They returned to their room in silence. Sherlock was working over the events of the evening while John tried to get to grips with the confusion that he felt as the world shifted strangely in front of him. He knew now that it was the effect of the drugs but that did not make it any more pleasant.

One moment he heard growling and the next gunfire and he knew for a fact that neither was real but both made him flinch and want to curl up in a ball and hide or alternatively fight with every ounce of energy he had left. His body was pumping with unjustified adrenaline.

"I'm going to bed" he mumbled as they made their way into the small twin bedroom they had shared since arriving in Dartmoor. Sherlock meanwhile settled down in one of the overstuffed chairs and steepled his fingers under his chin thinking hard. He needed to understand why his insides were sending out signals that did not appear to be logical and decide how to file this away in his mind palace.

He was barely aware of John brushing his teeth and heading for bed. Nor did he really register the hour it took his friend to go to sleep or that he started thrashing around in bed.

It was not until John let out a terrified cry of pain and fear that Sherlock was startled back into reality and he got out of the chair approaching John with trepidation. "John what's wrong? Are you hurt? Are you seeing things? You know there is no hound right?"

He reached out grabbing hold of John's thrashing form. It took all of Sherlock's strength to hold John down to prevent either of them from getting hurt. Still John was strong and better trained than Sherlock and really he should not have been surprised that the man lashed out at him throwing them both to the floor.

"John, stop it" he ordered as he tried to restrain his flatmate to keep him from causing Sherlock permanent harm. John fought back and Sherlock realised then that this was more than just a nightmare. John's eyes were filled with panic and he was fighting for his life.

How had he been so stupid. Mycroft had scoffed at the suggestion that John had PTSD but Sherlock had woken up to the sound of his anguished cries enough times to know that it was no laughing matter.

Now Sherlock had gone and dragged his flatmate into a situation where he had been drugged with the express purpose of triggering bad memories. If John hurt him as a result it would be no more than he deserved, and that was a distinct possibility the way the soldier in his friend surfaced lunging forward with deadly intent.

Even though Sherlock did not have Johns training, he had instincts, honed by years of chasing criminals across London and it honestly was pure instinct that made him lash out in self-defence, pushing John away from him with unintended force. This however did not stop the pang of guilt as John fell back hitting the bedside table with a resounding thump and slumped to the ground.

"John I'm sorry, are you hurt" Sherlock threw himself down next to his fallen flatmate who was now blinking up at him with confused eyes. "What…I…?" John hesitated trying to get a grasp on his surroundings. He was clearly awake once again.

"Christ yes that hurts" he mumbled finally bringing a hand up to brush at the back of his head. It came away stained with blood and Sherlock let out a muffled gasp at the sight grabbing onto John's wrist which was in fact also looking unpleasantly red from where Sherlock had been forcefully restraining him.

"John, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you" he moved around so that he could assess the severity of John's injury. "Your pupils are the same size but you're bleeding quite a lot. Do you feel dizzy or sick at all?" he asked looking deeply into John's eye as he pressed a wad of tissues onto the injury at the back of his head. John hissed in pain and grabbed onto Sherlock's hand where it was pressed against his head.

"I'm fine" John responded automatically but Sherlock was not so easily distracted. "John you're bleeding, clearly you're not fine, the question is do I need to take you to a hospital?"

John tried to shake his head but was held in place by Sherlock's firm hands. "No, not as long as the bleeding stops. I'll just be sleeping on my front for the next few days" Sherlock smiled slightly at John's reassurance and replaced the tissues he was holding against John's head to see if the bleeding had slowed.

"You could just turn your head you know, or is your neck hurting, that would not be good" worry crept into Sherlock's grey eyes and he gently cradled his free hand around John's neck to feel for further injury.

"Neck's fine I think" John hissed as Sherlock prodded non to carefully checking for swelling. "Back hurts like hell though… no don't worry I just bumped my shoulder, it will be fine" he continued as Sherlock started fumbling for his phone. "If you could possibly ask the guys downstairs for some ice though that would be lovely" John grabbed onto Sherlock's arm to drag himself to his feet and Sherlock, still hovering helped him to sit back onto the bed.

