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[The rustle of fabric and a soft, tired sigh.]
John: Hellouuu! Ugh, that did not sound convincingly cheerful. Not that it matters. Not that anyone's gonna hear this anyway. I don't know why I'm even… It's 3am for God's sake. On a Wednesday! I think. Wait, no, Thursday. Gosh, I can't even tell which day we're having.
[Pause. Breathing in the dark.]
John: I'm… awake. Which is bad. I-I-I keep having nightmares and… Insomnia, I suppose. Don't know why I'm recording this. It's probably 'cause this microphone feels like the only thing that's keeping me afloat these days… Like a life ring, you know, one of those yellow floaty thingys on boats. There's probably a realy term for it. Sherlock would know it.
[A yawn. More rustling of fabric as a body tries to find a comfortable position among blankets.]
John: Right.
[Another pause.]
John: I wanted to sort my thoughts. Feelings. I don't know, this is probably some kind of fucked up substitute for real therapy. [sighs again] But it's what I've got. So, my relationship with my parents… Just kidding. Hah. Hm.
[Another, longer pause.]
John: I'm scared. And I know fear. I know what it feels like to fear for my life, but this… I'm scared I'm… broken. I've got all these pictures in my head and what if- [voice breaking] what if they all just break out of me eventually? Every thing — every fucking good thing in my life! — feels so fucking fragile. Mary- [he stops, voice failing him]
[Sniffles. Then a deep breath, as if to gather oneself.]
John: Sherlock and Mariana. What if they… What if I ever have to save them? When I can't even save myself? [there's anger in his voice now] When I'm too fucking useless, when I keep pretending that I'm in any way relevant to our business, but what do I do? What do I actually contribute?! Rambling and football trivia no one cares about, fucking shout-outs. Not that I dislike the shout-outs! It's just that they don't solve goddamn murders. Sherlock solves the cases. Mariana knows a billion languages! And me? I stand on the sidelines. Couldn't even save…
[Silent crying, betrayed only by an occasional and quiet snivel. A noise, as John wipes his eyes.]
John: Fucking Milverton. We should have never taken that case. Ever since that stupid "spider and snake"-business, Sherlock hasn't been the same. I have a bad feeling about this… All of it. Like an… impending sense of doom.
[Farther away from the microphone, a door handle clicks down and hinges creak.]
John: [startled] Sherlock? Sorry, did I wake you?
Sherlock: [distant] No.
John: Oh. Um. [clears his throat] I'm fine. Are you fine? Why are you awake?
Sherlock: In that order, no, you're not. Yes, I am! And: Because.
[Footfalls on carpet. The sound of John swallowing.]
John: Uh…
Sherlock: Can I… sit?
John: Sure, mate. 'Course. Let me just… turn on the small light.
[There's a rustle as the microphone is shoved underneath a pillow to conceal it. Then, a quiet click from the lamp.]
John: [muffled] Make yourself comfortable.
Sherlock: [muffled, awkward] Mh-hm.
[There's the distant creak of the bed as the mattress dips.]
John: [muffled] So, I know why I'm here.
Sherlock: [muffled] This is your room.
John: [muffled] Yes. But why are you here?
Sherlock: [muffled] I was still awake in the kitchen when I heard you talking to yourself and figured I'd… pop in, so to speak.
John: [muffled] I wasn't…! Never mind. Why were you? Still awake, I mean.
Sherlock: [muffled, with a sigh] Because I can't sleep. The gears in my head are turning endlessly and churning out intricate patterns of writing, but the syntax is all wrong, Watson. It's like I'm grasping for something I can't possibly know, but should. Everything is not quite falling into place. A puzzle with blank pieces.
John: [muffled] Happens to the best of us.
Sherlock: [muffled] But it shouldn't! I'm wasting my time on finding answers to questions which I haven't even got the necessary information to ask!
John: [muffled] This is about that Adler woman, isn't it? About Milverton?
Sherlock: [muffled, slow] Almost. It's about what ties them all together… What ties Milverton and me together… Or rather, who.
John: [muffled, sighing] Look, I know you're worked up about this, but you… You should let it go, Sherlock.
Sherlock: [muffled] I can't. I don't have this case, this case has me. It's like a noose.
John: [muffled, worried] Sherlock…
[Silence.]
Sherlock: [still muffled] Why are you holding my hand?
John: [also still muffled] Because I- I don't know, I just… Probably because I'm scared, Sherlock. Really fucking scared.
Sherlock: [muffled] I'm not going to do anything reckless.
John: [muffled, chuckling] Liar!
Sherlock: [muffled] Alright, I probably will. It's very likely. But I am careful!
John: [muffled, with a groan] I just wish you could let this one go. Just this once, Sherlock, please. I can't lose… I… [voice breaking again]
Sherlock: [muffled, surprised] You're. You're crying. Um. Can I… do something? High five and a hug?
John: [muffled and exasperated] Oh, come here!
[More fabric against fabric as the blankets are moved. The microphone slips from underneath the pillow. They hug and there's the soft sound of John's breath catching in his throat. Seconds pass.]
Sherlock: Is this better?
John: Slightly, yeah.
Sherlock: You're shaking.
John: Yeah, well. Blame it on the PTSD and the sleep deprivation.
Sherlock: You're… okay. That's what people say, right?
John: When they're clinging on to each other for dear life in the middle of the night? Yeah, pretty much.
Sherlock: How… long do we hug?
John: [pulling away] Oh, yeah, sorry…
Sherlock: No, no. It's fine. We're fine.
[A pause as they settle next to each other again.]
Sherlock: I'm proud of you, Watson. Every day.
John: What…?
Sherlock: No, let me finish. You're the bravest man I know. You're a valuable and indispensable asset. And a dear friend. I have never… cared for anyone as much as I care for you. Sometimes so much, it scares me.
John: [watery] Sherlock…
Sherlock: You do save yourself. Every day.
John: You…
Sherlock: I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but yes. I heard. And you're wrong. Every time you climb out of this bed, every time, you save yourself. You hurl yourself into life. And when you don't, on the days when you can't get out of bed, when you're missing from the breakfast table, missing from the living room sofa, then there is a gaping emptiness in my life. I do not know how to convince you of your worth. But don't you dare put yourself down! Because that's my best friend you're talking about. I can't promise to let the case of Irene Adler go, but I can tell you this. You are not broken. You have saved me many more times than you realise, in more ways than you realise. You should be proud of yourself, John.
John: Wow… Um. I don't know what to say. Thank you. [pauses] Can I hug you again? Is that weird?
Sherlock: I generelly pay no heed to what is and isn't considered as "weird".
[They hug again, shorter this time, but not any less genuine.]
John: Thank you.
Sherlock: You're welcome. [clears his throat] I should probably go back to bed now.
John: Yeah, me too... Ah, you should probably know — this is going to sound insane and make it sound like I was insincere, which I wasn't! — but this whole conversation has sort of… kind of been… recorded. Sorry.
Sherlock: I know.
John: What?
Sherlock: I figured that you were recording yourself when I heard you speaking through the door. Besides, the microphone slipped out from underneath your pillow a while ago.
John: Oh. I can delete it! I'll delete it. I'm definitely not going to post it anyway, you know. Obviously.
Sherlock: I really don't care, Watson.
John: Right.
[Another rustle as Sherlock stands up from the bed. Footfalls.]
John: Good night, Sherlock.
Sherlock: Good night. And… perhaps you should keep the recording. In case you ever need reassurance. It does, as you say, happen to the best of us.
[The hinges squeak again and the door clicks shut before John can respond.]