Before i start this, feel free to leave prompts and suggestions in the comments. ALSO HAPPY FRIDAY YAY.

Note: I write in narrative alot, should i start writing in John/Sherlock pov's? Im cool with it, just wanna hear your guy's opinions :)

It was the first 2 months after John had moved in, when he started to have nightmares again.

Really, really, bad nightmares.

The scream, the taste of iron and gunpowder, he could taste it in his dream. He could feel the tenseness in his fingers when he woke up from pulling a fake gun, he could hear the screams of his army mates yelling out and shooting and dying.

He could feel everything so vividly. The pain, the searing pain and ache in his left shoulder, the tired, sweaty feeling.

He felt it all.

Sherlock took notice to his new flatmate. He saw he wasnt getting sleep. He saw the tired bags under his eyes every morning.

He saw his tenseness.

Sherlock, on days that he couldnt fall asleep, for a bit but all the same reason, could hear his friend thrashing about upstairs, and sometimes when he heard the thrashing stop, signifying that John was awake, a small whimpering, like crying.

And, even if Sherlock had only known John for so long, it hurt to see him like that.

Sherlock was aware it was happening to him too. He had nightmares. All the time.

In fact, he couldnt recall ever having a dream.

He was scared if being lost and alone.

Not physically, no.

Sherlock was scared of his mind.

Thats why he never sleeped, because when he did, all there was, was running from himself.

Both the men knew about the unspoken restless nights they had kept experiencing, neither one confronting the other about it, for their sake, not for gain.

And then one night it was bad.

Really bad.

John was being shot. And he was watching his friends die. Torture was everywhere, screaming, iron, blood- thick metal slamming against skin, tears, and bullets, and-

John woke up crying, covered in sweat, shaking and cold.

He almost had a heart attack when he saw Sherlock standing at the door, sorrow and hurt full in his eyes.

"Sh-sherlock," John breathed, feeling a little embarrased.

"How long..." He gulped in air. "Have you been standing there?" He asked, and Sherlock blushed, looking at his feet.

"Since you went to bed," He mumbled, and John blushed a red, before looking away.

There was a long pause, before John looked up, only to find Sherlock gone.

***

The next morning, the boys didnt speak of the incident and carried on their way.

But matters got worse.

It was 6 months now since John had been living with Sherlock, and the nightmares had only progressed.

Images, vivid pain, it was all so real. It felt so real to John. He hated it.

He was sleeping one night, in a vivid dream, when there was an earthquake, and shaking and screaming, and John was telling people to move and run, and then he heard his name.

"John," John turned around, squinting against the dust and heat and saw Sherlock.

"John!" He was yelling his name, and John stared at him, when the earthquake became harder.

"JOHN!" Johns name was quiet clear this time, and suddenly the eartch cracked in two, and John woke up panting, and about to jump out of bed, before he was pushed down with a pair of strong hands, which had shaken him up.

"John," Sherlock sighed, and John looked up at him.

"Sh-sherlock?" He croaked, and Sherlock nodded, and without thinking, embraced John in a tight hug.

John was astonished at first, before wrapping his arms around the other man, and pulling him close.

After the embrace, Sherlock pulled away.

"Are you okay?" He asked, and John nodded.

There was a long silence, before Sherlock held Johns shoulder.

"Try and sleep yeah?" He asked, and John nodded.

John didnt sleep that night.

***

Again, like last time, no words were said in the morning.

Until later that very month, when Sherlock had bolted up, terrified and in cold sweat.

He had been falling deep in a black hole, and he rubbed his forehead.

After sitting in his bed, he picked himself up, and went and took a hot shower.

He walked out feeling refrshed, and was about to head to his room, when he froze.

He didnt want to go back in his room.

Or be alone with himself and his thoughts.

No.

He wanted John.

Needed John.

So, Sherlock crept up the stairs and into Johns room, to find John awake, and groggily looking up to see Sherlock at his doorway.

"John? Did you not go to bed earlier?" He asked, and John shook his head, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"I dont want to sleep," He whispered, and Sherlock sighed.

Without a word, Sherlock walked over to John, and sat down on the other side of the bed, before plopping his head on the pillow, and getting under the sheets.

John, slightly confused as to why Sherlock had plunked himself onto his bed, asked

"Sherlock- what the bloody hell are you doing?" He slurred, although he was really too tired to care, and or get the detective out of his room.

"Shut up, and come here," Sherlock grumbled, and John layed down, before a felt a pair of arms wrap around him.

"Im here John. Now get some sleep you sod," Sherlock mumbled, before pressing his lips to Johns forehead.

And John actually fell asleep that night, of course, in the only way possible, in Sherlocks arms.

And not once did he dream about the military, but instead of how Sherlocks lips felt pressed against his forehead, and how his arms held in protectively close.