"Sherlock…"
"MYCROFT! What could possibly be SO important that you would risk expos…"
"Sherlock, it's John."
The bombs that left his ears ringing no longer phazed John. Nothing phazed John anymore. After a year sitting desolate in 221B trying to overcome the crushing sadness that prevented him from functioning on even basic levels, John had hatched a plan. He had stared at his handgun too many times to count but could never bring himself to pick it up and use it. He had fantasized about going into the kitchen that still had toxic chemicals in strange vials, and smashing them all at once, waiting for the fumes to take him. He had dreamt of going up to the roof at Bart's and taking the same step that Sherlock had taken not so long ago. But he could steal himself to do none of these things. And so, one night after heavy drinking and no small amount of crying, he had sent Mycroft a single text that had started his new plan in motion.
"I want back in. I want to fight. After everything, let me have this. -JW"
And now as John sat with his gun, on watch duty over his team's small encampment, he tried with all his might to keep his mind a blank. A month of re-training had seen him a field operative instead of a doctor (though his talents were still needed now and then) and two months in the field had rendered Dr. John Watson one of the best, though quite brash, field agents there was. But despite the busy days and daily distractions, when John had to be still and alone his mind still ran rampant with the emotions he had run here to hide. At this moment John was particularly perturbed with the image of a man he had seen die three days ago, and the woman he had left behind. They had not appeared to be a couple when a team brought them into the surgery, both badly injured. However, as John was working on the man, and fast learning he would not be surviving, the man turned to the woman and began to speak,
"Fila, man ap kew betana hey…man ney hemashh tem sey paar." He had choked out with what turned out to be his last breath. Checking with a local doctor who volunteered in the surgery he found out that what the man had said was that he had always loved the woman. She had pulled through and when the other doctor had spoken to her she had told him that she and the man had been friends since childhood. But he had never once let on how he truly felt about her until the last moment. John had had to bite his tongue to the point of bleeding not to break down right then.
And now, sitting here in the relative darkness, watching for enemy troops, Watson could not help but examine his feelings for the late Mr. Holmes. As hard as he had tried to deny it to himself and others he knew in his heart of hearts that Sherlock had been his other half. Even if Sherlock was asexual and married to his work, John would have stuck around for the rest of his life because he had… loved Sherlock Holmes. John would do anything to be able to go back and tell Sherlock his feelings and now… Now it was to late and he would be saddled with this, this guilt and self- loathing for never having told the great love of his life that he was just that.
A quiet noise roused John from his reverie and he looked up to find three dark figures a little in the distance, advancing on their camp. He quickly radioed his men,
"Three unsubs on the way from our 8. Be advised they appear armed." John readied his weapon and crouched down, awaiting the figures. They must have seen him adjust his position because at that moment, shots pierced the silence. John felt a bullet graze his bad shoulder and he returned fire, dropping one of the figures. More shots rang out as his team fired on the remaining two men. John moved to find cover but just as he made to dart, he felt a dark, warm heat bloom in his chest. He froze and fell where he stood. He heard the shouts of his second in command, yelling that there was a man down and John could not discern whether or not Hanson mean him or another of their squad. Before he could worry himself to much over it, his world began to blacken and in just a short few seconds he was nearly unconscious. His last thought and words were,
"Hello Sherlock."