I do not own Sherlock
John was happy. Despite the fact that he was wounded in action. Despite the fact that he was shot while trying to save another man's life. Despite the fact that he was forced to dig the bullet out of his own shoulder while also stopping the blood flow of the other man's arterial leg wound. Despite the fact that his convoy was hit on his way back to get actual medical aid and he got shrapnel embedded in his leg. Despite the fact that even though he was severely injured he was still the top surgeon and had to help the nurses tend to several of the others. Despite the fact that he was now going to be an invalid soldier who would never be able to return to the war that he would never admit he loved so much.
Despite all of these things John Watson was happy because he was going home to his husband. He was going home to Sherlock. So yes, John was very happy to be stuck on one of those military planes that always seemed like they were going to fall out of the sky along with several other moaning soldiers as they flew across the ocean to get to London. He was going to be home soon.
John was dropped off at an airbase that he didn't even care what city it was in because he immediately got a text from his brother-in-law that he had a ticket booked for the next possible flight at the nearest airport and that there was a car waiting to take him there. True to Mycroft's word, there was almost immediately a man who came up to the plane while he unloaded his stuff and helped him bring said stuff to a very conveniently parked car. John would have asked how the car was allowed to be randomly parked on the base's airstrip, but this was Mycroft, the British government, so he had no doubt in his mind that he was capable of that.
"We're running a bit behind schedule sir," the driver said as he opened the door to allow John to slip in.
"I can't really hurry right now Phil," he said as he pulled his leg into the car. "We'll just have to take the next flight if I can't make it to this one."
"Of course sir," Phil mentally cursed himself for accidently insulting the good doctor's injuries. He liked the guy, after all. He did wonders for both the Holmeses, though Mycroft would never admit that fact about himself, and he even remembered his name, which was much more than any of his previous employers did. That's one of the reasons that he actually volunteered to be the one to accompany John on the journey home.
"Don't worry about it," John smiled as Phil took his own seat and began driving toward the airport. "You didn't mean anything by it."
Phil smiled too, but made a mental promise to himself that he would drive extra fast so that John would have more time to get to the plane in time. He would risk the ticket.
"Mycroft and his schedules," John sighed and shook his head when he realized that the plane that he was going to be taking was actually a private jet.
"You're late," Mycroft said as soon as John was close enough to his car for him to hear.
"I can't really control how fast a plane goes," John shrugged and slid into his seat before Mycroft sat next to him. Phil placed his bags in the trunk and took the passenger's seat.
Mycroft just rolled his eyes before receiving a text and then sending one out.
"Whose on forensics?" Sherlock asked. He was really excited about this new serial suicide case, but he couldn't show that. He would just let Lestrade sweat it out a bit.
"Anderson," Lestrade sighed exasperatedly.
"Anderson won't work with me," Sherlock said nonchalantly.
"Well he won't be your assistant," Lestrade replied while flipping out his phone to see the text that he just received.
"I need an assistant," Sherlock replied. If John were here he would be the best assistant, but none of the people ever believed him when he talked about John.
"Well it looks like we're getting a new consultant," Lestrade said, "Maybe he'll work with you."
"Who?" Sherlock raised a brow.
"It doesn't say," Lestrade replied. "Just says that it's from higher up."
"Mycroft," Sherlock hissed. "He's always meddling."
"Will you come?" Lestrade pressed. He needed to get back to the crime scene before something was possibly messed up.
Sherlock paused for a moment, just for dramatic affect of course, and then said. "Not in a police car I'll be right behind."
"Thank you," Lestrade sighed exasperatedly and took off to the crime scene that he really should be overseeing at the moment.
"It's like Christmas!" Sherlock said to no one as he jumped up and down. John would be happy to hear about another case too he knew. He wouldn't waste another minute.
"Hello freak," Sally Donovan greeted him as he came up to the crime scene.
"Hello Sally," Sherlock replied.
"Why are you here?" she scowled.
"I was invited," Sherlock replied.
"Why?" Sally emphasized her word. It was very obvious, as she wanted it to be, that he was not welcomed there by her or anyone other than Lestrade himself.
"I don't know," Sherlock practically rolled his eyes. "I think he wants me to take a look."
"Well you know what I think don't you?" Sally responded as she raised the tape grudgingly to allow him in.
"Always Sally," Sherlock ducked under the long yellow caution tape and caught something that almost made him laugh at her. It seems that she's been scrubbing Anderson's floors again. Sherlock couldn't help but hate the two of them for that. He would never cheat on his husband even when the opportunity arose for the simple reason of experimentation. And he says when it arose because it had arisen. Several times.
"Freaks here," Sally said through her walkee talkee.
"Don't bother," Lestrade spoke from beside her. He had needed to talk to her and had come down to see her anyway. "I'll take him in. I will, however, need you to escort the new consultant in when he arrives."
"Another one?" Sally raised her brow while simultaneously letting out a scowl. She did not want another Sherlock roaming around their crime scene.
