A/N: Hello and welcome to my first multi-chaptered fic. The first chapter is mainly set up but believe me we will get to the meat of the situation very soon. This is post His Last Bow so we are dealing with a retired Holmes just after the completion of the Von Bork case. KCS rules of retirement apply; that is, Watson never remarried, has a practice in London and Holmes lives in Sussex. Any mistakes in canon are entirely my doing. Thanks be to medcat, queen of the betas, for helping me with this first chapter and Barbossa's Monkey for helping me with story ideas. And yes, I did steal one of yours.

Disclaimer: Do not own, blah blah blah.

I hadn't told Holmes that I planned on re-enlisting. This may sound entirely ridiculous in hindsight but I had been waiting for the right moment. Holmes possessed the most stubborn nature I have ever encountered and I was certain he wouldn't understand my decision. He probably wouldn't even hear of it. Holmes would attempt to dissuade me, I was sure, with a myriad of reasons; my age, my leg, the fact I had fulfilled my duty to king and country a thousand times over. These reasons were obvious enough, to me and everyone else. However, as the pressure mounted around the empire and I saw more and more young men striding down the streets in new uniforms, I could not but remember when I had been one of them.

And how little I'd known of what lay in store for me.

Nevertheless, for a short while I had been able to distance myself from the truth; that human faces stood behind the surging political landscape. Then fate, it seems, decided to send me a deliberate message.

I had been on my way back my practice after posting a letter when I saw a man walking in the opposite direction. He was one of the many new recruits such as I have described above. A satchel over his left hip, rifle over his right shoulder and his boots polished to an impractical shine. I intended to pass him by, but as the man drew closer he peered at me quizzically before deliberately stepping into my path.

'Ay. If it isn't Doctor Watson!'

I started and leaned back slightly to get a better look at the individual before me. He certainly looked familiar but it took me a moment to place those cunning eyes and lopsided grin.

'Wiggins!' I cried when realisation finally struck me. I was shocked I had not recognised him straight away. To be fair, I hadn't seen the boy's – no, man's – face in years and back then it had always been hidden under a layer of grime and a grubby cap. For the people who were forced to navigate around us while we vigorously shook hands and clapped each other's shoulders, it would have been impossible to tell that the fellow standing in front of me had ever been a street Arab. His distinctive accent had been worn away over the years, maturing into something comprehensible, which saddened me slightly. He had also grown to possess an open, clean shaven face and squared shoulders making Wiggins look like a recruitment poster come to life. He certainly didn't look like the type of person who could steal your purse, watch and handkerchief without you even realising. I wondered whether he still possessed that skill.

We stood there talking for heaven knows how long, much to the irritation of fellow pedestrians. It was a pleasure to see that the young boy that I had first met in Baker Street all those years ago had grown into an actual human being, with a life that had spread beyond that of running errands of a dubious legal nature for my companion. Apparently, his life took a dramatic turn when he was hired as a ship's hand by a Captain Vernert who had been visiting doctor brother while docked in London. After working hard in the spice trade for many years, Wiggins decided to work on the waterfront rather than on the sea and it had treated him rather well, or at least gave him respectable employment. He told me about how he wooed his lovely wife Louise by telling her he was in fact THE Wiggins from A Study in Scarlet. How young Sophie adored my stories to such an extent she had worn out all the copies of The Strand they owned. That Isaac had broken his arm a few years ago when his older brother David convinced him to join in a dramatic re-enactment of Reichenbach Falls on their roof and that when Ivy lost her first tooth and dropped it in the street she threw a fit because her father didn't put Holmes on the case strait away. As my brain attempted to absorb all the information being flung in my direction – Good grief! Wiggins? Married? Four children? Surely not! – I managed to ask the question that had been revolving in my head for some time.

'So I've see you've joined His Majesty's services.' I said tentatively. Wiggins instinctively straightened with patriotic pride.

'Too right, Doctor. Planning on giving Jerry a good 'iding when the time comes. Louise was none too keen on the idea but she knows that it is every true Englishman's duty.'

I tried to give a supportive smile but in my mind I could help but share Mrs. Wiggins' trepidation.

'I must admit I am curious. What possessed you to join? You said your wife was concerned by your decision so was it someone else who convinced you to sign up?'

Wiggins cocked his head slightly, a cheerful expression creeping across his features.

'In a round-about way, Doctor. In a round-about way.'

'Who?'

'You, Doctor.'

I felt as though my tongue had swelled, taking up all the free space in my mouth. 'Me?'

'Too right, Doctor.' He shuffled his gun into a different position and lent against the wall in a nonchalant fashion. 'You see, I remember that back when I was just a nipper 'elping out you and Mr. 'Olmes on cases, I just didn't get you.'

'Is that so.'

'Yep. You always 'ad Mr. 'Olmes back, right from the start. I didn't matter whether it was three in the morning or your leg was acting up or you was bound to get your 'ead smashed in by some thugs or anything. You would always be ready with that gun of yours and follow 'im into the night to wherever 'e needed you to be. I thought you was mad, truth be told. But then later when I was a bit older, I realised that you 'ad learned 'ow to do that it the army. You must 'ave. If you didn't learn 'ow to watch out for your fellow soldiers there you would all end up dead, wouldn't you? It was just like me and the rest of the boys back on Baker Street. You were like us. I finally got it. That's when I decided that one day, if I were need, I would join up too. '

I was speechless, torn between being flattered and horrified. I always assumed that Wiggins had idolised Holmes. He had certainly watched the man very intently when he was younger, constantly brimming with admiration, if I remembered true. Had the boy watched me with the same intent? The same child-like awe? How could I have had such an effect on a young man's life and not realised it at all? Wiggins gave a chuckle that sliced through these thoughts.

'And now I see I've gone and embarrassed you! Don't worry your 'ead about it Doctor. I only 'ope I make you and Mr. 'Olmes proud.' And with that sentence serving as a goodbye, he gave me a salute and sauntered down the street and out of sight before I had a chance to reply. He was gone and there was a very good chance we would never meet again in this life. I felt a wave of nausea strike me as I leant against the wall for support. I was the reason Wiggins had joined? I had always been proud of my service in Maiwand, and had never shrunk away from my identity as an officer. Had I inadvertently gloried in it, projecting a false image of valour and adventure to a young impressionable youth? Was I the reason that a man could be killed, a wife could be widowed and children made fatherless?

That night I did not sleep. My mind was riddled with scenes of Wiggins, past, present and future; the young boy who scampered through 221b Baker Street back in 1887, the man in immaculate uniform I encountered today, and the same man on a far-off battlefield choking as he expires, sodden with mud and blood.

When my curtains began to glow, filled with the morning light that lay on the other side of the window, I had made my decision. I couldn't sit by and be content to live comfortably, fully in the knowledge that men –boys – were being slaughtered in droves across the channel. Not when I had no dependents of my own. Not when I had the skills to save them.

I was resolved. I was at peace.

I just didn't know how I was going to tell Holmes.

Oh Watson. Always feeling as though his job to look after everyone else. I wonder how Holmes will respond? R & R.