Sherlock never would have guessed he would take to sleeping next to someone so well, but now it was like he didn't know how he got by all those years without this. John's presence was so warm and solid and appealing, filling him with a sense of security he never thought he could feel. He wasn't sure how he would ever be able to go back to sleeping alone, even if he managed to mimic the effect of having John in his bed somehow. It wouldn't be the same, certain that Sherlock was only so agreeable about actually sleeping because he had this to look forward to. He'd probably fall back into old habits, only sleeping when succumbing to exhaustion and even then only staying asleep for a short time. With John, though, he felt like he could get used to the average routine of sleeping quite easily, actually.
He made a soft sound of assent when John asked him to stop moving, though he almost wanted to continue just to feel the way John's arms would tighten around him like that. "Just settling in." he murmured, stilling as directed apart from his hand that idly stroked his side over his shirt. He could definitely get used to this. He only hoped he could somehow convince John to drag out this experiment indefinitely.
John Watson was having a nightmare. Once Sherlock had settled in and stilled, it only took moments for John to fall into deep sleep, welcoming the dark. Reliving his Army days, their base was under fire, the team he was assigned to in panic and chaos as a colleague cried out his name.
Blood. So much blood and torn off flesh and raw bone.
He was trying his damnest to revive a fellow soldier, young, far too young, blood all over his hands but as much as he tried the soldier just lay there in the sand, his eyes wide open. Bill, John thinks his name was. Bill McKenzie. He had a fiancée waiting for him back in East Sussex.
John grabbed the dead soldier's rifle and let out a guttural cry as he fired around himself without mercy.
Once his bullets ran out, his mind became clear and he saw the damage done. The person he truly is. The danger he is. Friend and foe both, lying on the ground. And while this never truly happened, he had thought, felt himself close to snapping and doing something unspeakable, and seeing it now, in his dream, it seemed far too real.
He woke up screaming and shivering, sweat dripping down his bare back, distressed and panic-stricken. It took him far too long to realize he was not alone in the bed, and even longer to remember it was Sherlock who was with him.
"Sorry," he rasped automatically. "I'm fine, I'm fine, just a bad dream, I'll just go-- have a glass of water," as he made to get out of the bed, not wanting to be confronted with had just occurred.
Sherlock jolted awake when John did, his fingers fisting in his shirt as he looked him over to find out what was wrong. He searched his face and found the answer, it was a nightmare, of course. He had hoped their experiment would help in that regard as well, though maybe it was just too early to tell.
He shook his head and tugged John back down with him, not accepting John's plan to get up. "It's alright." he whispered into his ear, his fingers moving to stroke through John's hair in the calming gesture that worked so well on himself. "Just go back to sleep. It's fine." he murmured, pressing in close again as he continued petting John's hair. This was why they were doing this, after all, so that they could work through their respective sleep issues and try to move past them. He wouldn't ask about his dream, knowing that John wouldn't want to talk about it, and he was no good at that sort of thing anyway. What he could do was press in against him and try to soothe him back to sleep with gentle fingers carding through his hair.
John was still trembling a little with the aftershocks of fear and self-hatred the nightmare had instilled in him, his heart racing so badly it hurt. He felt icy cold and far too warm at the same time. It was not alright. It was not fine. He hid his face in his hands, drawing in deep, shivering breaths. "I killed everyone," he whispered, voice hoarse, not sure why he said it out loud, not really wanting to talk about what he'd woken up from.
Sherlock's voice was soft in his ear, the sound of it and the feel of his warm breath against his neck strangely soothing. He flinched when he first felt his fingers petting his hair, not expecting the touch, and certainly not from this man.
"Sherlock..."
He could hear the frown in his own voice, could hear the confusion and uncertainty and careful trust there. He still felt horribly shaken, but for once, he was not alone in the dark. He wouldn't have to deal with this on his own. He just had to... keep breathing, and remind himself that he was alive, in London, with purpose in his life, and an extraordinarily eccentric friend who actually trusted him. And John trusted him back, implicitly. He could feel his heart rate beginning to slow as he worked his way through these thoughts and realizations.
