This piece is set before Holmes meets Watson and changes his life. Of course I don't own a single thing in this universe. - Dix.
Watson:
It's his favorite time of day. He strips to vest and boxers and slides between cool sheets. He lies briefly on his back and then rolls on his side bunching the pillow under his head. His eyes barely flutter shut when the sound of ricocheting small arms fire echoes in his ears. Then there is a light show behind his eye lids as explosions rocket through the blackness. There are soldiers and the sound of grenades and machine guns and in the distance a helicopter comes in low. He is not really hearing or seeing. Nor is he reliving any particular fire fight. It's just the way he lulls himself to sleep these days.
He's missing Afghanistan. Combat deployment was the best thing that had ever happened to him. It was no exaggeration. He loved the frantic pace of the work. Being a doctor at the world's busiest trauma hospital, it was better than he'd hoped. When the operating room didn't need him, he sometimes volunteered to work a shift with the Medical Emergency Response Team. He'd only managed a few flights on their helo before he requested permanent reassignment to the team. Called out to medevac the wounded, in the midst of ongoing military operations across the sector, they have minutes to land, get the patient on a stretcher and get back into the air. Sometimes, there is gun fire to dodge or explosions. It's all in a days' work. But, he doesn't make it to permanent reassignment.
A stray "lucky strike" bullet catches him as the helo lifts off. It rips through his shoulder. The impact spins him around and drops him to the floor. They haul him onto a stretcher beside the marine they came to save. Back at Bastion Hospital, he is no longer Dr. Watson, but Captain Watson. They operate, remove the bullet and fragments of metal and bone and stitch him up. And then they do the only thing they could have done to make it worse. They evacuate him to Bagram hospital. He awakes from surgery in unfamiliar surroundings, disconnected from his comrades, his hospital, and his work. It is here when they get him up and moving around that the limp begins. They x-ray and examine him but can find no physical cause. So he's transferred again. A hospital with better facilities, with more diagnostic tools, is recommended by his physician. With each new symptom, they send him further and further away from the action. So by the time he is back in Britain, his hand shakes so hard he can't hold a cup of tea, the limp requires a cane. He's got mandated therapy sessions and an army pension.
He's made a case for reinstatement. He's phoned, written letters and finally pleaded. He's spoken to everyone up the chain of command who would take his call. The army needs his skills. He is capable and willing. His injury doesn't affect his performance in the operating room or in the army. He could still be useful. But at every turn he is refused. He is unfit to return. The lumpy numb scar that stretches across his shoulder and under his arm is nothing nothing in comparison to the limp he can't lose and the tremor in his hand. Out is out. He is unfit. Unfit to be an army doctor. Unfit for active duty, invalided, pensioned, defeated, done. Between therapy sessions, he sits in his room and nothing nothing happens to him anymore.
Thanks for reading. Feedback is always appreciated. - Dix.