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Title: Another Sleepless Night
Pairing: Will Graham/Sherlock Holmes
Table: 9, 50ficlets
Prompt: 29, Sleep
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
***Will slipped out of bed, going to the window to look out at the night.
He couldn't sleep, and rather than tossing and turning all night and possibly waking Sherlock from his slumber, he thought it would be best to get out of bed for a while.
Maybe if he made himself a cup of tea and sipped it slowly, he would be more tired and he'd finally be able to drift off. He sighed, resting his head against the windowpane as his eyes scanned the street below. Maybe he would be able to sleep then, but he doubted it.
He'd hoped that the insomnia wouldn't come back, but it seemed to be with him in full force now. His head was whirling, filled with too many images, too many thoughts.
Trying to sleep when he felt like this was useless; he knew that from long experience. The best thing he could do was to simply get up, let his mind wander, and hope that he would eventually fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion before the end of the night.
He really hadn't wanted to deal with this again. He'd been so sure that the insomnia was gone, that being here in a new place had banished it for good.
Well, he'd obviously been wrong about that, Will thought with a sigh.
He went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, Winston padding softly along after him. He bent down to pet the dog, smiling when Winston licked his hand.
Here was one thing that hadn't changed -- he still had his faithful dog with him. Winston hadn't abandoned him when he'd been in jail, as so many of his false "friends" had done. His dog believed in him -- and so did his boyfriend, the man sleeping in the other room.
It warmed his heart to think fo what he and Sherlock shared; he'd never known any emotion so strong, had anyone care about him so deeply.
Sherlock was nothing like the people he'd known in his old life.
His life had changed when he and Sherlock had found each other, changed for the better. But he couldn't help worrying that he'd changed Sherlock's life for the worse.
If it wasn't for him, then Sherlock wouldn't have to deal with Hannibal. He wouldn't have people shooting into the house he was staying in, trying to get at Will. He wouldn't have to look over his shoulder and feel as though he was being persecuted.
Of course, Sherlock probably felt that way a lot of the time, given the cases that he took on, Will thought, sighing again. But having him here wasn't helping.
Still, he and Sherlock were committed to each other. They were going to stay together, and they would see this through. Hannibal wasn't going to beat them.
And besides, he really had nowhere else to go, did he? He'd given up the house in Wolf Trap when he had moved here; there was nothing to go back to. He had no job in the States any more; he'd made a new life for himself in London, one that he didn't want to leave.
There was no reason to leave, he told himself firmly. He didn't even need to think about that. Leaving wasn't an option, not for himself or for Sherlock.
They weren't going to fold and give in at the first sign of trouble.
If Hannibal thought that he was going to destroy them through intimidation and fear, then he was wrong, Will told himself firmly. He and Sherlock were stronger than that.
Hannibal had to realize that no matter what he did, Will wasn't going back to Wolf Trap. He had to accept that things had changed, and move on. But of course, Hannibal wasn't the kind of person to accept defeat -- or to give up anything he thought he wanted.
Will shuddered at that thought. Hannibal wanted him, and he wasn't going to stop at anything if he thought he could achieve his goal.
They would have to watch their backs every moment of every day.
He looked out of the window to the street below, his gaze searching for anything that seemed out of place. Was Hannibal out there even now, watching their flat?
He didn't doubt that it was Hannibal who had fired that shot into the country house. No one else would be coming after them in such a way -- or be so bold. And no one else was after Will, either. Anyone else but Hannibal would have aimed that shot at Sherlock.
He would worry about that all night, and probably for a lot of days and nights to come, until this was over and Hannibal was caught and put behind bars.
Will resolutely turned his mind away from the other possibilities of what could happen; he didn't want to let himself think about Hannibal getting what he wanted, wrenching him away from Sherlock and forcing him back to a life that he no longer had any interest in leading.
Or, worse, the possibility of both of them being .... dead. He knew that Hannibal was ruthless enough to kill them both, if he decided that was what he wanted.
If Hannibal wanted them dead, then they'd just have to get to him first.
The world would be a much better place with Hannibal out of the way -- not just behind bars, but gone for good. They just had to hope that they could take him out before he got to them.
Will closed his eyes, resigning himself to another long, sleepless night. He was sure that there would be many more in store for him.
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