John ran his fingers through his hair, running as fast as he could. He was breathing heavily, almost tripping as he ran through the forest that seemed to never end. He continued to run until he was at the edge of a cliff. He turned around, panting, trying to get ahold of his breathing.
“Why are you doing this to me?” John asked, setting a hand on his chest and trying to control his breathing. He was panicking, he didn't know what to do.
The creature walked closer to John, drooling, towering over him and staring at him. He didn't know how to describe the creature, but it was tall and big and the skin on it was rotting. John could even smell the horrid stench.
“Where's Sherlock?!” He yelled, stepping back. Dust and pebbles fell off him and landed in the water far below the cliff.
“He's already gone,” growled the Wendigo, stepping closer.
“No!” John cried, staring at the blood that surrounded the creature's snout. “No, no, no! Sherlock!” He sobbed, remembering the gruesome scene he watched as his beloved Sherlock was torn to bits, his guts and all his body organs being taken out and spread across the ground as this thing tore into him like he was a tasty meal.
“No, don't go, Sherlock, no, I love you..” John wiped his tears away, putting his face in his hands. When he looked back up, the creature was standing right there.
Not wanting the same fate as his lover, John jumped off the cliff.
~~~~~
Sherlock squeezed his husband's hand, “John.” He whispered.
“Don't go…” John turned on to his other side so he was facing away from Sherlock. Sighing, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, shaking him.
“Babe,” he mumbled. “You're having a nightmare. Wake up. John.”
“No… no--” John cried out, moving around again. “Sherlock!” He sobbed. “Don't go!”
“I'm not leaving..” Sherlock whispered, pulling the duvet over John, whose panting was disrupting the silence in their dark bedroom.
“Sherlock… I love you…”
“I know,” Sherlock kissed John's lips. “Wake up, Baby.”
John still wasn't waking up. Sherlock rolled on top of John and stuffed his hands into the sleeping man's trousers, kissing and licking his neck. John's eyes opened quicker than Sherlock thought they would.
“There we go. I knew that would work.” Sherlock winked and crawled off John. “Good, your awake.”
John sat up and looked around the room, sighing and laying back down, leaning into Sherlock. “Oh, Sherlock…” he whispered, kissing his cheeks. “Did I wake you?” He asked.
“Yes. What were you dreaming about anyways?” He asked, kissing John's cheek.
“The only thing you need to know is that you died…”
Sherlock sighed, embracing his husband. “It's okay, John, I'm right here…” he whispered, kissing his forehead a few times.
“Yeah, yeah, I know…” John yawned, cuddling up to his husband. “I'm going back to sleep…”
“Dream good dreams, John.”
“You too.”