Sherlock fic involving dream sharing part 1
Sherlock Holmes was happily dripping some acid onto a ring. It was critical to see if the reaction would be similar to his case and the steady tempo of the drops echoes in the room. Sherlock almost felt like humming to himself. The ring sizzled and cracked and something was a little wrong with that, wasn’t it? It was too loud, too violent a reaction. The previously calming echoes of his work started to fill his ears, seem like they were coming from everywhere and oddly enough Sherlock felt a mild panic creep up his spine as he set his pipette down. The sounds didn’t get quieter like they should have as the reaction continued, instead they intensified and he didn’t know what was happening, it didn’t make sense.
And then John Watson crashed through the door.
He was in fatigues and sand flowed like water onto the floor, swirled up in a whirl behind him, sticking to the walls. He looked at Sherlock and his eyes widened, his jaw dropped.
“Sherlock?!”
Sherlock didn’t answer, only wore the same deer in headlights look as he watched the sand encroach more and more into the lab. It crept along the floor like it was alive, wisps of it looking like tentacles and fingers grabbing and pulling. The places it touched melted, turning from hard linoleum to soft green canvas and it reached up and out, infecting and growing. It went over Sherlock’s head and he backed up, not wanting it to touch him and defile him too.
“What is this?” He stumbled back a few feet, feeling himself being closed in by the morphing and out of focus lab. John ran past the tables and chairs to grab his arm.
“It’s a raid, Sherlock! Can’t you hear the sirens? We’ve got to move!” John said, and with that he tugged Sherlock away, who struggled slightly because they were heading towards a flap in the fabric that definitely used to be a solid metal door; he didn’t want to touch it, but he couldn’t stay in that room either.
John yanked them both through and into the heat of the desert, sand immediately stinging Sherlock’s face and the dryness of the air chocking him. The sun looked like it was only feet away.
“John!” Sherlock yelled, yanking on his arm but John didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge him. “John, wait!” He tugged harder and this time there was a tearing noise that sounded over the surrounding gunshots and fire. John fell to the ground, limp, and his left shoulder was barely still attached. Sherlock recoiled at first before dropping to his knees and scrambling through the sand to him. “Oh fuck! God, what the fuck just happened? Was that me? Fuck, I don’t even know how to call for help, what’s happening?!”
John brought up his good hand and placed it on his cheek, smiling gently in a way that had Sherlock wanting to fly to pieces. “It’s ok, as long as you keep going. Reinforcements are almost here, Sherlock, you can make it.” The sand beneath him was turning rusty with his blood.
“What reinforcements? Where are we?” Sherlock’s eyes darted all over John’s blood-speckled face, trying to read past the shock-induced serenity.
And then the strangest, most out of place expression crossed John’s face. It was confusion, the kind of confusion you get when you go up the stairs to fetch something from you room and forget what it was. It was such a clear, crisp expression in a world of eroded lines. John’ eyes went to the sand below him, to Sherlock’s eyes and he cocked his head -
And Sherlock woke up.
He sat bolt upright from the couch where he’d finally collapsed before dashing upstairs to John’s room. He burst in, not worrying about waking the man because sure enough, John was sat up and breathing hard, that same expression of confusion on his face. Their eyes met and they stayed that way for a long few minutes. John swallowed hard.
“Were you just-“ He cut himself off, looking away and lapsing back into silence for a moment before bringing his eyes back up. “Did you just have a dream?”
Sherlock let out a shaky breath, giving away his rampant heart. “Yes.”
“Was I there?”
“Yes.”
Another silence filled the room as they gazed at each other, trying to find the right words but none seeming logical enough to voice. They couldn’t have just… shared a dream, could they?
“Not possible.” Sherlock said, nodding to himself, lips set in a firm line.
John did the same. “Right.”