I know how. I'm going to cut his heart out. Oh my God. John's still there, slumped over now. Head hanging, blood dripping, unmoving. Oh God. He's not going to get up ever. He's not going to move ever again. And it's my fault. I didn't stop prying.

"You bastard."

"Thought you had no heart Sherlock."

"Doesn't mean I can't care."

"Yes it does Sherlock." This can't be real. It just can't be. Not real. Oh GOD. John's not going to wake up.

"John?"

"This is about you and me Sherlock."

"You and I. JOHN?"

"He's not going to move Sherlock."

"He has to. He's my doctor."

"Brother." I look up. Mycroft. We're in a hospital. John's there, in that bed, and he's not going to move. All vital signs have flat lined. He's not breathing. Not moving. John's dead. "I'm sorry Sherlock. We couldn't save him. Like we couldn't save father."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT MY BASTARD FATHER! I CARE ABOUT JOHN!"

John

"JOHN IS WHAT'S IMPORTANT! AND NOW HE'S GONE! WE ARE NOT HAVING THIS CONVERSATION MYCROFT!" What the Hell? What's he dreaming about. Not good. I need to wake him up. Now. It's important.

"Sherlock. Wake up. Wake up now Sherlock." I start to shake his shoulders. No response. He's crying now. Crying in his sleep. This isn't good at all. "SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock

I put my head in my hands and cry. I can do nothing else. My world, my life, my friend, my best friend has been taken from me. In one day. And it hurts. Oh God. It hurts.

"SHERLOCK! SHERLOCK WAKE UP!" I look up. What? Is that John's voice? Wake up?

John

He's stirring, eyelids fluttering. Good sign. "SHERLOCK! WAKE UP!" His eyes fly open and he gropes in the dark wildly for a moment.

"JOHN?"

"Yes Sherlock. You're awake now. Everything is good now."

"Oh my God. That was one of the worst things in the world." He's breathing heavily, wiping at the tears that have started to dry on his face.

"Well it's over now. Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Alright. You need some sleep. You're having dreams, and falling asleep on the floor. You need sleep."

"I don't want any."

"Please Sherlock."

"Don't leave me?"
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