Sherlock Holmes
It was the middle of the night when it first happened. The first time Sherlock Holmes had a nightmare. They had just finished a case, and Sherlock had been kidnapped for quite a few days. However, no one really knew what had happened in those few days, only that it was bad and pretty painful. All of his limbs were broken, his back had long slashes that were still bleeding - he could feel the blood, even with the bandages. He was still in hospital, obviously. But that didn't stop anything.
He had IVs and such hooked up to him, putting fluid in his body. Those were ripped out, with his thrashing as the nightmare wrecked his mind, shattering everything. It was like he felt as if nothing good could possibly ever happen to him again. He woke up to himself screaming bloody murder, the hospital room dark, and his body was drenched with a cold sweat. He laid there for a moment, trying to catch his breath. So that's a nightmare. He thought idly. The memories of whips cracking down on his back, and large sledge hammers coming down on all of his limbs, moving up and down, shattering the bones. He shook his head, blowing some of his curls - which were dripping with sweat - out of his face. He looked around, his eyes still wide.

John Watson had been worried about Sherlock. He only knew Sherlock had been injured, he barely knew what else his friend had been through.
"Sherlock?" He walked in. "Are you awake?" He had been visting him everyday. It was morning now. He tried to leave Sherlock alone at night so he could rest.
Entering that morning, he knew Sherlock wasn't himself. He just didn't know why or if Sherlock would even say. "How are you feeling?"
It was true to say Sherlock annoyed John sometimes. But it didn't mean he hated Sherlock. He wondered if Sherlock had been eating anything, he knew the strong medication would probably be making him feel sick though. He knew Sherlock hardly ate as it was and never liked admiting much.

Sherlock Holmes
Sherlock hadn't managed to fall asleep again, even though he had drugs coursing through his veins that should have made him a bit sleepy. He looked up as John walked in, but looked away again. "I'm fine." He muttered. God forbid he tell him about his nightmares like some idiotic child. "I just want to get out of here. I'll refuse to eat until I'm at 221b, and we can eat Chinese takeout again." He mumbled, as close to a deceleration of homesickness anyone would get. "Those idiots decide to kidnap me and torture me. Morons. Imbeciles. They better be imprisoned or I'm going to find a way to break out of this stupid hospital, and I'll capture them myself. Scotland Yard has gotten more dense these couple years I've been helping them John, i swear."

"Soon Sherlock." John sighed "When your not in such bad shape they'll let you out, Then its just me looking after you." he knew SHerlock hated been in hospital as it was. He narrowed his eyes. "Sherlock you can''t go that long without food, your body needs it, much as you try deny that." He was speaking firmly.
He knew Sherlock would just be stubborn.
"And you can;'t even barely walk I'm sure," he countered to Sherlocks comment about hunting them down. He knew Sherlock would get bored soon enough and it would be everybody elses problem. He was glad his friend still had energy to be himself.
"Tourtured? You didn't mention that before." He looked concern. His voice softened from his earlier annoyance and Sherlock avoiding food. "You can talk to me Sherlock, I'm here for you."

Sherlock Holmes
Sherlock looked up at him again, his eyes widening a bit. "No." He said, a bit too quickly. He cleared his throat a little. "No, John. Just, you don't... I... No." He shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it. That won't help me. I know it won't." He hesitated, before letting out a deep sigh. "And it's nothing against you. I just don't want you to treat me like you're.. you're my psychiatrist, or something. That's not something you want to deal with, and definitely not something I want to deal with. So for now, just drop it. If I actually feel like I need to... talk, I assure you, you'll be the first person I approach." He settled back into his pillows.
"Now, if you actually want me to eat, I suggest you sneak some Chinese takeout in here, or some of Angelo's cooking. Or convince Mrs. H to bake some biscuits and bring them to me."

(so you want to skip to when they're back at 221b, but Sherlock can barely walk? :3 You obviously don't have to, just asking.)

John sighed knowing he couldn't push Sherlock into it, At least not at this point. He knew Sherlock was always diffcult. He rubbed his head fustrated "Alright forget I asked Sherlock." He knew that he was worried why Sherlock was scared.
He had never seen the detective truely scared and was worried even more because of that.
"Must you always be so diffcult in regards to food." He wasn't sure what he could do to get other food into the hospital. "But fine I'll see what I can do." He felt like Sherlock was going to be the death of him oneday.
By time Sherlock was out of hospital. John was worried about him, he didn't think Sherlock should be out, but he knew the detective couldn't stand it any longer.

