Author's note: This prompt was "Holidaying somewhere warm", so here have angst.
I don't own anything, please review.
Blood. Pain. Please, God, let me live. His home. His mother, father. Harry. Life draining out of him, one drop at a time. The hot sand. Let. Me. Live. Let. Me. Live.
"John? I would prefer it if you were not to loiter. There is a case we have to investigate."
John swallowed, shook his head and forced the images that had come up upon seeing Afghanistan through the windows of the airport down in his mind.
Just a case, he reminded himself. Sherlock needs your experience in dealing with soldiers to find the spy in your old regiment. You'll find him, and you'll leave.
Only it didn't feel that way. Because, ever since he had set foot on the land he had almost died in again, he had felt like he was suffocating.
And he'd been doing so fine on the plane – a private jet, courtesy of Mycroft. He was just as eager to have the spy arrested as Sherlock was to find him. For once, the brothers agreed.
And John was caught in the middle of it.
No. That wasn't fair.
Sherlock had been more considerate since he had returned, had shown up at John's door in the middle of the night and asked his help to take down a sniper. He let John eat and rest during cases, and he had asked him if he wanted to go to Afghanistan with him, instead of simply assuming he would.
John had thought he was more than capable of it, but he was starting to doubt himself. It had been easy telling Sherlock not to worry in Baker Street, in the middle of London, in his home; but now he was assailed by memories, good and bad, of people he had saved, of people he'd failed, of the day he got shot –
Concentrate on the here and now. Sherlock needs you. You know the regiment, you know soldiers.
He suspected that Sherlock could have solved the case alone and simply wanted his company, but it didn't matter. If he could help the consulting detective by being here, he didn't mind.
Tried not to mind.
"John?"
Most people would have assumed Sherlock didn't care, but John heard the hesitation in his voice and forced himself to smile. Somewhat weak, if Sherlock's expression was anything to go by.
"Sorry – it's been awhile. Let's go".
The car Mycroft arranged for them was waiting in front of the airport.
Once they were seated, Sherlock asked, "The friend you talked about – "
"Bill Murray. He's doing another tour. He – he saved my life."
John? John? Come on, we need to get you out of here – John!
Sherlock nodded and turned to look out of the window, and John smiled genuinely at the relief he saw in his friend's eyes.
He wasn't the only one who felt uncomfortable thinking of this day.
When he'd woken up in a hospital bed, remembering that he'd been shot in the shoulder and would most likely be discharged, he hadn't known what would happen. He hadn't known he'd meet Sherlock.
He hadn't known that one day, he would admit to himself that he was in a strange way glad that he'd been shot.
Bill had tried to cheer him up when he left, telling him that there was something waiting for him, something new, but John had refused to listen.
Waiting? Harry and I don't get on. I have nothing. I don't have a job. I don't have a life.
How wrong he'd been.
"You are smiling".
"Who is stating the obvious now?" he shot back, teasing, and Sherlock visibly relaxed. Visibly for John, at least; his shoulder slumped just enough to make it noticeable that he had really been worried.
"How long do you think it will take? I'd like to celebrate the New Year in London".
"While I do not see the point of celebrating the changing of a date, I will do my outmost" Sherlock replied sarcastically, but not bitingly.
They didn't talk again until they arrived at the camp. But John was feeling calmer.
Bill Murray was already waiting for them, and John quickly left the car.
"Bill."
"John!" his old friend hugged him, and the doctor reciprocated gladly before gesturing towards Sherlock, who was just climbing out of the car, pretending that he hadn't waited a few moments to give them some privacy.
"This is Sherlock Holmes, my flatmate."
"I'm honoured to meet you" Bill told him, his grin growing even larger, shaking Sherlock's hand enthusiastically. "I've been reading all about your adventures – " He stopped, unsure if he should continue, and the consulting detective finished, "and about my death and subsequent resurrection, I presume".
Bill nodded before chuckling.
"I am sorry, it's just strange talking to a man whose funeral I attended."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and only John knew that he was surprised. While Sherlock had kept an eye on the news – and had only left London after his funeral, as he had explained once his nose had stopped bleeding – he didn't seem to have watched as his casket was lowered into the ground, and he hadn't asked for any particulars.
John didn't need to tell him that Bill had come during the leave he wanted to spend with his family to support him.
Sherlock cleared his throat and asked, "Can you show us – "
"Sure. We got everything you asked; a room for yourself and all the information you need".
Sherlock nodded and replied "Thank you".
