ғɪғᴛᴇᴇɴ

[confidente]

[ John taps the page a few times... and frowns at it, it's hard to find the words you want after hearing about everything that happened around a week ago. And then this lasted thing? Ponies? Yeah, he's got nothing on that. ]

I guess asking how everyone is doing right now would be a little redundant, I think I can hazard a good enough guess.

[ Expect in the case of one person. He taps the journal again for a short moment. ]

( room filter )

[ After spending a fair amount of time with the journal and so forth he closes it and looks over his shoulder into the kitchen. Nope, no Sherlock there. Still, he has to figure out how to broach the thing that's been nagging him for the last week. He left it alone out of respect and knowing the man as well as he does, however it is about time something was said right?

They've got enough pink elephants in the room as it is. ]

Sherlock?

Comments

[ Filter ]

[workaphilic]

[His sleep schedule has been rocky since it happened. Three days of solid sleep screws badly with sleep patterns as delicate as his, and the noise. His endless war against the noise in his head, increased two fold. It's been manifesting as experiments in every kitchen appliance available (and one in the fireplace), and the occasional desperate kip on the sofa. Too many things to think about. (Too many things he didn't need to be reminded of.)

He's actually tried to be quieter when he's up at night, in an effort to avoid this very conversation.

He shouts back from the hall, distracted.]

What?

[ Filter foreveeer ]

[confidente]

[ And he's noticed it, all of it, it was hard not too. He likes to think he has Sherlock's patterns down to a t, so he figured what was going on the moment he found one of Sherlock's experiments in the microwave. He had been annoyed for a few moments upon finding it, as the bloody thing made it impossible to actually use the microwave but that annoyance faded quickly.

The fact he was being quieter at night confirmed his suspicions, but John left it alone for a time. Because he is considerate and he knows if he pushes too hard or pushes in the wrong spot he'll never get Sherlock to well... talk. ]

What are you doing over there?

[workaphilic]

Nothing.

[Something. Have fun when you go to take a shower later, John.

He appears in the doorway looking disgruntled and suspicious, like a child who's on the verge of being caught misbehaving.]

Why?

[confidente]

Because you're too bloody quiet. [ And honestly it is rather unnerving. He turns his head to look, some suspicions almost confirmed by the look on Sherlock's face. (metal note: avoid the bathroom) ]

[workaphilic]

[Sherlock throws his hands in the air, and he stalks into the kitchen to fiddle with something-else-or-other he has on.

Extra stress also presents as a shorter temper.]

You complain when I'm loud, you complain when I'm quiet. Is there ever a time you don't complain?

[confidente]

I'm not complaining! [ He gets up suddenly, following after him into the kitchen. Own anger rising in response.

No. No. Breathe John, breathe. Don't get angry, that isn't going to help anything. ]

I'm worried about you, something is bothering you and it's been bothering you for the past week.

[workaphilic]

[His hands pause, just briefly, on his experiment. His voice is like grit.]

I'm fine.

[He doesn't want to talk about it. Not just his nightmares in general, but the particular nightmare, it, the one where he's hurt and afraid, where he falls and still fails. It's not worth dragging out if it's just going to upset them both, disturb this delicate balance they have.

He'd rather not sleep for a few more days.]

[confidente]

You're not fine.

[ Alas John isn't a mind reader, he can't tell what nightmares are causing the problem. If he could this would be a hell of a lot more easier to deal with (perhaps), but he can't and so he's stuck in an frustrating limb; between not poking buttons he knows he shouldn't and helping in some way.

Sherlock's his friend, his best friend, the only person who managed to drag him out of his monotonous life and fill it with color again. He's one of the most important people in John's life. He can't just sit on his hands while Sherlock storms around the flat not dealing with his problems. ]

[workaphilic]

[He presses his hands palm-down on the worktop, and glares at the opposite wall.]

I'm sleeping poorly. [It has the air of a grudging confession, like it wasn't obvious already.] It's fine. It'll pass. It always does.

[confidente]

So you're going to ignore it until it passes? [ It is more a confession than he expected from him. ]

[workaphilic]

[Stiffly:]

Don't see why I shouldn't.

[Back to work, back to work.]

[confidente]

Because it's eating you from the inside. [ It is the most unhealthy, in his opinion. ]

[workaphilic]

[It is, and it has been. He won't deny it.

But that's the way it has to be for now, as far as he's concerned.]

There's nothing to be done about that.

[confidente]

I don't believe that. You could talk to someone, hell you could talk to me about it. [ He doesn't usually force the issue, because he knows Sherlock and knows he isn't the sort of person you force but this is a special case.

This can't be left alone and ignored. ]

[workaphilic]

[He's starting to see that. They've past the point where John normally backs down, and arguing about it is exhausting in and of itself.

He relents, just a little, with a sigh.]

I'm not much for therapy, John.

[Formal or otherwise.]

[confidente]

Neither am I, nor am I suggesting it. Just ─ [ He knows, god he knows how much something like this can eat away at everything until there is nothing left. ]

Talking to someone, someone you trust, even if they can't do anything to help it's better than letting it sit and eat you from the inside.

[workaphilic]

[He's quiet for a long, long moment, staring at nothing. Less like going into his own head and more like falling into it, into the static. (Like wind in his ears.)]

It was a dream. [He emphasizes it like he should be saying harmless instead.] The same as any other, except--

[His jaw clenches, instinct against breaching this topic kicking in.]

It wasn't natural. Obviously. Ordinarily the memories are hazy at best -- at best, if I even remember at all. But these... it doesn't, won't, stop.

[He makes a restless gesture with his hands and clams up again. Stopping is the problem, always the problem between him and sleeping. It only gets worse when he's assaulted with the remnants of a nightmare (failing, falling, dying) any time he slows down enough to try.]

[confidente]

A nightmare. [ Different from a dream, something that repeats and won't go away no matter how hard you try to shake it.

It annoys him, it frustrates him, because he knows there is almost nothing he can do to help Sherlock with this. The dream (he can only imagine) isn't something that will just go away, it's either there because of trauma or something else entirely. Like his subconscious trying to bring certain things to light. ]

Sherlock... [ What? I'm sorry? I understand? Anything he says will be hollow at best, empty platitudes that do nothing more than sound pretty.

Even if he admitted to having nightmares himself, of Sherlock's fall, of the war, nightmares that are so vivid he could swear he was relieving them. ]

[workaphilic]

[He shakes his head minutely. He's been on the other side of this enough times to know how it goes; wanting to help but having no idea where to start, knowing that ultimately there might not be anything to be done.

(One of the only things him and all his brainpower couldn't fix, John's nightmares.)

When he speaks again, his voice is softer around the edges.]

Like I said before: nothing to be done. It will pass, eventually.

Until then, I'll try not to disturb you.

[confidente]

No, it's fine.

[ God knows how many times John has likely disturbed Sherlock in the middle of the night. It is about time he got a taste of his own medicine, right? Haha... poor joke, he knows. ]

You don't have to try, it's fine.

[ Besides there are going to be times when he just can't help it, John knows this better than most. ]

Don't be afraid to wake me if you need me, for anything.

[workaphilic]

[There's a brief moment where he actually looks startled. (All this time and it still occasionally takes him off guard, friendly compassion.)

(Although he's not sure how much he deserves it, in this case.)

His jaw works, like it takes more effort to coax the words out when they're this genuine.]

-- Thank you.