(Yup ok XD Just did in last bit of post)

Sherlock was very happy to be back at 221b. He refused to sleep in his own room, though - it didn't have a window, and therefore it was much too confined. He stayed on the couch, his two casted legs propped up on piles of pillows.
It was at that time that, once again, at exactly 12 am in the morning, he woke up screaming his lungs out, once again drenched in a cold sweat. He just wanted to curl up on his side and try to push it all away. But he couldn't - ever since those stupid idiots had caught him and started to torture him, his mind wasn't the same. It was clouded and hazy, wrapped in cotton. It was ravaged with an insane migraine at least once every day - and sometimes he'd be even driven to complain about it.
He lay on the couch, throwing and arm over his eyes. He pushed back those stupid, stupid tears that decided they should make their presence known. He hated them. He hated everything. He'd done bad things in his past, but nothing so horrible as to deserve this.

John had been asleep in his bed when he heard Sherlock scream. He blinked to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He didn't think he would hear Sherlock scream. He rushed to him, He wanted to make sure that the man wasn't in pain.
"Sherlock... are you in pain.?" he gasped. He had ran down the stairs. He still seemed half asleep. He looked at Sherlock and then realised something "Your having nightmares aren't you? Sherlock why didn't you tell me!! They are nothing to be ashamed of."
John knew he himself had alot of nightmares, less now he was living with Sherlock, but he did still have them.
He was worried about the man infront of him. Sherlock never acted this way. He normally knew the man as brave and hardly bothered by much. He heads to the kitchen and then gets some tea and biscuts. He passes a cup to Sherlock. He hopes it will relax him.

Sherlock gave long sigh. "Because it doesn't matter, John. I'll get over them eventually. They'll end. Especially when I get my mind back under my control." He took a sip of the tea, and even nibbled at a biscuit. But he wasn't hungry - he was sick to his stomach. His dreams were so vivid, and horrible. And it wasn't even about him, it was about John - John getting tortured, John being killed slowly, John bleeding out in front of him with these faceless monsters holding him back. It was evil and horrible and he hated it. Why would his brain do this to him? Why was it John? They probably wouldn't be so sickening if it was anyone else - but it just had to be John who was being killed or injured or tortured. And it hurt. And he hated it. With all his might.

"I went through bad nightmares myself you know... and living with you as helped ease them. I still have them, But I can help you Sherlock," John sighed "But knowing you, I suppose I cant push you into it." He wondered if there was a reason Sherlock didn't want to talk about the nightmares. He didn't think Sherlock could get his mind back under control himself. Not this time.
He didn't say that though. "Not hungry?" He asked. "Are you feeling sick?" He hoped his flatemate was not getting sick . That would not be good ontop of recovering from injuries. Plus he knew Sherlock was hard to deal with when he was ill. He sipped his own tea and was quiet for awhile.
John shrugged after a bit and hoped that Mrs Hudson hadnt heard SHerlocks scream. He rubbed his eyes and sat back down. He was tired and looking after Sherlock had been wearing him out.

Sherlock ignored him, and peeked out of his arm to see him tired. "Go back to bed, John. I'm fine." He muttered. He didn't want John to suffer because of this idiot thing that was happening to him. He was tired of it himself. "I think I'll go stay with Mycroft for awhile." He said quietly, feeling a bit of actually disgust enter his clouded mind. He still didn't like his brother, but John was tired. And he'd done plenty for Sherlock, and he needed to rest. Sherlock could stay up for days and days on end, but John was a normal human - he needed rest. "You need some time off from me, John, alright? Your tired, and you've been looking after me far long enough, and I'm... I apologize." He wasn't bitter at all, in fact he was more gentle than anything else. "I can't even ask my best friend to put up with me being bored and immobile for this long. But I can easily put my brother through it." He said, with a small smile.

John looked at Sherlock. "I'll go back to bed shortly but you don't have to go stay with Mycroft. I dont mind looking after you, " He also knew he wanted to be the one looking after Sherlock encase anything went wrong. Because he was a doctor.
"I don't need time off from you, I'll get sleep, Its just I do worry too much."
Watson blinked when Sherlock called him his best friend "Did you just call me your best friend,? I don't think I have heard you admit that." It was true John had never really heard Sherlock call him his friend. "But because we are friends is why I look after you. " He knows how much Sherlock hates Mycroft and wasn't sure if Sherlock was well enough to deal with him. He gets to his feet. "Well I'm going to bed. " he passes SHerlock the remote . "Telly isn't as interesting as a case for you I know, but might help." He had made sure the gun was hidden and not within Sherlock's reach at the moment. He didn't want Sherlock destroying walls. "Sherlock you know you can sleep in my room . I'd either just sleep in yours or if you dont want me to I'll sleep on the couch. " He wasn't sure sleeping on the couch was any good for Sherlock when he was injured.