"I'm sorry I woke you," he murmured quietly, realizing the entire point of this experiment was to improve Sherlock's sleeping pattern... and his own. He gently wrapped his fingers around the other's wrist in apology, and kept them there.
"It is." he insisted, not willing to let John lose himself in his own head. He squeezed in close when he felt John trembling, frowning when he saw him hide his face in his hands. He sat up, grabbing for John's hands and staring him in the face.
"No, you didn't. You're here. It's okay." he assured him, relaxing when John finally said his name, feeling that he'd finally realized that none of his dream was real. He settled against him again, petting his hair to bring John back to this moment rather than getting stuck back in memories of war.
"There's nothing to be sorry for." He stilled in his place wrapped around John again, half smiling to himself when John's hand wrapped around his wrist. "Try to sleep." he murmured, curling his body around John's tightly.
It took a few more minutes, but sleep was beginning to pull at John's senses again. And with Sherlock curled so tightly around him, there really was nowhere else for John to go. Rather than feeling suffocated by Sherlock's presence and close proximity, he felt... safer, somehow. Distantly, he remembered reading an article on deep pressure for sensory relief when he was a student, and he thought he finally understood why it might be so effective for some people. It was near impossible to lose it again with Sherlock holding him the way he did. And then, of course, there was the hair-petting, which added another level of comfort and ease to the moment.
"You're a good friend," John murmured sleepily, closing his eyes as he felt himself sinking away into deep sleep, "Don't think I deserve someone so brilliant as you in my life..."
Sherlock felt rather proud of himself in this moment, having higher hopes for this experiment being successful by the second. It felt like he belonged here, tangled up in John, like they should have engaged in this experiment a long time ago. Beyond the results of the experiment, even, this seemed like just where they were meant to end up, helping each other through every waking moment and even into dreams.
His eyes flicked open at John's words, marveling inwardly at the fact that he'd never heard that particular combination of words before. His brow furrowed just slightly at his sentiment, certain that John had it backwards. It was entirely too often that he thought that he was the one who didn't deserve John, always bracing himself for the day that he would say the wrong thing, push him too hard somehow and that John would leave him. He had thought he'd managed it earlier that day, in fact. He let his fingers drop from John's hair to trail down his neck, enjoying these moments quite a lot, especially knowing that he was the one who calmed John enough to sleep again. He closed his eyes, but stayed awake, wanting to enjoy the feeling of being pressed against John just a bit longer while he was conscious and see if John would say anything else.
"Someone as brilliant as you deserves someone better," John continued in that soft murmur, half-asleep already and only distantly aware of what he was saying. He felt so warm, so comfortable, so utterly taken care of, and all by the virtue of Sherlock holding him. Then again, he couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed someone to hold him like this, and actually relaxed into it...
He fell asleep a few moments later, and the rest of the night was a relatively quiet one for John Watson. Once or twice, he stirred restlessly in sleep, but calmed almost immediately after due to the presence of something, something which made him sigh softly in sleep and shift closer to said presence. There was safety there, and acceptance, and something warm John could only identify as love.
Over the course of the night, John had shifted sufficiently and stubbornly so that his back was now resting against Sherlock's chest, the taller man spooning him, his arm and leg still draped over John's smaller form. He woke slowly, reluctantly, blinking a few times as he tried to remember where he was. The room was unfamiliar, yet not. Once it dawned on him where he was, he debated only for a moment on what he should do. He shifted back into the other man, wanting more warmth, more contact, and grabbed Sherlock's hand, pulling it to his chest and keeping it there as he curled up in the other's embrace. God, but he had missed this. It had been years upon years since he'd woken up in someone else's arms, with the desire to actually be there, and stay there. This was good. This was very good.
