Chapter VII: Why did this feel like goodbye?

John didn't ask why Sherlock had the urge to sleep next to him. He feared if he asked Sherlock would leave or say it was part of some experiment or anything really. What could he possibly say to justify it which wouldn't be bad?

So, John stayed quiet. They didn't talk or touch each other. It was comfortable, companionable, it was..nice. John woke up to Sherlock sleeping on his side with his arms around John.

John started staying at Sherlock's a lot more. If Mary was out of town, if she was working late herself, if it had gotten late which usually happened on cases. Consequently, Sherlock began taking more cases. The two slept together, platonically (ish).

Months went by, John proposed to Mary and the two were making plans for the wedding. And one night, when it got late, John stayed at Sherlock's. As usual, Sherlock came into John's room and lay down. Then, John turned over and asked,

"Sherlock?"

"Mhmm." He hummed in response.

"What are we- I mean, why.."

"Making up time."

"What?"

"You and I used to spend a lot of time in each other's company before Mary, of course. And I have become accustomed to your companionship and would like the amount of time to stay the same. These additional occasional 8 hours help me ensure we are together the same amount we were before. If we're short, I take another case, make you run around so you're tired so you stay here."

"What?! Sherlock, you can't just-" he began, confused and slightly frustrated.

"That doesn't even make sense. We sleep, Sherlock. We're unconscious."

"No, you're unconscious."

"God, of course. What do you even do then? If not sleep."

"I had expected the act of observing your regular sleeping patterns to get tedious and dull but to my surprise, it didn't. I haven't done any experiments, if that's you're primary concern."

"Sherlock,"

"I just watch sometimes and just- just stay."

John took a moment to process it all. This was weird even for Sherlock. This wasn't normal. But when was anything ever normal for them?

John moved closer to him. He wrapped an arm around him and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Closing his eyes, he waited for sleep to take him. John saw Sherlock's hesitation but eventually felt him loosen against him and get comfortable.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John."

"You're a git."

Sherlock smiled.

Another few months later, John got married. The two continued on as before. At least once a week, John stayed in his room with Sherlock.

Problem was, things changed. In a funny way, really. It reminded John of something he'd read before how even though it seemed like everyday was the same, when you looked back, you realise, everything has changed. But that was the problem. Rather than change, rather than go from "Bachelor John Watson" to "oh, hes with the missus", he returned to "Sherlock's flatmate." Everything changed, but it didnt go forward, it went back. It was almost as if Sherlock had never left but whenever John woke up to Sherlock sleeping, he ed seeing him on the floor with blood splattered all around him, his face hidden from view. He ed seeing Mycroft smoke, the fiery embers leaving his silent killer and crushing on the floor, making the pavement darker than it ought to be. He ed grief, pain and eventually, numbness. When he got so used to it all, he no longer ed what it meant to be happy. He thought, what if Sherlock died again? What if I never have this moment again?

Continuation: Mature audiences only