He took a few breaths and the normally calm John was all but returned. There was only a small hint of fear in his eyes as he waved at the door and slumped down against the cushions now firmly planted on his front. "Ice Sherlock, and please apologise to the guys if I have just managed to get blood on their sheets, I wasn't thinking."

Sherlock shifted in place, torn between staying with his friend and doing as said friend had asked of him. "I'm sorry John, I really am" he mumbled and John was not quite sure he had heard him right as he rushed out of the room in search of ice and an alarm clock so he could make sure they did not sleep for more than an hour at a time. He would be monitoring his flatmate through the night whether he wanted it or not.

When he came back John was once again asleep. His head was no longer bleeding but there was a dark stain on the pillow behind John and Sherlock felt very angry with himself. He knew that the excess of emotion he was experiencing was a result of the drugs they had been exposed to but that did not stop them from being real. His heart beat heavily in his chest and his throat felt thick as he watched his friend sleep. He placed the ice pack on John's back on the side where he had hit his head presuming that the same side must have suffered the impact all along his back.

He didn't bother with the alarm clock, he felt wide awake, buzzing with anger and guilt and sadness, things he never normally felt on this level. Blasted drug to do this to him. He wondered absentmindedly if this was what other people, normal people felt all the time? If so it must be exhausting, no wonder they never got any good deductions out, it was impossible to think properly.

When the ice began to melt enough to stain John's t-shirt he removed it and dumped it out in the bathroom sink. He returned to the bedroom and stood looking at John as he slept. John was shivering slightly, maybe it was from the cold and wet of the icepack, maybe it was aftereffects of the drug, it was hard to tell without waking John up and that seemed like a bad idea. He would ask when the hour was up and he had to wake him anyway.

Instead Sherlock crossed the room and sat down beside John's bed. He pulled the covers up higher to keep him warm and placed a hand on John's neck, looking for a pulse. It was skipping a little but not enough to cause alarm. Sherlock didn't withdraw his hand, found he didn't want to, instead he rubbed his thumb gently over the side of the neck finding that the touch of John's warm skin under his hand and the steady thumping of his heart worked to ease the swirl of emotions in his chest. He rested his head against the pillow next to John's face and watched him sleep until quite by accident he fell asleep himself.

John awoke the next morning with a headache and the strange sensation of warm air rhythmically wafting over his face. He stirred slightly and opened his eyes to find Sherlock fast asleep. He was sitting on the floor with his head on John's pillow and his right arm resting over John's back. John smiled affectionately at his sleeping flatmate who looked even younger than normal when asleep. The furious brain activity and the manic gaze were gone and left was only Sherlock, a man clearly capable of expressing a lot more emotion than he thought.

That thought brought John back to the previous day's events and in particular to the terrified look on Sherlock's face when he realised that he had inadvertently hurt John. "You silly bugger" John smiled and reached a hand up to ruffle Sherlock's unruly hair. That was enough to wake him and Sherlock blinked his eyes and then sat up quickly as awareness came back to him. "Oh, no, I fell asleep".

John chuckled and sat up himself, wincing slightly at the stiffness in his shoulder where it had impacted with the bedside table. "It would appear you did. It is what most people do at night you know. I think this drug has made you almost human." John's smile was warm and honest but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes at the last statement.

"I was supposed to keep an eye on you. What if you have a concussion?" Sherlock sounded annoyed, a little petulant, but not emotional, not like the night before. He sounded normal. John wasn't sure if he was relieved or a little sad at the disappearance of emotional Sherlock. Probably more relieved but it had been nice to see Sherlock vulnerable for a change, admitting to emotions so that John did not feel like quite so big a git for panicking in that lab.

"I'm fine, as you can see" John stated as he swung his legs out of the bed. "Now can we go get some breakfast? I am starving." He stood up and made his way toward the bathroom and Sherlock followed suit, standing up and brushing at his rumpled clothes. "You can eat, I'm not hungry. But hurry up I want to get back to London, preferably before lunch." Sherlock started throwing his things back into his suitcase.

And just like that everything was back to normal.