It took all of Sherlock's energy not to scoff at John's sleepy mutterings, sure that he had it completely wrong. No one was better for him than John, and he certainly didn't deserve him. Every day for him it became more unbelievable that John was here, that he'd stayed when so many others would have left. How many other flatmates would submit to sleeping together like this, after all? He smiled to himself when he noted that John had finally fallen asleep, just watching him for a long moment so he could see the way he'd relaxed so easily after his nightmare. Normally, John stayed awake for a long time after a nightmare, getting restless and sometimes not even sleeping again at all. It gave him new hope for their experiment that John was able to fall back to sleep so easily.
He fell back to sleep himself a few moments later, clinging to John insistently with all of his limbs. He slept on through the night, not even talking as he usually did, just sleeping peacefully. He only stirred when John did, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed even though he was being pulled into wakefulness. He allowed John to take his hand, humming sleepily as he shifted as close as he could to him. When John held his hand to his chest, he threaded their fingers together, tightening his arm and leg around him as he nuzzled his hair tiredly. They were both awake by this point, but he had no desire to move just yet, and it seemed John was on the same page. There was no harm in staying here just a little while longer.
John debated for a little while whether he should break the silence, wish Sherlock a good morning, let the other man know he was awake (though he probably knew as much already). He thought back to the day before, where there morning had started off so wonderfully, with laughter and an ease around each other, despite the unusual closeness. And then John had ruined it by reacting too intensely, too negatively, too quickly to Sherlock's idea of this experiment. But wishing Sherlock a good morning wouldn't ruin anything, surely...
He exhaled softly and tightened his fingers on Sherlock's, a smile tugging at his lips. "You're like a human spider," he murmured, voice rough. He felt sleepy, but not tired, which had not been the case for a long time. "Your long limbs, I mean. I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock. I'm good right here." He pulled Sherlock's arm around him a little more to illustrate just that, moving back against the other man.
Holding John like this felt far better than Sherlock ever imagined. He had expected that he'd be too warm or have a hard time finding a comfortable position, but they just..fit somehow. He had felt it yesterday, which was why he was so quick to suggest this experiment.
He opened his eyes when John spoke, furrowing his brow at bit at his comment. He hummed contentedly at his explanation, the reassurance that he wasn't planning on moving certainly comforting.
"As am I." he murmured into his hair, his limbs tightening on him when John moved even closer as much as that was possible. He nosed into John's hair with a gentle sigh, glad that today seemed to be going much better than yesterday had.
Oh, much better indeed. John was keen on not ruining this morning, not when he'd had such a good night's sleep, not counting the moment when...
"I'm sorry," he murmured, an echo from earlier that night. "About the nightmare. Didn't expect that one." John's nightmares were recurring, not always the same, but some were regulars even so, and the one from last night always left John with difficult feelings of doubt and guilt and self-hatred. He knew they were not justified, but it was sometimes hard to remember when dreams manifested themselves in one's mind and body so intensely.
He played with the fingers of Sherlock's hand, absent-mindedly, brushing his fingertips across the palm of his hand. "And thank you, for... For being there. Calming me down. I needed that. Did... Did you sleep okay?"
Shaking his head automatically, Sherlock nudged himself closer and squeezed John tight.
"You don't have to be sorry." he replied, only wishing he could have prevented it in the first place rather than just comforting him in the aftermath. "That's the point of this experiment, to analyze our respective sleep issues and go about trying to fix them."
He smiled softly against his hair, enjoying the way John was stroking his hand like that. "No thanks necessary. I only wish I could have done more." He made a gentle sound of approval, appreciating the lingering scent of the cologne he liked so much.
"I did. Even longer and deeper than yesterday." he answered, stroking his own fingers over John's hand, admiring the quiet strength and capability of those strong hands. "And you?" Besides the nightmare, of course, but he wasn't going to bring that up.
