Chapter 10: Epilogue

John bolted up in bed, sweat dabbing at his skin as the moonlight shone in through the window. He tried to slow his breathing and heart back down to a normal pace, but he couldn't. He was having a full on panic attack. It wasn't until he felt the movement in the bed next to him that he started to calm down. Sherlock sat up a bit, looked at the alarm clock, and then turned his sleepy figure back to John.

"John, what's wrong?"

"Nightmare. I'm fine."

"Obviously not. Your heart rate is up and so is your breathing. Tell me about it. You're still not quite back to normal physical strength yet, and hyperventilating like that will just exhaust you."
John seemed a bit hesitant, but when he looked over at the icy blue eyes of his lover, he couldn't help but give in. With a sigh to try and calm his nerves, he began. "Well, it was different than my other nightmares, a mash-up of sorts. First, you jumped off Bart's, but instead of landing on the pavement, you had dove into a trench. You were with me, fighting in Afghanistan, and got shot. I was trying to save you, doing everything I could, but you grabbed my hands, and smiled sadly. You pulled me in for a kiss, then that was it. You died, and I couldn't save you. Then an explosion went off, but instead of being in Afghanistan, we were at the pool, and one of Moriarty's men blew up the semtex. What made it worse, though, was that it was after you took it off me, and you shielded me from it. I lived, but you didn't." It wasn't until now that the doctor realised that he had tears in his eyes, and he rubbed furiously at the orbs to get rid of them.

Sherlock held onto his blogger and kissed his temple. One good thing that came out of this whole experience was that he had learned how to calm John if need be. He scooted closer to John and put one leg on each side, one behind John's back and one under John's knees, then pulled him to his chest, mumbling reassurances into the slightly greying, sandy blonde hair and rubbing circles on John's T-shirt clad back.

John didn't cry, but he did let Sherlock comfort him. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and leaned into the embrace, falling back into a comfortable sleep some minutes later. Sherlock stayed up, hugging his blogger, his best friend,is lover and his heart to his chest, rocking out of new-found habit. Not that John minded, he actually found it comforting. Sometimes when Sherlock would be upset, he would do the same to him, rocking him in his lap while telling him that he was not a freak, loser, creep or heartless, which was true; Sherlock Holmes had one of the biggest hearts out there, you just had to gain its trust and treat it right.

The next morning when John woke up, the two began their new yet old rituals. They both showered, but now they showered together, then they got dressed and John made them both tea. Once the tea had been drank, they worked on a case, solved it, got take away then came back home to watch 'Doctor Who' or whatever they felt like watching.

Their life had gone back to normal. Except now, it was so much better.