prettybirdy979

Title: Set in Stone 2/? (Probably about five or so...)
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): Sherlock, John, others later
Genre: Action, Drama, Supernatural
Summary: John's having these dreams... and sometimes they come true
Spoilers: Only general ones for the series
Warnings: None really...
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Written for this prompt

Though the details of the dream faded from John’s mind within minutes of waking, the bad feelings it caused lasted all day. John was depressed and worried his entire shift and every time he tried to figure out why, he could only think of Sherlock.

He had the dream again that night.

And it continued coming every night for the rest of the week. John still couldn’t remember the details of the dreams, only a feeling of running, fear and…terrible guilt like everything was his fault. The only detail he could remember clearly surprised him. Every dream was set, not in the hot, sandy battlefields of Afghanistan but the cold, raining streets of London. The changing scenery only added to the unease caused by the dreams.

John tried to keep the dreams from Sherlock and mostly succeeded. He could tell Sherlock had noticed he was dreaming, from the little thins he did. Like asking for silly requests less and even playing lullabies on his violin early hours of the morning when John awoke. But John was sure he had kept the details of the dreams to himself, though Sherlock was starting to observe something was off.

Then he got a case and his attention was diverted.

And John welcomed the case. He found that when he was exhausted from the days spent searching he rarely dreamt.

Three days into the case and they were close to catching their killer. Sherlock was delighted at the intelligence of the criminal, while John, well he couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu that got stronger every hour.

Finally on the third day Sherlock disappeared, leaving only a set of verbal instructions for John to follow with the police at exactly nine o’clock.

Dead on nine John took off from 221B Baker St, Lestrade and his men hot on his heels. Left, then Right at the next street. Across the road and down the two blocks. Up the fire escape stairs and across two roofs. Jumped the gap to the shock of the police behind him. Down the stairs there, onto the street and then…

John stopped, unsure of what went next. Lestrade came up behind him, puffing.

‘Which way now, John?’ John ignored him searching his memory and trying to shake the bad feeling.

‘John!’

John went to say left, but something, some feeling stopped him. Instead he said ‘I don’t remember…’

‘John…’

‘I’m pretty sure it was left.’

‘Right then.’ Lestrade said. ‘We’ll go left, you double check right.’

And that was it, they were all off again. John’s feeling of dread was getting stronger with each step and by the time he reached the second street, it’s all he can do to ignore it.

As he reaches the end of Sherlock’s instructions, John hears two voices in an alleyway. Recognising one as Sherlock’s, he cautiously turns down it.

He reacts on instinct when he sees the gun.

As he’s not stupid enough to carry an illegal firearm around the police, John’s unarmed so he does the next best thing. With a flying tackle worthy of his rugby days he knocks the man to the ground.

In his surprise at being tackled from behind, the criminal fires a wild shot, forcing Sherlock to duck. As soon as he hits the ground, John is reaching for the hand with the gun. He covers the gun with his hand and wrestles it out of the man’s hand.

The second he has it, he’s on his feet pointing the gun at the man still on the ground.

‘Don’t move.’

‘You’re late, John.’ Sherlock said as he straightens up. John shoots him a look of disbelief as the police come up behind him, attracted by the sound of the gunshot.

‘Lestrade! You’re even later then John.’

‘Sorry about that Sherlock. We figured we would stop for a cup of tea on the way.’

‘Ah, so you went the wrong way. How? I gave you perfectly clear instructions.’

‘No, you gave John verbal directions and sent him for us.’

‘John?’ Sherlock turned on him.

‘What? I’m sorry Sherlock, not all of us have a photographic memory like you.’

Sherlock huffed and walked off leaving John to explain how he got a gun.

And John couldn’t shake the relief he felt at Sherlock being alive. It was like he had dodged a bullet. Well, more of one.