John considered that question for a moment while he looked down at their hands. While the nightmare had shaken John, it had not been as bad afterwards as it normally would have been. He had actually gone back to sleep, and slept well, which was more than a little remarkable. Usually he would just lie awake in bed until a sensible hour, and sometimes he even got up and puttered about in their living room, sitting behind his laptop and working on another blog entry with that old-fashioned typewriting journalist style of typing of his, which took forever and drove Sherlock up the walls, but it was what John was used to. Breaking John out of his habits was almost as impossible as trying the same with Sherlock.
"I slept quite well," he finally answered, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock. "Don't know how much of that was pure exhaustion or this experiment of yours, but I guess I'll get a better feel for that tonight, eh?"
Sherlock gave a satisfied smile when John answered, having hoped for that response. He stroked his thumb gently over John's hand, unsure when little movements like that had become so natural, but not wanting to question it.
"Yes, I suppose so." he replied, privately looking forward to getting to sleep in John's bed. As much as he got into everything else in the flat, he didn't often venture into John's room. He was certainly excited to get another research opportunity for his ongoing study of one John Watson that he always had going since they'd met. He didn't think he'd ever complete his research on that particular subject, and he was quite alright with that, actually.
He still didn't quite want to get up just yet, still enjoying this feeling of being wrapped around John so completely far too much. He settled against him again, staying awake and just thinking about how he could lean up against John like this throughout the day. He was certain he wouldn't mind, he was letting this go on, after all. Still, it was warm and cozy in here under the blankets with him, and he wanted to stay in their bubble of comfortable warmth for a while longer. If John said he needed or wanted anything, Sherlock actually thought he might get up and get it for him, just so long as he promised to stay in bed.
John's room was not so much a sanctuary for John as it was for other people. But it was the only room in the flat that was entirely his, and at times, he needed and enjoyed a moment of privacy. He still slept restlessly, but the nightmares had subsided somewhat, their frequency and intensity not nearly as bad as they were before he'd met Sherlock. He brushed last night's nightmare off as an anomaly, sleeping in a place that was unknown to him at night, and sleeping next to another person. Tonight would be better. It had to be.
Almost on cue, John's stomach gave a bit of a complaining rumble, and he cleared his throat a little in faint embarrassment before smiling, still looking at Sherlock over his shoulder. "How about some tea and toast?" he asked, right before he made to get out of the bed. He really did not want to, it was so very warm and comfortable under the covers and in Sherlock's arms... but he was starting to feel a little peckish. "I think we have some juice, as well, might be nice?"
He made a soft sound of assent when John asked him to stop moving, though he almost wanted to continue just to feel the way John's arms would tighten around him like that. "Just settling in." he murmured, stilling as directed apart from his hand that idly stroked his side over his shirt. He could definitely get used to this. He only hoped he could somehow convince John to drag out this experiment indefinitely.
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Blood. So much blood and torn off flesh and raw bone.
He was trying his damnest to revive a fellow soldier, young, far too young, blood all over his hands but as much as he tried the soldier just lay there in the sand, his eyes wide open. Bill, John thinks his name was. Bill McKenzie. He had a fiancée waiting for him back in East Sussex.
John grabbed the dead soldier's rifle and let out a guttural cry as he fired around himself without mercy.
Once his bullets ran out, his mind became clear and he saw the damage done. The person he truly is. The danger he is. Friend and foe both, lying on the ground. And while this never truly happened, he had thought, felt himself close to snapping and doing something unspeakable, and seeing it now, in his dream, it seemed far too real.
He woke up screaming and shivering, sweat dripping down his bare back, distressed and panic-stricken. It took him far too long to realize he was not alone in the bed, and even longer to remember it was Sherlock who was with him.
"Sorry," he rasped automatically. "I'm fine, I'm fine, just a bad dream, I'll just go-- have a glass of water," as he made to get out of the bed, not wanting to be confronted with had just occurred.
