It had been weeks since the incident. Everything seemed to go back to normal on Baker Street.
Sherlock continued to be an annoying know-it-all. John kept on blogging. And you were often at 221B. It was more of a home than your actual flat.
Except for the nightmares. They never seemed to get better. Only worse and more vivid as time went on.
What if Sherlock didn't get to you in time?
What if the crazy man had the chance to keep you?
Would he have blown you up? Or, something much, much worse?
These were things the night terrors focused on. Picking out one of the fears of your mind and conjuring it up into a 'reality'.
You never dare told John or Sherlock, though you were sure with the way the Holmes boy looked at you that he knew. How could he not? The detective was fantastic at noticing your details.
Currently, the three of you were lounging about in the flat. Sherlock in his chair with his silly violin, John in his with tea and you sitting off to the side with tea of your own. You paid no mind to whatever it was the pair was discussing, your mind traveling off to the dream for the previous night.
“Deary~You belong to me now. Your precious detective doesn't want you anymore. It's just you and me.” His finger tenderly traced over your lips, your jaw, pushing your (h/c) hair behind your ear and then smiled.
“Let me just show you..” Moriarty slowly leaned forward, about to cover your mouth with his before a knife was found sticking out of your leg.
The running image in your head was cut off when your mug slipped from your hands and crashed to the floor, along with a soft yelp.
Blinking rapidly, you glanced up from the mess on the floor to see both men gazing intently at you. John's was a face of concern, swiftly responding to the silent cries of help. While Sherlock held an almost disappointed look. One that said, 'You should have spoken up about this.'
Watson's hand was on your cheek, forcing you to look him in the eye. Tears built up in your (e/c) orbs, the realization setting in that you couldn't keep this a secret anymore. The exhaustion was clear as day on your face now. After days and weeks of attempting to hide it, your walls broke and you finally let them see it.
“(r/n)? What's going on?”
Before you had the chance to speak up, Sherlock answered for you, “She's having nightmares. What else would you expect? (r/n) had been holed up with a maniac..”
John sent him a nasty glance before turning his attention back to you with worry etched into his features. “I'm going to clean up the tea...alright?”
They way he said it, like you were a child, made you grimace at him. The other man took notice and leaned back in his chair. “Once you finish that, go fetch some milk, John,” he murmured and before the army doctor could refuse, Sherlock cut him off. “Go.”
Taking the hint well, John finished cleaning up the broken mug of tea, grabbed his coat and left. The silence that was left was making you fidget. The curly haired man sat still for a few extra minutes, then motioned for you to sit where Watson was previous.
You followed the invitation and sat across from Holmes, tucking your legs under you. Face down, your (h/l) (h/c) making sure your eyes were covered and hidden away from.
“Don't make me.”
If it was anyone else, the man would have pressed. Instead, he inhaled and puffed his cheeks before letting the breath go.
“You should have told us sooner.”
“But you already knew.”
Sherlock could not deny that truth. So why hadn't he brought it up?
Because you're different.
Again silence. Finally, after a few tense moment, you broke it with a question that had been on your mind for some time.
“What did he mean?”
“You know exactly what I'm talking about. What did...he mean when he said you both had another weakness?”
The man paused. This was something that had plagued the detective since the words left Moriarty's lips. He knew exactly what the dig meant. The only problem was : Was it true?
“He was trying to get under my skin,” he whispered, hands pressing together as his eyes closed. “Moriarty was attempting to say we are similar.”
You knew it was more than that. There was so much more. But, he didn't push about the nightmares, so should you push about this? At least you had received an answer, right? You nodded your head at his explanation to show you 'understood' and fell into silence again. Though, this one was much more comfortable.
And that is how you both stayed until John returned. The evening went on. No one brought up the earlier events. It was nice and quiet for the rest of the night.
When it had come time for them to retire, John had offered up his room to you. In reply, you had shaken your head. Changing from the couch to his room would make no difference.
You joked to yourself that maybe lying together with Sherlock would calm the terrors, but that only caused you to blush and hide your face.
Before John left to his room, he kissed your forehead. It was a kind gesture that you appreciated and it showed just how much the doctor truly cared for you. And it was after John was gone that Sherlock approached you.
He got down on his knees and took your face with his hands, narrowing his eyes. It made you think of when he examined a dead body. The thought sent shivers down your spine. Weird.
A few minutes passed and he finally let go. He stood to his full height, gazing down at you with those eyes of his. Those damn eyes. You wondered to yourself what the hell he was doing just standing there when he finally bent down. One of his hands lied on your shoulder as he imitated the actions of his blogger earlier.
He kissed your head.
Sherlock Holmes kissed your head.
A blush crept up on your cheeks, a satisfied and happy warmth spreading from your face all the down to your toes.
“Sleep well, (r/n).”
And for the first night since your kidnapping, you slept very good.
Only a repeating dream of the simple head-kiss.