Sherlock thought about it for a moment." John, I want to test a theory, and I need your... cooperation." He struggled into a sitting position. He took a deep breath. "I want to sleep with you. In your bed, of course, I still can't stand my room. I want to see if that puts a stop to my nightmares." He looked around. "It'll be a bit difficult to get up there, but I do believe it will help a bit. If you wouldn't mind. If it bothers you than I can come back down here." He looked over at John with a bit of a pleading gleam in his eyes. "Please, John. It's been mostly proved that the presence of another person when sleeping assists in resting better, most likely because it's twice as likely that one will sense danger. I just... it would help me."

John turned and looked at Sherlock "Yeah?" He listened to what Sherlock was about to say. He had no idea what was about to come out of the detectives mouth, His eyes widdened.
He had never thought Sherlock would ask such a thing. Though he sometimes secretly hoped. He smiled a bit. EVen if a slighty blush had formed on John's face.
"Alright Sherlock." He would do anything if Sherlock thought it would help. He looked at him "Do you want me to help you up?" he knew Sherlock probably could barely walk. He didn't want to leave Sherlock on his own to get upstairs.

Sherlock hesitated. 'Help'? He didn't need help. But he figured he wasn't going to get up those stairs himself. He sighed, and finally gave a small nod. "Fine. He mumbled, and shifted, wincing a bit as he moved his legs, moving them down to the ground and setting his feet on the ground. He reached up, gripping John's good shoulder and hoisted himself up with a huff of pain. "Why the hell would they think it's a good idea to break someones legs for torture? Whipping and such was enough, but this torture is carrying on through my daily life away from that." He muttered, looking irritated and frustrated at not being able to stand on his own and actually needing assistance.

John helped SHerlock up. He didn't want to wound Sherlock's pride by helping him up. He knew that Sherlock was still not recovered enough to get up the stairs himself. He slowly helped him up the stairs. He knew that the detective was still recovering.
"You'll be better soon enough." He told him.
He hoped that was true SHerlock had been injured badly. Even if he recovered pyhsically. He had no idea of Sherlock's mind. He knew it was wise for Sherlock to take as long off work ashe needed. He gets him upstairs and to the bedroom.
He knows they are just friends and that hes doing this to help Sherlock get better sleep.

Sherlock settled himself on John's bed, shuffling a little and he kept close to the side. He knew this just had to be a stretch, right? John was only doing this because he wanted Sherlock to get better, obviously. He'd get back to work as soon as possible. Perhaps he'd be a bit more careful on future cases - God forbid this ever even possibly happen again. He nodded towards the other side of the bed. "Come on, than. I'm actually tired for once and I'd rather get some real sleep. I pray that the theory gets proved, or we'll both be going through some troubles tonight, and neither of us will sleep." He looked up, looking unemotional, except for a little glimmer of seriousness in his eyes. "And if it doesn't hold, I am going to my brother's, so you can actually live." He said, with a little smirk.

John was looking at Sherlock. He wasn't really sure how he felt about this. But they were friends right? And not doing anything else. He was sure as long as nobody knew that people wouldn't get suspicious, Many people did assume they were a couple. This would just fuel it if they knew.
He yawned and looked at him. "Ah yeah I imgiane you would be."
He lays down and pulled the blankets over. "Mmm I hope it works because I don't actaully want you to go to your brother," He grinned a bit. He closed his eyes . He was tired and hoped they both would sleep.

Sherlock huffed. "You and me both." He stayed quite for a good ten minutes, and than eventually fell asleep.

--

Much to his pleasure in the morning, he realized he didn't have anymore nightmares. However, something was off. He had tightly curled himself around John, tucking John's head beneath his chine, and John's hair was tickling his nose. They were pressed chest to chest, Sherlock's arms wound around John's waist, and they were snuggled quite closely. Sherlock stayed there - for two reasons, none of which were highly acceptable. 1) He had no idea what else he should do.
2) Much to his frustration, he was very content, and enjoying it greatly. He loved the feeling of John's warm body tucked up against his. He was warm and he felt safe (and he was disgusted by the sentiment) and he was undeniably happy, which he hadn't been for quite awhile.

John slept longer, His body was needing the rest, He had been so busy caring for SHerlock. He wasn't aware of Sherlock curled around him as he slept. He breathed deeply and had one arm under his pillow.
He didn't have any trouble sleeping either. He seemed comfortable where he was.
When he woke up, he looked at SHerlock, he seemed to blush. But strangely he didn't think he minded it. He wasn't sure why. "Morning." Was all he could think of saying. He knew Sherlock would probably want to go back to the living room so he wasn't just bored in the bedroom.