"You have to reenlist me. There's nothing keeping me here in the city. Not now that-" He swallowed hard. "That he's gone. I need a change of scenery, but I can't bring myself to move out of the flat and I can't stay there. I'm fine, I tell you. Look!" He pointed to his leg. "No limp. Bullet wound healed completely. My tremor is even gone," he said as he held his left hand at chest level and willed it not to shake. He wasn't sure if he was actually over the tremor. He hadn't seen much peace since meeting Sherlock. Just thinking the name sent a pang through his chest and he fought to keep his face blank. He had to get out of London. He had to reenlist. It was either that or slowly get to the point where he'd eat the end of his old service pistol.
The man look up at him to scrutinize his face, and John held his breath in hopes of staying expressionless. There was a deep, constant pain in his chest, and it would only leave once he saw more action. More blood, more pain. So when the man nodded wordlessly and signed the papers, John felt the pain lessen marginally. He was cleared for active duty.
AN: Sorry it's so short. Leave a review pretty please