Hello there!
This is USUK told following the popular british TV show, Sherlock.

I will be mostly following it, but just because of how the characters act (and the fact this is a fanfiction, not a complete account of the show) and that I am shipping America and England, there will be added stories and character arcs.

Just as a friendly warning. I don't personally ship FrUK, but I am planning to make France "The Woman" so there is going to be mentions of it. But Knowing how Sherlock, and England is. We know what happens.

Which brings me to my next point. DO NOT READ IF YOUR WORRIED ABOUT SPOILERS FOR SHERLOCK.

Because believe me sweetie there will be spoilers everywhere. So don't read if you haven't watched the show!

Shoot me a message if you have a suggestion of what role I should put a Hetalia character in. I'm not quite sure who to make Moriarty right now, and thats the big one.

Alright, Enjoy.

Bombs shattered in his ears, the never-ending torture of bullets ringing through his head and refused to cease. Every night he was back there, under attack… a colleague crying out for help…. There was no end, it wouldn't stop, and it refused to! It never ended it never ende-

Alfred F. Jones jolted awake alone in his bed in a cold sweat. He sat up quickly, a steam train pounding through his chest, the steam puffing out of his mouth in short, panicked bursts. With trembling hands he made himself slip his glasses onto his face. Re-assuring himself he was safe and far away from battle. The memories of his short time in the army still continued to surge through his mind as he attempted to calm himself. Before he knew it tears had forced their way to the surface and he began to weep. This battle never ended.

That morning, he had dressed himself in his old bomber jacket. He beamed at himself in the mirror. Alfred had a policy with himself. He didn't want to bring other people down just because he held onto the past. So he would always greet people with a bright smile and shine as gloriously as a young man his age should. Sometimes, doing that all made it worse when there was no one around to be happy for. He was only 19, and he had already been to war. He had gone into the army as a doctor so confident, even when he knew there was a war going on. He shamed himself all the time, if only he had been stronger, if only he hadn't been so scared, if only he could've been a hero.

"So, how is your blog going Alfred?"

He was sitting opposite of his therapist, Yao Wang. This was only the first question and he was already filled up with guilt.

"Ah… totally awesome bro!" He cleared his throat. "Really… cool…"

The small Chinese man glared at him sharply.

"You haven't written a single word have you?"

Alfred puffed out his chest trying to still be confident, and also change the subject. So he gestured over to Yao's notepad he been

writing on.

"You just wrote "Still has trust issues." He looked at Yao accusingly.

"And you have been reading my writing upside down, so I am not too far off it seems!"

Alfred looked to the side awkwardly, taking one of the many snack treats from China Yao always had in his office and munched on it, not really bothering to see what it was. Yao sighed.

"Alfred, you are a soldier. It is going to take time for you to be used to just being normal average guy again. Writing a blog about everything that happens to you will be really good for you. Help you focus on now and not on past!"

Alfred sighed and leaned back.

"There's only one problem Yao… Nothing ever happens to me."

On October 12th, a man who seemed perfectly happy was found dead on the floor in an empty room. His last known conversation consisted of his secretary telling him to get a cab. Jeffery loved his work and his family and had no reason to die, yet he had apparently taken his own life. Shocking everyone who knew him. He was found with a glass bottle containing two large capsules as he had swallowed the third. Needless to say his family and the police were baffled.

On November the 26th two boys were running, trying to escape the constant bombardment of rain on their heads in the middle of the night. One of them, James, had forgotten to take an umbrella with him. So when James saw a cab up ahead pass them, he told Gary he would be gone for two minutes in order to run back home and acquire his mother's umbrella. Gary waited for his friend for a long time, but he never came, and so he went off to search for him. James was later found, also with a small glass bottle and two pills, the third one having killed him, on a window ledge inside of a sports center.

The Newspaper reported about the boy of 18 who killed himself not too long after. Once again, the police were baffled along with the family and friends of the boy. And it was now clear, there was something much more sinister going on.

Detective Inspector Ludwig Beilschmidt and his colleague and brother Detective Sergeant Gilbert Beilschmidt, were sitting next to each other as they prepared to address the copious amounts of reporters and photographers gathering to try and pry every scrap of information out of them.

