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Title: Into the Rushing Cascade
Pairing: Will Graham/Sherlock Holmes
Table: Big Bang Inspirations, tv_universe
Prompt: Picture of Waterfall
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.
***Sherlock sat up in bed, eyes wide, chest heaving.
Why would he dream about that day on the roof with Moriarty? That was far behind him, and it wasn't something that he ever needed to think about again.
He had sworn that he was going to put that experience far behind him; he was going to keep it firmly in the past, where it belonged, and never take it out to look at it again.
It wasn't something that he ever needed to think about. It was over and done, and even though it had been a harrowing experience, both for himself and the people he'd cared for at the time, they'd all gotten through it, and made their peace with the consequences.
It was something that he'd had to do at the time, though he hoped to never go through anything like that again. The experience wasn't one that he'd ever care to repeat.
Especially not now that he had someone in his life who would be even more affected than he himself would if it were to happen again, Sherlock told himself, glancing at his sleeping boyfriend.
He would never put Will through that kind of pain.
He hadn't wanted to do it to his friends -- and he'd want to to do it to the man he loved with all of his heart and soul even less. He would never want Will to feel that sort of heartache.
Sherlock ran a hand over his face and through his hair, taking a few deep breaths. Everything was all right, he assured himself. Will was here, sleeping soundly beside him; he was safe in his bed in 221B, and Winston was slumbering in his dog basket near the bed. All was as it should be.
That dream had simply been so unsettling -- not only because of the foray into his past, but because of a few other elements that had been new to him.
He'd had this dream before, but never in this particular way.
There had been a waterfall in this dream -- one that he had seen before on a trip he'd taken. He remembered it vividly, the sound of the water as it had cascaded down.
Why was he dreaming about waterfalls -- and why did his mind tell him that he hadn't thrown himself from the roof of a building, but into that very cascade of sparkling water?
It was only a dream, Sherlock reminded himself, closing his eyes as the images from that dream came flooding back to him in crystal clarity. It was as though he had actually been there, with Moriarty instead of Watson, flinging himself into that waterfall in an attempt to end his greatest enemy once and for all.
But that had been done already. Moriarty was gone; he would never trouble anyone again, never harm another innocent person. He'd made sure of that.
Of course, Moriarty hadn't been gone when he'd been at the site of that glorious waterfall with Watson, but then, he hadn't been a part of Sherlock's life at that point.
So why was he dreaming about the bastard now, when he was a part of the past that was long gone? Why did he have this nagging feeling that Moriarty was somehow connected with the danger that hung over his and Will's heads now, in the form of that psychotic so-called psychiatrist?
Hannibal was just as bad as Moriarty; worse, in some ways. He knew that Hannibal was just as amoral as Moriarty had ever been, but somehow, he seemed even more of a threat.
Sherlock knew why that was, of course; Hannibal seemed to loom larger and more threateningly in his life because he intended harm to his beloved Will.
He was far more worried for Will's safety than for his own.
How could he think about his own safety when he could shake the feeling that the man he loved might be a target? He knew that Hannibal wanted Will, not him.
Though of course, Hannibal would know that he'd have to get rid of Sherlock before he would be able to get to Will, which should worry him much more than it did. He didn't doubt that the bastard would do anything he could to enable him to get his hands on Will again.
But he wouldn't let that happen, Sherlock told himself, his fists clenching at his sides. He wasn't going to let Hannibal Lecter get anywhere near the man he loved.
He would protect Will with his life, with everything he had.
That thought didn't frighten him, but the idea of losing Will did. Was that why the dream of the waterfall had come into his mind, why he thought that he had leaped into its roaring cascade?
Protecting Will from Hannibal was a bit like leaping into those rushing waters, with no idea of what would happen next, or if he would indeed emerge victorious.
No, he wasn't going to think like that. Sherlock firmly pushed that thought away from him, taking a few deep breaths and trying his best to focus. He wasn't going to be fatalistic. He would keep Will safe, and he would put Hannibal Lecter behind bars, where the monster belonged.
Try as he might, that monster would never have access to Will again. Sherlock would made sure of that; he would keep the proverbial wolf from the door.
Again, he could hear the sound of that waterfall crashing through his mind, as though it was almost trying to tell him something. He frowned, searching the depths of his mind.
He couldn't go into his mind palace. This wasn't the place or the time.
He would do it later in the day, when he would better be able to grasp whatever it was that hid mind was trying to bring to the forefront. The meaning would unfold before his eyes.
Sherlock lay back down, turning onto his side and taking Will into his arms. The other man's eyelids fluttered, and he murmured in his sleep, burrowing into Sherlock's embrace, but he didn't wake up. Sherlock smiled softly, brushing back a lock of his boyfriend's curly hair.
They were safe for now. And later today, he would go into his mind palace, retrieve what his thoughts were searching for, and set his mind at rest.
He drifted back to sleep with the sound of cascading water rushing through his dreams.
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