A/N: Okay this as sort of a request from the lovely and talented patemalah21. It is her fault – oh and Lucy36- I think she started it. I cannot believe I wrote this. It's weird even for me.
I have left it up to interpretation as to who the dreamer is and who is his beloved. People like me, johnsarmylady, and mattsloved1 who ship Johnlock can go in that direction and my friend pat and thedragonaunt who ship Sherlolly (and write it much better than I ever could) can go in that direction. Lucy - if you don't want Mycroft in here he doesn't have to be!
So many shenanigans in Mrs. Hudson's Kitchen forum. Pat you put it eloquently when you said: 'You can't blame us, it's what you get when intelligent, creative, mature, and somewhat desperate ladies get together. We can't all be as stoic as Mr. Spock. Come to think of it, even Mr. Spock had his good days, there's nothing more fun than running amok in the kitchen!'
Don't own. Wish I did. Apologies to BBC, Gatiss, Moffat and ACD. I swear I'm just in it for the fun!
Dreams, Nightmares, Orgies and Other Elucidations
A cool hand wiped a sweaty brow.
A calm voice said, "Shhhh, it's okay. You're safe."
He was caught in a turmoil of dreams and hallucinations. He couldn't move and he couldn't wake up. He needed to wake up. Panic clawed at his chest
He awoke abruptly.
He sat up in bed.
He looked over at the form on his bed, bewilderment reflected in the tension in his posture. Who the hell was in his bed?
He turned and fumbled for the light.
He turned back, wiping sleep and confusion out of his eyes.
He took a closer look at who was lying there.
No!
Impossible!
"Sss…Sally?! What are you doing here? I mean…What?"
Sally looked at him with genuine concern. "Are you alright?"
"Ummm," he wracked his brain. What had happened last night? He couldn't remember anything. It was a complete blank. It had been a long time since he had come home with someone and couldn't remember the circumstances behind it. And from his lack of clothing and hers it was obvious they had, well…
And it was disturbing because it was Sally. It was disturbing on so many levels.
So what was he doing here? What was she doing here?
"You're scaring me. You've been very sick. Why don't you lie back and I'll get you something cool to drink. Some water maybe?"
Completely dumbfounded, he could do no more than nod his head. He watched Sally, completely naked and totally self-assured, walk across the bedroom and into the bathroom. He heard the tap running.
He found himself appreciating the view. He shook his head. What was wrong with him?
He needed to stop thinking about Sally's naked body and try and figure out what the hell was going on.
She had said he was sick.
Maybe this was a dream.
Maybe he'd been fevered.
That must be it. This cannot possibly be real.
Sally returned from the bathroom. She smiled at him. Even in the state he was in, he could tell she was looking at him with a mixture of love and concern.
This was not happening.
Sally stood up and he was half afraid she was going to climb back into the bed with him, but she turned instead and went to the bedroom door. She smiled at him at then shouted down the stairs,
"Hey, can you come up here? I think we need your help."
He just gapped at her.
"Sally? What's going on? Who are you talking to?"
"You really aren't all right." She leaned over him her naked, pert breasts only inches from his face. He swallowed, hard.
Too much!
"I'm calling the others. You obviously need some help. You're scaring me!" She brushed his hair off of his face.
There was the sound of footsteps, many footsteps, climbing the stairs.
He looked toward the doorway wondering who was coming. It sounded like a whole crowd of people.
His eyes really could not get any bigger.
Standing in the doorway was Lestrade, Dimmock, and oh good lord I'm going to be sick, Anderson, half of Scotland Yard trooped into his bedroom.
All completely naked.
He felt dizzy and disoriented. This was not happening. He was not in bed with Sally. He was not going to go to bed with the likes of Lestrade or Dimmock and certainly not Anderson.
He began yelling and moaning, "No, no, no, stop! This is not happening! This is a dream!"
A cool hand wiped a sweaty brow.
A soft voice said, "Shhhh, it's okay. You're safe. You're dreaming. It's alright."
He sat bolt upright in bed.
Something wasn't right.
Something was terribly wrong!
He was not alone in his bed. It wasn't just Sally from the dream/nightmare he had just pulled himself out of. All the people from the dream were there, Lestrade, Dimmock, oh for the love of god, Anderson!
And the things they were doing! Sweaty, naked, bodies, writhing in pleasure and indulgence. Hands touching. Bare flesh everywhere he looked.
Anderson's naked bottom!
He was going to be sick!
It was too much!
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO!
A cool hand wiped a sweaty brow.
A quiet voice said, "Shhhh, it's okay. You're safe. You've been dreaming."
A cool damp cloth slipped off of his brow as he lurched out of the nightmare.
His heart was pounding in his chest so hard he thought it would launch onto the floor.
The hand of the person he loved more than any in the world ran down his chest and gently pushed him back onto the mattress.
"It's alright. You were dreaming. Sounded like a nightmare from all the shouting."
His heart began to settle. He could feel his body bathed in the light sweat that indicated the fever had broken. He remembered now how sick he had been from running around in the damp and cold and not resting and eating properly.
"Just a dream?" surprised and a little disgusted at the querulous tone in his voice.
A pair of soft, warm lips kissed his brow, gently.
"Just a dream. Rest. You'll feel better in the morning. The fever's finally broken."
He sighed, relief washing through his body.
He lay back against the cool sheets and a warm and comforting arm lay across his chest and a warm and comforting body snuggled up against him.
He fell back into a deep, healing and thankfully dreamless sleep.