See the Girl With the Broken Smile

It started off happening sporadically. Sherlock would wake up in the middle of the night yelling something, or even creeping into John's room to make sure he was still alive. When it started to get more and more frequent and wasn't literally causing the tall dark haired man to fall asleep at crime scenes, and wake up from naps on the couch in cold sweat. John was getting worried.

John had woken to find Sherlock on the ground in the living room shaking and sweating, probably from a nightmare. The poor man was having them every time he went to sleep! John quickly made his way to the kitchen and made tea for the two of them. When Sherlock grabbed his tea, his hands were shaking so bad he practically spilled it everywhere. John finally got the nerve to ask what he was dreaming about, he was just too sick of seeing his flat mate suffer.

Sherlock locked up immediately and refused to tell his flat mate what was going on.
"Sherlock, I'm a doctor. I can help you. What are the dreams? You're starting to worry me," John said, his brow knitting together worriedly.

The look that passed over the detectives face was somewhat worrying. It was a mixture between guilt and being scared to death. Sherlock shifted slightly in his chair and then sighed. "I guess I can't keep it from you forever," The man muttered, his young face looking older by the day. "I keep dreaming that you're dying John. I keep seeing your face, bloodied, or I ended up shooting you, or I was just too late," Sherlock stammered. He looked scared just recalling the memory of his nightmares that were constantly haunting him.

John frowned. "Sherlock, you should've told me about this earlier! I've dealt with night mares from the war ever since I got back. I can prescribe you some heavy sleeping pills that might make the dreams go away."

Sherlock shook his head doubtfully. "I think it would make them worse..."

John sighed. "Let's try for a night okay? We aren't on a case so we should be able to try
it for tonight, okay?" Sherlock sighed and then shook his head stiffly, as if he were a statue.

Once night came, John gave the large white pill to Sherlock who took it, his hands were still shaking. "I'll check on you in the morning okay?" John said. Sherlock nodded, taking the pill and heading to his bedroom. "Night."

"Good Night Sherlock."


It was about 3:32 am when John heard the blood curdling scream that was loud enough to penetrate John's sleeping mind. John lurched himself out of bed and hurdled himself down the stairs and into Sherlocks room to find the consulting detective huddled into a ball, tears streaming down the man's face, muttering 'John' over and over again.

"Sherlock! Sherlock I'm here," John said, leaning down and shaking the man's shoulders. Sherlock looked up, his eyes looking far more distant then they were before, and the tears seemed so misplaced on the poor man's face.

"John… John… Is that really you?" Sherlock said, reaching up and placing his hand on the other man's face.

"Sherlock it's all right. It was just a dream. Nothing to worry about," John said in a soothingly quiet voice. Sherlock's quivering was slightly less than it was before. John frowned, and felt the detective's forehead for a sign of a fever. He was burning up.  "Here, let me go grab you a wet towel. You have a fever." As John stood to grab it, he felt a tug on the bottom of his shirt as if a small child were clinging to him for reassurance. John turned to face the man with a frown, but not one of annoyance, just one of concern.

"Sherlock, I promise I'll be right back," John whispered in a more reassuring tone. The grip on the bottom of his shirt only got stronger. "Sherlock, you're sick. You need a wash cloth to cool down."

Sherlock weekly shook his head. "Please don't leave me John… Please," He said feebly. It was an odd situation, and John's medical brain was telling him to do two different things; to stay with the man and have a risk of his fever getting worse, or popping into the bathroom to grab a wet wash cloth and help get the fever down. John sighed.

"Sherlock, I promise I will be right back. I promise you." At these words, the grip on the bottom of Johns' shirt loosed slightly and John smiled as he hurriedly walked into the bathroom and retrieved a wet wash cloth that he got cold. He came back in to find Sherlock pulled even tighter into himself and sweating even more. John hated seeing anyone like this, and even less his flat mate Sherlock. John approached Sherlock and placed the wet wash cloth onto the man's head. "Sherlock you have a fever. You need to uncurl yourself so I can make sure you don't over heat. I don't want to force you to sweat this one out."

Sherlock nodded slightly and uncurled himself and raising himself slowly into a sitting position. John sat at the edge of the bed, pressing the wash cloth on the detectives head. His temperature already had gone down significantly. John smiled, and Sherlock sighed slightly, already feeling better.

"Sherlock, you'll need to get some sleep tonight," John said, not really enjoying what he was saying though.

"I know… The nightmares will just come back though," Sherlock said. His voice was so soft and fragile, it made John just want to make Sherlock feel better.

"What do you think would make them go away?" John asked, continuing to place the wash cloth on Sherlock's head and making sure his fever really was going down.
Sherlock bit his lip slightly and then sighed. "Maybe… If you stayed here… Tonight… Just to help…"

John blinked a few times, and then realized what he was saying. "Oh, so you want me to just stay here till you fall asleep again?" Sherlock shook his head. Johns ears got slightly red, and a blush spread across his face. "O-oh. So you mean… sleep with you?" Sherlock nodded slowly. It might work. If it helped Sherlock, John wasn't about to let his best friend down. "O-Okay then. I'll spend the night here with you then," John said, nodding.

Sherlock smiled softly. "I'm sure that'll help," He muttered, turning to place his face into his pillow, the pills from earlier taking effect of the man's consciousness. His fever was already down considerably. John smiled slightly at how peaceful he looked.
With a creak of the bed, John got up and walked around to the other side of the bed. It would be plenty big enough for the two of them. John quietly slipped under the covers, and then laid down, his back facing Sherlock. He smiled slightly. It was very comforting to know that just his presence would be enough to help ease Sherlock of his nightmares.


The sun shone brightly onto the curtains, casting a dim light around the whole room. John awoke to the feeling of something holding onto him rather stiffly. When Johns mind was awake enough to register his surroundings, he remembered the scene that happened last night. He looked sideways at his sleeping flat mate, who was no longer on the other side of the bed, but right next to John, his head on Johns ribcage and his long arms wrapped around Johns chest. It normally would've bugged John, but something about it made John happy. Happy to be important enough in this man's life that just sleeping next to him would allow him to be able to sleep peacefully. John closed his eyes to drift back off into sleep, a smile etched on his face.