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“John?” he asked as he made his way down the hall to the other room. “John, are you okay?”

Another whimper seeped through the walls of the flat, and Sherlock’s footsteps got heavier and faster.

“No!” the older man finally cried. This was the point where Sherlock began running. He bursted through the door and into John’s room, but by that time, sobs were already escaping his lips. Sherlock stopped, realising it was just a nightmare.

He began to leave as to not embarrass John anymore, but he was stopped.

“Sherlock?” John asked in between sobs. He turned back to face the bed.

“Yes?” he replied weakly. John wiped the tears from his face.

“Please stay.” The younger man didn’t dare disagree. He walked over to and sat on John’s bed. “Sherlock, I’m so sorry I woke you.”

“No. It’s-- it’s fine.” Sherlock thought back to what his parents used to say whenever he’d had a nightmare. When he was little, those words would soothe him because he always believed it would be okay. But John wasn’t a little boy. He couldn’t just say everything was okay, for clearly it was not. Instead he asked, “Are you okay?” John’s eyes started tearing up again.

“No. I’m not. I just--” He stopped talking.

“Do you want to talk about it?” This was when John lost it. He squinted his eyes as tears started falling.

“Sherlock, everything is just so different.” He threw his hands up to his face. “I used to think everything was just as it was supposed to be. But then I met you. And it’s not your fault, it’s just--” His words stopped, and he leaned into Sherlock. Not knowing what to do, Sherlock scooted close, but felt something odd beneath him. He glanced down to see a liquid soaking up into the comforter. He stood, causing John to look up worriedly.

“John?” John felt more tears coming. He knew Sherlock had pieced it together. Oh, well. The silence about it was nice while it lasted. “Did… did you wet the bed?” John nodded slowly and shamefully as Sherlock lifted the covers off of him.

“I didn’t mean to. It just happened.” Sherlock looked sympathetic, which was odd, considering he was a sociopath.

“Go to take a shower,” he said. John stood, and Sherlock began stripping the mattress bare. “I’ll clean everything. Don’t worry about it.” John smiled a little.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“No problem.”