Sign of Weakness

John stands in front of the mirror with his shirt off. His eyes are glued to the scaring on his shoulder.

Hands brush the ugly pink ridges of crudely healed flesh. He hates them. Not the look of them, he isn't a vain man. Even if a he can still see the looks of horror flash across his previous lovers faces. Ranging from momentary and guilty to flat-out unapologetic. It always stings, but still, he's not some self-conscious teenager. The rest of him is relatively fit, so he's been told, and none of them cared for long.

No. It isn't the scaring itself, though it's hardly ideal. It's what they stand for. They are a sign of his failure, permanently etched into his skin. He was meant to heal the injured, keep men safe. Not become a damn liability to his men. Not pass out over a patient in desperate need of his help.

They are a sign of his stupidity, not taking the appropriate steps to ensure he was safe before trying to staunch the bleeding on that young soldier. If he'd just taken a few more seconds, made sure they were in the clear, before he let his mind zero in on the patient. He wouldn't have been shot. The boy would have lived.

They are a sign of his uselessness. The root of that damned tremor in his hand. The tremor that took his job as a surgeon away. The tremor that took his reason to live away. His purpose. Years of medical school and army training, and he's going to spend the rest of his life dealing with snot-nosed kids, paranoid mothers and hypochondriac's.

He puts his shirt on and turns away. Some days, he can't look at himself. Some days, he's not sure how Sherlock doesn't turn away as well.

A/N Not a particularly unique theme but it wouldn't stop dogging me so here we are lol This will have a companion piece in Sherlock's POV if anyone wants it. Review and let me know!

I haven't posted the next chapter for "Taking Care of His Blogger" yet… I'm a terrible person, I know! Soon hopefully!