Ludwig cleared his throat and began to speak clearly and concisely in an attempt to get his point across and lessen his thick German accent.

"The body of Beth Daven Port, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations…" He looked annoyed at Gilbert who was leaning back in his chair. He wished his brother would occasionally take his job seriously. "…Suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Jeffery Patterson and James Philimore. Because of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. Gilbert Beilschmidt will now take your questions." He leaned back, happy to put his brother on the spot for once.

Gilbert sat down straight in his chair, still not happy about having to speak publically, listened closely to the first question.

"Detective, How can suicides be linked?"

Gilbert clasped his hands together. Why did he always have to be the one to do this? He did consider the fact that he had the most handsome face and silky smooth voice on the planet, but there wasn't enough awesome to go around when it came to boring press conferences.

"They ah… all took the same poison... um.. they were found in places they had no reason to be in. A-And they all had never shown any indication of…" He was just starting to get his awesome confidence in such a stuffy crowd when he was interrupted.

"But you can't have serial suicides!"

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "Well apparently you can."

Another reporter stood. "These three people, there's nothing that links them?

Ludwig spoke up. Seeing Gilbert start to fume already.

"There's no link that has been found yet, but we are looking for one. It is only logical to assume there is one."

Suddenly the sound of little dingles, beeps, and bops from everyone's phones echoed through the room simultaneously. Everyone pulled out his or her phones immediately.

"Wrong!"

Ludwig glared at the message on his own phone. He knew exactly who it was.

"If you all just got texts please ignore them." He spoke sharply.

The first reporter looked up at them. "It just says… 'wrong' "

Gilbert glared daggers at the man. "Yeah, well just ignore that alright? If you have no more questions for us I'm going to end this session." He had to stop himself from yelling this time around.

The second reporter spoke up again. "But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?"

Ludwig grit his teeth.

"As we said, these suicides are very clearly linked. It's an odd situation yes, but we have the best people investigating…"

Another trill rings through the air as the reporters see another message.

"Wrong"

The reporter looked up at them slowly.

"Says wrong again."

Ludwig looked desperately at his brother.

"One more question." Gilbert said gruffly.

A third reporter stood up.

"Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?"

Gilbert stared at the man for a minute. "I know you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides." He was absolutely fed up with this. "We know the difference. The poison was self-administered."

"Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?"

Gilbert felt like he was about to scream.

"Well, Don't commit suicide."

All of the reporters looked at him in shock and horror, Ludwig coughed and looked at Gilbert warningly.

Gilbert took a deep breath. "Obviously this is a frightening time for people. But all you all have to do is exercise reasonable safety measures. We make our own problems so we are all as safe as we want to be."

"Wrong" again.

Though the one going to Ludwig's phone was delayed.

"You know where to find me.

-AK "

Ludwig groaned slightly before pocketing his phone and standing up to look at the reporters.

"Thank you."

Gilbert and Ludwig walked together through the offices of the police station.

"Lud, you've got to get that schweinhund to knock it off! He's making us look like major dumbkoffs!"

Ludwig stared forward. "Brother, if you can tell me how he does it, I will stop him."

Arthur Kirkland unzipped the body bag that lay before him. He sniffed as he stared at it perfectly straight faced.

"How fresh?" He asked plainly.

"Um… its… just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He really was very nice."

Arthur zipped the bag back up, straightening his back as he turned to Matthew Williams with a small smile. His smile (like a lot of his simple smiles for brief moments like this) was definitely fake. Though unless you had his eye and mind for things, you wouldn't notice. He would soon only smile, truly, for one man.

"Fine. We'll start with the riding crop." He spoke calmly.

The body was removed from the bag and was lying on its back on the table. Mathew had taken his place in the observation room. He couldn't help but flinch each time Arthur flogged the dead body repeatedly with the riding crop. Though… he also admired him in a weird way. No other detective could do the things he did, nor did they have the guts. He walked back into the room when Arthur was finished. Arthur straightened up again as Mathew walked over to him.

"Did you have a bad day or something?" Mathew said jokingly tilting his head to the side.

