So yeah, I’m apparently on a Johnlock kick. I wrote another one tonight >.<. That makes three since the first of the month. This one is a first time fic:
Since moving in to Baker Street, John Watson found the nightmares came much less often. But they still came, creeping unsuspecting from the dark, leaving him gasping and panting in his sheets, sometimes grabbing his shoulder as if the wound was fresh and bleeding. There was no getting back to sleep after that and since his laptop was usually in the sitting room he’d just sit in the dark and watch the night pass through the high window, waiting for the dawn when he could creep downstairs and make himself a cuppa and pretend the nightmares never happened.
On one of those chill nights, a few months after this mad adventure with Sherlock started, he shot awake again, groaning as he grabbed his shoulder, trying to shake himself awake, even as he was halfway reaching for a gun that wasn’t there. The door creaked as it opened and he sat bolt upright, reaching for the gun in his nightstand on instinct.
“John.” Sherlock’s voice was quiet, soothing.