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Blearily, Sherlock rubbed tired hands under his eyes, wiping away the lingering tears. A quick check in on his vocal chords revealed, surprisingly, a lack of the usual soreness he felt after a nightmare. Small mercies, he thought, rolling his eyes. At least Mycroft wouldn’t be hurrying through the halls to his room to coddle him, alerted by the screaming.
He laid back down on the bed, sighing. There was always an unsettling feeling that came after one of these… episodes . It was uncomfortable, to say the least, to not know what was so horrifying to leave him shaking and sobbing for several minutes after waking. His imagination had always been rampant, as Mycroft would point out teasingly. But after a night terror, it really took a turn for the worst. Not knowing what happened always left him wondering, a morbid type of curiosity coming out to play. His mind would conjure up terrible images; images that left him shaking for much longer than the original cause.
Shaking his head roughly, Sherlock tried to distract his thoughts. No need to get worked up over nothing, he thought sternly to himself. Intent on getting over this stupid reaction and achieving sleep once more, Sherlock closed his eyes. Almost instantly that proved to be a mistake; he gasped and sat upright in bed, rubbing his eyes to rid the image that had burned into his mind. After a minute of breathing to calm his body down, he let his head fall onto his knees with a whine. He wrapped his arms around his legs and allowed himself to rock a little, not caring if he wasn’t supposed to. He was scared . And he wanted his brother, as much as it pained him to admit.
Sherlock, hands shaking slightly, swung his feet over the side of the bed. He grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, which did make him feel a little better. Then, taking a deep breath, he started his journey into the darkness. Keeping his eyes closed to help keep out the awareness of just pure dark , Sherlock padded silently down the hallway, letting his knuckles drag gently along the wall. When he got to his brother’s room, he hesitated. He didn’t particularly enjoy asking for Mycroft’s help. In fact, Sherlock usually went out of his way to avoid it. But in instances like these, there were no alternatives available. And, if he’s being honest, Sherlock had been missing his brother’s hugs lately. With that thought in mind and color dusting his cheeks, Sherlock pushed the door open.
“Mycroft?” he called softly. Listening carefully for a response, Sherlock crept into the room. He reached the bed and, placing a hand cautiously on his brother, called again, “Myc.”
“Hmmgn?” Mycroft hummed questioningly, blinking his eyes open. When he recognized Sherlock, however, his demeanor changed completely. He sat up in bed, his eyes shining with barely concealed concern.
“Sherlock, what are you doing up at this hour? Mummy would be furious.” He was trying to sound stern, but the worry bled into his voice, giving him away.
“I was uh-” he glanced at his brother, noticing Mycroft’s increased alarm as he cut himself off. He shook his head quickly, steeling himself to ask the question before he could chicken out. “Can I sleep with you.”
Then added on as an afterthought, “Please.”
He risked another glance at Mycroft, who seemed to be relaxing as he put the pieces together.
“Of course, brother mine,” he murmured, looking at Sherlock way too softly for his liking. But then he opened his arms, and with a soothing “Come here, Sherly”, Sherlock was climbing into his brother’s embrace without another thought.
Situating Sherlock so that he was comfortable, Mycroft wrapped his arms around his little brother and rocked them back and forth gently.
“Is there anything you need to talk about?” came the quiet question.
Sherlock shook his head roughly into his brother’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s neck.
“Alright, let me know if that changes.”
Mycroft laid them both down, running a soothing hand up and down Sherlock’s back.
“Let’s get you back to sleep, hm?” he said, more to himself than to Sherlock. He started humming some tune that Sherlock didn’t recognize, and that was the last piece to the puzzle. Sherlock was out in minutes, snoring gently against his brother’s shoulder. While Mycroft continued his nameless lullaby, Sherlock slumbered peacefully, all traces of fear completely forgotten.