Arthur ignored Mathews obvious attempt at polite conversation as he made a few notes in a notebook. "Mmm… I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. There is a man's alibi that depends on it. Trust me. Text me when you know"

Mathew nodded; this man was such an odd duck. Mathew, being the friendly, over-accepting man that he was, wanted to be the friend for Arthur everyone could tell he needed. Unfortunately, he was not that friend, but that didn't stop him from trying.

"Hey, Arthur, I was wondering if you would like to have coffee!" He smiled brightly.

Arthur instantly put his notebook away. "Black, two sugars, if you please. I'll be upstairs." He then walked around the baffled man and disappeared through the door.

"...Okay then." Mathew said sadly. He still wasn't entirely sure what just happened.

Alfred F. Jones walked alone in the park, the cold air nipping at his cheek. It was another one of those dreary England days where the sky could not be seen, not even for a second.

"Alfred?! Alfred F. Jones?" Alfred stopped as a somewhat familiar voice tinged with a Spanish accent hit his ears.

Alfred turned to the cheery green-eyed man in confusion at first, having been a bit caught off guard.

"Eh?"

"Oh! It's Antonio! Remember, we were at the Bart's hospital together?"

Alfred scanned his memory; he had been so caught up in everything with the war, everything before it was blurry.

"Oh… OH! BRO! Dude Toni, it's been like forever man!" He let out one of his good ol' hearty laughs. "Sorry about that bro-ha!"

Antonio laughed with him. "Ah! Alfred you're as cheery as ever. Well, I guess I got old… so I don't blame you for not recognizing me."

Alfred looked the man up and down. With his tanned exotic skin and thick, curly, chocolate-brown hair, he wasn't even sure this man could age. But then again, while he recognized the name, his memory was still fuzzy, so he didn't really have a reference.

"No way dude! You look the same as ever!"

Antonio raised his eyebrows at him and got a big smile on his face. "Really?! Awww that's so nice of you to say!" He then looked up at Alfred curiously. "Anyway, I heard you were abroad somewhere, what happened?"

Alfred scratched the back of his head, his brows furrowed as he lost a little of his confidence. "Er, I got shot." He said a bit embarrassed.

Antonio's eyes went wide as he felt the same embarrassment.

They were soon sitting next to each other on the park bench having gotten some coffee to go. Alfred then looked over at his old friend.

"Are you… at Bart's still?"

Antonio grinned. "Yep! Teaching now. All of the students are very bright young things. Just like how we were… and just as annoying."

They both let out hearty laughs.

"What about you, are you just staying in town until you find a place to settle." Antonio asked.

"It's so stupid! I can't afford London on an Army pension."

"True, but nowhere else does it for you does it?" Alfred looked into Antonio's questioning, innocent eyes.

"Yeah, but dude… its looking like I don't have a choice here."

"Well… what if you flat-share? You know, get a place with someone!" Antonio looked at him optimistically.

"Okay, Toni, I'm gonna stop you there, No one on the planet would wanna share a place with me!"

Antonio tilted his head to the side thoughtfully and laughed. "You know amigo, you're the second person who has told me that today."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Who was the first?"

Antonio knocked on the door to the lab inside of the Bart hospital. He then entered bringing Alfred in with him who was striding along behind him with his hands in his pockets. Arthur looked over at them briefly. He was at the far end using a pipette to squeeze some liquid onto a petri dish. He looked at Alfred for a moment with raised eyebrows before going back to his work.

"Woah bro, it hasn't been that long and the tec stuff has already changed since I went to study here!"

Antonio chuckled. "You have no idea."

"Antonio, can I borrow your phone? I can't get a signal on mine."

Antonio's shoulder's tensed slightly. "Is there something wrong with the landline?"

Arthur noticed how he stiffened but persisted anyway. "I prefer to text."

Antonio scratched his head coming up with an excuse. "Ah, I'm sorry, I left it in my coat." It didn't take someone like Arthur to know that Antonio was obviously embarrassed about something on his phone and didn't want people to see it. Arthur speculated that it was probably a conversation with a lover.

"Er, here dude you can use mine!" Alfred pulled his phone out of his back pocket holding it out to Arthur.