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He shook his head and tugged John back down with him, not accepting John's plan to get up. "It's alright." he whispered into his ear, his fingers moving to stroke through John's hair in the calming gesture that worked so well on himself. "Just go back to sleep. It's fine." he murmured, pressing in close again as he continued petting John's hair. This was why they were doing this, after all, so that they could work through their respective sleep issues and try to move past them. He wouldn't ask about his dream, knowing that John wouldn't want to talk about it, and he was no good at that sort of thing anyway. What he could do was press in against him and try to soothe him back to sleep with gentle fingers carding through his hair.
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John was still trembling a little with the aftershocks of fear and self-hatred the nightmare had instilled in him, his heart racing so badly it hurt. He felt icy cold and far too warm at the same time. It was not alright. It was not fine. He hid his face in his hands, drawing in deep, shivering breaths. "I killed everyone," he whispered, voice hoarse, not sure why he said it out loud, not really wanting to talk about what he'd woken up from.
Sherlock's voice was soft in his ear, the sound of it and the feel of his warm breath against his neck strangely soothing. He flinched when he first felt his fingers petting his hair, not expecting the touch, and certainly not from this man.
"Sherlock..."
He could hear the frown in his own voice, could hear the confusion and uncertainty and careful trust there. He still felt horribly shaken, but for once, he was not alone in the dark. He wouldn't have to deal with this on his own. He just had to... keep breathing, and remind himself that he was alive, in London, with purpose in his life, and an extraordinarily eccentric friend who actually trusted him. And John trusted him back, implicitly. He could feel his heart rate beginning to slow as he worked his way through these thoughts and realizations.
"I'm sorry I woke you," he murmured quietly, realizing the entire point of this experiment was to improve Sherlock's sleeping pattern... and his own. He gently wrapped his fingers around the other's wrist in apology, and kept them there.
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"No, you didn't. You're here. It's okay." he assured him, relaxing when John finally said his name, feeling that he'd finally realized that none of his dream was real. He settled against him again, petting his hair to bring John back to this moment rather than getting stuck back in memories of war.
"There's nothing to be sorry for." He stilled in his place wrapped around John again, half smiling to himself when John's hand wrapped around his wrist. "Try to sleep." he murmured, curling his body around John's tightly.
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"You're a good friend," John murmured sleepily, closing his eyes as he felt himself sinking away into deep sleep, "Don't think I deserve someone so brilliant as you in my life..."
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His eyes flicked open at John's words, marveling inwardly at the fact that he'd never heard that particular combination of words before. His brow furrowed just slightly at his sentiment, certain that John had it backwards. It was entirely too often that he thought that he was the one who didn't deserve John, always bracing himself for the day that he would say the wrong thing, push him too hard somehow and that John would leave him. He had thought he'd managed it earlier that day, in fact. He let his fingers drop from John's hair to trail down his neck, enjoying these moments quite a lot, especially knowing that he was the one who calmed John enough to sleep again. He closed his eyes, but stayed awake, wanting to enjoy the feeling of being pressed against John just a bit longer while he was conscious and see if John would say anything else.
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He fell asleep a few moments later, and the rest of the night was a relatively quiet one for John Watson. Once or twice, he stirred restlessly in sleep, but calmed almost immediately after due to the presence of something, something which made him sigh softly in sleep and shift closer to said presence. There was safety there, and acceptance, and something warm John could only identify as love.
Over the course of the night, John had shifted sufficiently and stubbornly so that his back was now resting against Sherlock's chest, the taller man spooning him, his arm and leg still draped over John's smaller form. He woke slowly, reluctantly, blinking a few times as he tried to remember where he was. The room was unfamiliar, yet not. Once it dawned on him where he was, he debated only for a moment on what he should do. He shifted back into the other man, wanting more warmth, more contact, and grabbed Sherlock's hand, pulling it to his chest and keeping it there as he curled up in the other's embrace. God, but he had missed this. It had been years upon years since he'd woken up in someone else's arms, with the desire to actually be there, and stay there. This was good. This was very good.
