Everyone held the belief that nothing could frighten Sherlock Holmes. Well nothing that wasn't life threatening to those he cared about. The common, everyday things that pestered normal people (or idiots as he liked to call them) were scoffed at. Until one summer's evening that is.
They'd finished a case earlier in the day and spent the afternoon getting the living room back into a relatively normal state. Now John was sitting in his chair making sure the facts of the case were saved for later when he wanted to type it up and post it on his blog.
Taking a moment to stretch his arms above his head, he looked over and saw his flatmate had dozed off on their sofa. The doctor smiled. Sherlock had denied being tired but John had known it was only a matter of time before his body took control of the busy mind and shut down for a while.
John once more became engrossed in his work but nearly dropped his laptop to the floor a few minutes later when a high pitched screech filled the room. Catching his computer just before it left his knees completely, John glanced over to see Sherlock now pressed against one of their front windows. Concern for his friend had him crossing the room at a quick pace.
Placing a hand on one of the detective's shoulders, he asked, "Sherlock? What is it? Did you have a nightmare? What's wrong?"
A shaking hand was raised as one finger pointed towards the sofa. John looked but didn't see anything. Turning back he opened his mouth to ask again what the problem was but noticed Sherlock was still half asleep despite the tension filling his frame.
John walked the few steps back to where all had been peaceful shortly before and looked once more. Nothing seemed out of place. He reached down to turn over the pillow his friend's head had been resting on when his eyes focused on something he hadn't seen earlier. There, hanging only an inch or two from where Sherlock's face would have been was a spider.
There was nothing terrifying about it, just a common house spider most people ignored when they found them in corners, but John could only imagine how large it must have looked to sleepy eyes that opened to find it right there. It was no wonder Sherlock had felt the need to put a distance the size of a canyon between the two.
Not saying a word he reached for the newspaper sitting on the coffee table and used it to transfer the eight legged animal to the outside of the flat. John made sure the window was sealed tight before going back to Sherlock. One glance had him taking hold of a thin hand and leading them towards the genius' bedroom.
"It was foolish of me to panic so." Shame over his reaction made Sherlock speak.
"There was nothing foolish about it," John said, soothingly. "That thing must have looked huge."
He pushed his friend onto the bed and pulled the duvet up to the lean waist.
Yawning, Sherlock answered, "Yes, yes it did. Still though -" Another yawn forced itself out.
John ran his hand through the dark curls fondly before saying, "Still nothing. Get some sleep."
He had just reached the room's entrance when he heard the words, "Thank you, John," whispered.
Smiling, John closed the door behind him.