A/N: Inspired by "A Single Red Poppy"

The Return Of A Wounded Husband

Sherlock had always driven himself to use his best knowledge and skills when it came to cases, being devoid of Sentiment was a breeze when it came to work. Yet, to Lestrade or even Donovan and Anderson, sometimes - not always - but sometimes the Freak seem too distracted to actully work or be invested in the case file provided.

During these times Sherlock would act solemn or just uninterested, on occasion even twitchy. Lestrade had had enough of Sherlock being ''Off'' and decided he wanted answers while he had the younger trapped inside the precint, more specifically; his office "Sherlock!" The DI interrupted the barage of deductions and insults thrown about in every direction "What now?" Sherlock whined already leaving "No, stop it. Sherlock, what is wrong with you?" "I have something more pressing on my mind than this" The lanky man gestured at the scene laid before him on paper "Lestrade, if I could send in my deductions later I-" Sherlock froze at the sight of two well-dressed men, one guarded the door while one silently passed a letter, the ceal of The Fifth Norththumberland Fusiliers vividly reflected against the light. Sherlock didn't say a word, he only shook head to toe. 'John's letters never looked like this... My John, my perfect, brilliant, ordinary John, he's not... No'.

His eyes transfored glassy, "No. No, no, no, no" He uttered as two men parted for Mycroft, whom was spotted approaching the DI's office door, "Sherlock-" "No. He promised me!" Sherlock was spinning on the spot, hands grasping his unruley locks, he breathing pacing as erractic "Brother mine, calm yourself. I assure you, he will receive the best of care-" "He shouldn't require it in the first place! He's not-" Sherlock had unknowningly slammed himself into a wall and lost all feeling in his legs.

Never had the DI witnessed such raw, intensive emotion leave Sherlock. The 'I'm-A-High-Function-Sociopath' Sherlock wasn't around right now. This was something completely new. Greg found himself in a difficult position, should he leave? Should he say something? Did Sherlock even remember he was in the room? "Sher- Sherlock?" The DI tried, using a lighter tone, like with children but he was ignored "Sherlock, come with me. You shall be reunited soon enough. Don't go into shock, you are needed" "How can I?" Sherlock's voice wavered came through the crumpled figure on the floor. By all means Sherlock was having a full-blown panic attack. "No... John, please" Rolling his eyes Mycroft knelt by his brother's side, "Sherlock maintain yourself, Doctor Watson is alive. He is however, critically wounded. I have arranged for you to be transported to Doctor Watson's side for a short period of time you can watch over him but you can not stay there forever and will be brought back to London. Harriet has also been informed. Now, get up" Mycroft stood and left his brother to trail behind him "Detective Inspector Gregory, my younger brother will not be able to answer your calls about cases for some time" "Yeah, thanks. Sorry about... whatever's happened" "Indeed. Afternoon"

Sherlock remained still on the DI's office floor, uttering words about a 'John'. Lestrade had noticed Sherlock's left hand was gripping something on his chest, "Sherlock?" Greg sat down in front of his friend "Sherlock, what's that you're holding?" Without a spoken word Sherlock pulled the chain off his neck, the chain held Army Dog Tags and a stunning gold band with an 'JWH' inscription inside.

Lestrade made his own deductions. Sherlock stood himself up and walked out of the door, vanishing from London for three weeks before returning even more broken than he left in.