"Yes," Lestrade sighed. Before either of them could say anything more, Sherlock was already heading towards the building and throwing insults at anyone who dared to come too close to him.
It didn't take long for Mycroft's sleek car to arrive at it's destination, but it wasn't the one that John was expecting.
"Where are we?" John asked.
"Crime scene," Mycroft replied easily.
"One of Sherlock's?" John raised a brow. He had never been to one of Sherlock's crime scenes, but he had heard enough about them to know that they were always very interesting and he had always been interested in joining Sherlock on them. In fact, they had often talked about how maybe he would join Sherlock when his tour was over.
"Indeed," Mycroft said with his one word answer. There was a moment of silence where John was wondering what the heck he was supposed to be doing, but then Mycroft spoke again. "They are waiting for you," he gestured a hand to the door and John suddenly realized that he was being dropped off. There was once a time where this kind of thing would annoy him, but he was much too used to the Holmes brothers for that now.
"Should I grab my bags?" he asked instead.
"We will take them to 221B Baker Street for you," Mycroft replied offhandedly.
John nodded and allowed himself to work his limbs until he was able to get out of the car without too much pain. Almost immediately after he stood and shut the door, the car took off into the night. Again, that was a thing that would have probably bothered him in the past, but now he just shrugged and made his way over to the crime scene where a woman stood with a walkee talkee in her hand.
"You must be the new consultant," she said politely.
"Is that why I'm here?" John asked. It probably sounded like a stupid question to her, but he really had no clue what he was doing here. He probably wouldn't be very much help for this investigation with all his injuries. Technically, he shouldn't even be walking as much as he's already been doing lately, but he had been forced to walk around with the shrapnel still embedded in his leg earlier so this seemed like nothing to him.
Sally, thankfully, chose not to say anything. She didn't know the new consultant well enough to insult him without feeling like a complete bitch. For all she knew he could be a nice guy. She did, however, look at his wounds skeptically. She really hoped that he didn't get them the same way that Sherlock always got his wounds. Technically she really hoped that this guy just wasn't like Sherlock.
"I'll take you up then," Sally said.
"Right," John nodded as he ducked under the tape that Sally held up for him.
"Just be careful around Sherlock," she continued. "He's only here because he likes it. And one of these days he's going to be the one who put the body on the ground because he's a psychopath and psychopath's get bored."
John just raised his brow confusedly at her as they walked into the building.
The stairs were not fun. Every step was another shot of intense pain shooting up his injured leg. It was also slow going. Sally would often look back at him with an annoyed look. Even though she was trying to hide it and be considerate for his wounded self, John knew better. Sherlock may be the best at reading the evidence, but John was also the best at reading people.
Finally, the two of them reached the stairs to hear Lestrade and Sherlock arguing.
"I told you he wouldn't be your assistant," Lestrade said.
"He just won't work with me," Sherlock hissed. His back was to the door so he didn't see as John slipped into the room to examine the body lying within.
John realized that he would have to get down on his knees to actually do any of the work, but he wanted to find out as much as he could standing so he would have to spend less time on the floor.
"I will not let you contaminate my crime scene," Anderson replied. He too had his back to the door so he didn't notice when John got down on his knees carefully and began to do the normal investigations of the body.
"Don't talk out loud Anderson," Sherlock hissed. "You lower the IQ of the whole room." John had to hold back his snort on that one.
"Just tell me what you have already Sherlock," Lestrade sighed.
"I need to know the cause of death," Sherlock argued.
"Why?" Anderson asked. "Lestrade already knows it. What could you possibly figure out from the cause of death?"
"I want to prove a point," Sherlock emphasized every word as though he was talking to a child.
"Asphyxiation," John though that this would probably be the best time to interrupt with his own prognosis. "Probably. She passed out and choked on her own vomit. I can't smell any alcohol on her so…"
"It's poison," Sherlock waved a hand in his direction without turning around and John suddenly realized what was going on. Mycroft had neglected to tell Sherlock that he was returning like he asked the man too and had instead decided to orchestrate a surprise return by John. Unfortunately, Mycroft doesn't actually know how Sherlock gets when he's examining a crime scene. Sherlock never seems to notice anything at a crime scene that doesn't have some sort of link to said crime scene. He probably wouldn't notice John was even there until he found all of the relevant information that he wanted. Oh well, John thought, it could be fun to test how long it takes him to notice me. "You've read the papers."
"Actually," John replied. "I've been abroad for some time now. I didn't really have access to any papers."
"Uh," Lestrade had never heard anyone talk to Sherlock in such a way and that right there was enough to throw him off. "Right, well, now will you give us what you got since you have your cause of death?"
Sherlock immediately launched into an explanation about this serial adulterer who worked for the news and knew someone named Rachel. John enjoyed watching Sherlock's on the spot deductions. They weren't much different from when Sherlock recounted them over Skype or other form of communication to John, but there was something in his eyes that spoke of how much fun he was having doing it on the spot. Getting to prove how much smarter he was then the entire Scotland Yard.
