Written for the LiveJournal community Watsons_Woes for their July Writing Prompts challenge. The prompt for day 6 was the poem Futility by Wilfred Owen.
_Regrets_
I returned from France at the beginning of October, just in time for the worst of the influenza outbreak in London. Those of us newly arrived from the fronts filled gaps left by those who were laid low, at least until we also fell ill.
Perhaps it was my age or my weariness, but I lasted only a fortnight in the flu wards before I too succumbed. My past association with the Holmes brothers stood me in good stead; I was given a real bed in a shared hospital room rather than joining the line of cots in every available corner and hallway.
My memories are vague, but I believe Holmes himself came to tend me and assist where he could despite the danger to himself. At any rate, he was at my side when I returned to my senses, and he escorted me to his cottage as soon as it was safe for me to travel.
I had left my automobile with Holmes when I was sent abroad, and it was waiting for us at the train station when we arrived in Sussex. Holmes drove and I tried to enjoy the sight of unblemished countryside basking in the weak late afternoon sunlight. But it only brought to mind the battlefields, the way the sod flew as the mortars landed, the screams of the wounded lads as we worked feverishly to save them.
I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm myself. The motorcar shuddered to a stop and I heard Holmes climb out, but I remained in my seat. Holmes said gently, "Watson?"
When I looked up at him, he offered his hand to help me stand. "Was it worth it?" I asked miserably, slowly climbing out of my seat. "Such misery, so much death, even now that there is peace."
"Our government would tell you that our gains were worth the losses," Holmes said wryly.
I straightened and raised an eyebrow at him. "And you? All those years ago you said a cleaner, stronger land would lie in the sunshine when the storm had passed."
He grandly offered me his arm. "I still believe we will emerge stronger from these troubles, but I find that my priorities have rather narrowed in my declining years. I have got my Watson back, so I am satisfied."
His words warmed me more than the sun ever could.