"Oh, thank you." Arthur briefly looked at Antonio as he walked towards Alfred

Antonio put his hands in his own pockets, rocking a little on his heels. "This is Alfred F. Jones. He's an old friend of mine."

Arthur took the phone from Alfred and turned partially away from him starting to type on the keypad.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Arthur asked simply.

Alfred frowned and looked at him wide eyed. Antonio simply smiled sympathetically.

"What?"

"Was it Afghanistan or Iraq?" Arthur's piercing lime eyes briefly met Alfred's bright sky blue eyes. He then turned back to the phone.

Alfred hesitated, what was he supposed to say to that? He looked back over to Antonio who just shrugged.

"Afghanistan, but dude… how did you know?"

Mathew then walked in with Arthur's coffee.

"Ah, Mathew, coffee, thank you." Arthur shut Alfred's phone and handed it back to him, using his now free hand to take the mug.

Alfred gazed at Mathew in shock.

"Mathew?"

His twin met his eyes. "Alfred." They stared at each other in awkward silence. Mathew then turned and left the room without another word. Alfred clenched his fist and looked down at the ground. So that's how his own brother was going to act towards him huh?

"How do you feel about the violin?"

Alfred looked up at Arthur, just now realizing he was being talked to again.

"What?" He felt stupid for asking the same question again.

Arthur was now typing on a laptop as he talked to Alfred.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking you see. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He looked back over at Alfred. "Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other, don't you think?" This time his smile was disgustingly, obviously fake.

Alfred looked over at Antonio. "Oh, so you told him about me."

Antonio shook his head. "Not a word."

Alfred was absolutely baffled now. How did this man know so much?! It almost pissed him off a little. Arthur picked up his coat and slid it on.

"Then who told you anything about flat mates?"

Arthur looked back at him again. "I did. I told Antonio this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flat mate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. It wasn't really a difficult conclusion."

Alfred stared at this strange man. "How did you know about Afghanistan?!" He was determined to know, had this guy been stalking him?! Was he going to do something weird to him?

Arthur wrapped his scarf around his neck, checking his own phone, ignoring poor Alfred's question.

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together, we would be able to afford it." He walked toward Alfred. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Dreadfully sorry, got to dash, I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary. How silly of me." He put his phone in his pocket and walked toward the door.

Alfred stared forward, wrinkling his nose, even more confused then before. He then turned back in the direction of where Arthur was.

"Wait, dude is that it?"

Arthur stopped and strolled back toward Alfred, looking up at him. "Is that what?"

Alfred felt like he was getting nowhere with this guy. "Um, dude we've like just met… and we are going to go house shopping together?!"

"Is there a problem?" Arthur's expression was oddly innocent and confused.

Alfred smiled in disbelief. He robotically turned toward Antonio for help, but Antonio just smiled and watched Arthur. Alfred looked back at the small, petite man that had an oddly strong presence.

"Okay, dude… for one, we don't know anything about each other, I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name." he spoke exasperated.

Arthur looked at Alfred closely. "I know you were in the army, originally a doctor, and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. You have a brother, who works here and I talk to on a normal basis by the way, who is quite obviously worried about you. But he won't talk to you because he is too nervous and you often don't let him talk to you anyway; possibly because you haven't been close in ages and you disapprove of him. Why? You're actually quite jealous of him. Also… you've been puffing your chest out over-confidently this whole time, your over-compensating so people won't know you've been through war and turmoil."

Arthur looked at him a bit smugly. "That's enough to be going on with don't you?"

Alfred's jaw had dropped at some point unintentionally. Who the hell was this guy? How the hell did he figure so much about him so quickly?! Arthur turned around and walked toward the door again, going through it. He then leaned back and peered into the room again.

"And my name is Arthur Kirkland. The address is two two one B Baker Street." He then smiled brightly and gave Alfred a little wink. He then nodded at Antonio. "Afternoon." Antonio gave him a little wave. Arthur then disappeared and the door slammed shut behind him. Leaving the awestruck American behind with more questions then he had answers. His jaw still dropped and his stature drooped he looked back at Antonio.

"Yeah, he's always like that." Antonio laughed

Little did either Alfred or even Arthur know how much they would need each other, and that how much this little meeting would change their lives forever.