Title: For You
Summary: John must go back to the war, leaving his husband and son behind.
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AN: Please listen to For You by Keith Urban before/during/after reading this.
For You
It had all started with a measly little letter. He had grabbed the mail after picking up Hamish up from school, listening to the boy rattling on about his day. He would hear it all again later, of course, when Sherlock got home, but he took a secret pride in being the first to know.
The letter, all official, was at the bottom of the stack. His heart skipped a beat and he lost his breath; he didn't have to open it to know what it contained.
"Daddy? What's wrong?"
He swallowed thickly. "Call your father. Tell him to come home immediately."
He should have seen it coming. His limp was no more - had been for years - and while his shoulder gave him grief on the cold days, it was steady. With the war at it's climax, they needed all the help they could get.
Sherlock billowed into the house, doors slamming and feet pounding up the stairs. He was red in the face and out of breath - he must have run from wherever he was. He took one look at John's face, and frowned.
"John?"
John gave him a sad smile. "I'm sorry."
Later that night they lay in bed, Hamish curled up between them. They had explained to him, what the letter met. He was a bright child, just like his father, and he didn't need the sugar coated version - no matter if it wasn't what both his parents wanted. His cheeks still held tear tracks, and he clutched John's shirt in his sleep.
"I don't want you to go."
The hand the was holding Sherlock's gave a gentle squeeze. "I know. I have to, though."
Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed, fighting the tears he didn't want to seep out. "I know."
He didn't have to, Sherlock knew. The letter had asked, not ordered, but his husband was a soldier and a doctor through and through. He knew, though his heart denied it, his John could not ignore the call of war.
"You'll come back, yeah? I won't be able to solve another case again."
John rolled his eyes and laughed, fighting his own tears. "Yeah, I'll be back."
Eight months and four days later, he came back with a flag draped over him. In his breast pocket had been a small picture, creased nearly beyond all recognition. It was given to them, along with the flag.
The picture?
The day Hamish had been born. Sherlock had been holding him, and John was holding them both. On the back, where the words 'For You'.