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He fell back to sleep himself a few moments later, clinging to John insistently with all of his limbs. He slept on through the night, not even talking as he usually did, just sleeping peacefully. He only stirred when John did, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed even though he was being pulled into wakefulness. He allowed John to take his hand, humming sleepily as he shifted as close as he could to him. When John held his hand to his chest, he threaded their fingers together, tightening his arm and leg around him as he nuzzled his hair tiredly. They were both awake by this point, but he had no desire to move just yet, and it seemed John was on the same page. There was no harm in staying here just a little while longer.
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He exhaled softly and tightened his fingers on Sherlock's, a smile tugging at his lips. "You're like a human spider," he murmured, voice rough. He felt sleepy, but not tired, which had not been the case for a long time. "Your long limbs, I mean. I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock. I'm good right here." He pulled Sherlock's arm around him a little more to illustrate just that, moving back against the other man.
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He opened his eyes when John spoke, furrowing his brow at bit at his comment. He hummed contentedly at his explanation, the reassurance that he wasn't planning on moving certainly comforting.
"As am I." he murmured into his hair, his limbs tightening on him when John moved even closer as much as that was possible. He nosed into John's hair with a gentle sigh, glad that today seemed to be going much better than yesterday had.
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"I'm sorry," he murmured, an echo from earlier that night. "About the nightmare. Didn't expect that one." John's nightmares were recurring, not always the same, but some were regulars even so, and the one from last night always left John with difficult feelings of doubt and guilt and self-hatred. He knew they were not justified, but it was sometimes hard to remember when dreams manifested themselves in one's mind and body so intensely.
He played with the fingers of Sherlock's hand, absent-mindedly, brushing his fingertips across the palm of his hand. "And thank you, for... For being there. Calming me down. I needed that. Did... Did you sleep okay?"
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"You don't have to be sorry." he replied, only wishing he could have prevented it in the first place rather than just comforting him in the aftermath. "That's the point of this experiment, to analyze our respective sleep issues and go about trying to fix them."
He smiled softly against his hair, enjoying the way John was stroking his hand like that. "No thanks necessary. I only wish I could have done more." He made a gentle sound of approval, appreciating the lingering scent of the cologne he liked so much.
"I did. Even longer and deeper than yesterday." he answered, stroking his own fingers over John's hand, admiring the quiet strength and capability of those strong hands. "And you?" Besides the nightmare, of course, but he wasn't going to bring that up.
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"I slept quite well," he finally answered, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock. "Don't know how much of that was pure exhaustion or this experiment of yours, but I guess I'll get a better feel for that tonight, eh?"
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"Yes, I suppose so." he replied, privately looking forward to getting to sleep in John's bed. As much as he got into everything else in the flat, he didn't often venture into John's room. He was certainly excited to get another research opportunity for his ongoing study of one John Watson that he always had going since they'd met. He didn't think he'd ever complete his research on that particular subject, and he was quite alright with that, actually.
He still didn't quite want to get up just yet, still enjoying this feeling of being wrapped around John so completely far too much. He settled against him again, staying awake and just thinking about how he could lean up against John like this throughout the day. He was certain he wouldn't mind, he was letting this go on, after all. Still, it was warm and cozy in here under the blankets with him, and he wanted to stay in their bubble of comfortable warmth for a while longer. If John said he needed or wanted anything, Sherlock actually thought he might get up and get it for him, just so long as he promised to stay in bed.
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Almost on cue, John's stomach gave a bit of a complaining rumble, and he cleared his throat a little in faint embarrassment before smiling, still looking at Sherlock over his shoulder. "How about some tea and toast?" he asked, right before he made to get out of the bed. He really did not want to, it was so very warm and comfortable under the covers and in Sherlock's arms... but he was starting to feel a little peckish. "I think we have some juice, as well, might be nice?"
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