ext_336056 ([identity profile] faithburke.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] comment_fic 2011-12-18 10:31 pm (UTC)

Filled

The worst of John’s nightmares didn’t include actually getting shot at. Only the loud ones included bullets and mortars. John woke up screaming from those. Sherlock very pointedly ignored those nightmares.

The bad nightmares, the silent heart-wrenching ones that make him lose his appetite for days were of a very different sort. John didn’t remember the names or the faces but he remembered that last breath, the accents, the tones, the desperate and the voices as they murmured the innumerable cries for Mother, or God or mercy or anything meaningful. They all wanted something meaningful in those last moments before they died and most of them knew that they were dying.

John wanted something meaningful in his life and he absolutely needed it after the quiet nightmares.

Sherlock had tried to pry after those nightmares but he quickly learned that a case was a much more successful method to deal with them. John caught him calling Lestrade one morning after the silent nightmare and that –that- had lifted his spirits even more than the case from Scotland Yard.

Post a comment in response:

This account has disabled anonymous posting.
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.
More info about formatting