"How do you know there was a suitcase?" Lestrade asked.
"There are tiny splash marks on the back of one of her leg from the wheels of a suitcase," John replied. He might as well show off the limited deduction skills that he was learning from Sherlock. Maybe now Sherlock would finally think him worthy of deducing. Apparently he got that look that John recognized as the one where he deduces all the things he's heard instead of what he sees.
"Oh great," Anderson grumbled, "another weirdo."
"Is that really necessary?" John raised a brow.
"What?" Anderson asked. The tone John was using made him aware that there was something more to what he was saying, but he couldn't tell what the other was talking about.
"I'm not a forensic scientist so I'm not sure how much schooling you had to go through," John replied in his overly calm commanding voice. Everyone in his platoon knew that when he got this voice it meant that they were probably in deep trouble. "But I'm pretty sure that you at least had to get more than just kindergarten. So I would assume that you would know that the childish notion of bullying, especially with words that belong in the mouth of a child, is completely unnecessary at your age. It makes you sound stupid."
"Oh yea," Anderson hissed. "And what are you."
"I'm a doctor," John shrugged.
"An army doctor in fact." John smiled. Apparently Sherlock had finished his deductions. "Probably of a high rank, judging by the way he asserted his dominance over Anderson, but now too high since he hasn't said anything to either Lestrade or me who would be considered the highest in this setting." Anderson snorted, but Sherlock continued. "Recently invalided, though, because of shrapnel to the leg and probably some other serious injury judging by the way Lestrade looked at him when he walked in. He probably got off the plane and came straight here after being invalided, which says that he craves the danger and a crime scene is now the only place where he can get it."
"That's mostly correct," John replied, "but your missing one key piece of evidence that might change some of those deductions."
"Sherlock's missing something?" Lestrade's eyes widened.
"There's always something," John shrugged again. Suddenly Sherlock was up and clinging to him in such a way that only barely aggravated his wounds. "Finally got it huh?" John laughed.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming back?" Sherlock asked without letting him go.
"I asked Mycroft to tell you when he told me that he would be arranging my ride back," John replied. "Apparently he had different plans."
"Bastard," Sherlock mumbled, but it didn't sound biting at all. Nothing he said right now would probably be cruel unless someone thought it was a good idea to insult his husband because he was just too happy that John was back.
"I'm sorry," Lestrade was completely lost. "Who are you?"
"Oh!" John replied. He held his uninjured hand out around Sherlock to shake the detective inspector's. "My name's John Watson-Holmes."
"Watson-Holmes?" Sally, who had been standing in the corner of the room silently until this point, gasped. No one had actually believed Sherlock when he spoke of his army doctor of a husband. The way that he spoke of this mysterious doctor always made him seem way too good for Sherlock. Actually, the way that this army doctor acted seemed too good for Sherlock. Besides, Sherlock didn't even wear a ring.
"I usually go by Watson, though," John said. "It makes it easier for everyone."
"We're leaving now," Sherlock said suddenly as he stood up straight and took John's good hand in his own. "You'll find the suitcase in a dumpster anywhere within a five mile radius. Contact me tomorrow if you still need me, which you will." And with that Sherlock took John out of the room to leave the three detectives to their surprised stupor.
"John!" Angelo said as soon as the two of them walked into his restaurant. Angelo's restaurant had been the location of their first date and they often frequented it so Angelo knew them well. Not to mention the fact that Sherlock got Angelo off of a murder charge. Angelo always insisted that their food was free of charge, but John always made sure that they gave a tip large enough to pay for their meals. "It's good to see you again. How are you?"
"I'm good," John smiled.
"Your usual table is open right now," Angelo said and Sherlock immediately pulled John to the table while telling that they would just be having the usual. Angelo nodded, placed a candle between them so it would be more romantic, and then left them to be by themselves.
"I missed you," Sherlock said once again when they were finally by themselves.
"I missed you too," John replied. "I have something for you."
"What is it?" Sherlock had learned long ago when it was a good and when it was bad to deduce John and he could tell that now was one of the times that John wanted it to be a surprise.
"I was finally able to get it for you," John pulled out a little velvet box and Sherlock sat a little taller. Now he knew what was inside of it. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get it." John opened the box to reveal a golden wedding ring.
At first the ring looked like a simple gold band, but Sherlock took the box and examined the thing closer to find several intricate designs carved on the outside of the ring and the words 'Forever and Always' carved on the inside. Sherlock handed the box back and John smiled as he slipped the ring onto Sherlock's finger. Now everyone would know that they were married and they could live happily ever after.
Oh my gosh! I actually managed to make a oneshot that isn't freakishly long or broken into chapters. I'm so proud of myself right now.
I hope you all enjoyed this.
P.S. I'm sorry if I got any of the scenes wrong. I was doing this whole thing completely by memory because I haven't been able to see the show recently.