John shot him a grateful smile behind Bill's back.
"God knew why a spy would even bother" the soldier said as they walked through the camp, receiving curious looks. Now and then, John recognized someone but only exchanged quick greetings because Sherlock wouldn't stop, and he wondered if this had something to do with his wish of returning to London within the next two days.
"I mean, who would want to spy on a regiment in a war zone? I always thought spies were more like James Bond –"
"Whatever he is looking for is not our concern. We have to identify him".
Sherlock was polite, not annoyed that Bill continued to talk, and John felt relieved. He wanted them to get on, especially since this was Bill's last tour and he hoped to see more of his old friend once he returned to London.
"You know it's a he?"
"My brother thinks so, and I have no reason to contradict him".
Bill apparently decided not to ask, and it was better that way. Explaining Mycroft's position would take too much time.
Sherlock started looking through the evidence immediately, and Bill looked at him, somewhat amused, before turning to John.
"Is that how he usually does it?"
"Yes. Don't worry, he will speak again eventually".
"He's not quite what I was expecting" his friend admitted, and John waited for him to continue.
"I mean, I saw pictures and all that – he's a bit nicer, though. More polite."
"He has been since he returned".
Bill bit his lip, and John quickly added, "It's fine. He's back".
"Yes" Bill answered, just as Sherlock threw a file across the room proclaiming it to be useless, "He is".
They laughed.
"I'm glad" he said, and John was about to change the topic when he clarified, "Not about him being back, I mean that too of course, but that you two met. You were – I was worried."
So John hadn't been acting like himself despite his best efforts when Bill had visited him, a few weeks before he met Sherlock.
"He saved my life" he admitted quietly. He had never put it that way, not even to himself, but it was true. He had already been staring at his gun a little too long every time he opened his drawer before Mike Stamford had introduced him to a madman.
Bill squeezed his shoulder – his good one – and smiled.
"Funny how life turns out. Now, tell me, has Three-Continent-Watson made another conquest since we spoke last?"
John shook his head and started explaining how life with Sherlock was exhausting enough without trying to keep a relationship at the same time, and then they were exchanging anecdotes.
John was surprised to find that, unless the other times he had heard about life in the army, he didn't feel any small twinge of regret. He was happy with his life now, happier than he would have thought he could be when he had been invalided home.
And with Sherlock muttering to himself in the background, it was difficult being anything else than relaxed and happy, even if he was standing once more in the land he had been shot in.
"I am never going to take a case from Mycroft again" Sherlock announced, and John snorted because he had heard his friend proclaiming the same several times in the past.
He shook his head as Bill opened his mouth. Sherlock would continue without being asked.
"I have already reduced the list to two Corporals, and I will only have to speak to them to find out. This was entirely pointless. Don't worry John, you will have your pointless celebration in London".
He smiled at Bill and shrugged to indicate that this was typical of Sherlock, and his friend understood.
"Which ones? I can have them brought here".
Sherlock gave him the names and Bill left.
The consulting detective ran his hands through his hair, frustrated.
"I could have solved the case via web-cam. But Mycroft had to insist that all the evidence be kept in Afghanistan because he didn't want it attract attention. As if our coming here wouldn't do so."
John looked down and took a water bottle from the table to hide his smile.
"Bill Murray is far less tedious than most people we have encountered so far" Sherlock drawled and this time John smiled at him openly.
"How did – " Sherlock realized what he was going to ask was probably not something John wanted to talk about and closed his mouth. John was touched.
"He dragged me out of the line of fire. He – he was hurt himself. Some shrapnel had hit his left arm. But he saved me anyway."
Sherlock nodded and they waited in silence until Bill returned with the two Corporals.
As it turned out, Sherlock didn't even have to talk to them but pointed at the first, who started cursing. John and Bill lunged themselves at him and held him down with the help of the other Corporal until reinforcement arrived while Sherlock was standing in the background, looking bored.
Sherlock continued to mutter angrily to himself what a waste of time this had been while Bill Murray escorted them back to their car.
"Well, John, it has been a pleasure. If a short one. See you when I get back?"
"I can't wait. If you need any help finding a flat, let us know."
Bill laughed.
"I figure you have quite the influence. Don't worry, I'll call whether I need help or not."
They hugged again, then Bill turned around and extended his hand to Sherlock.
"Mr. Holmes."
"Sherlock, please". He shook Bill's hand and held on to it for a moment before adding, "Thank you".
The solider knew what he meant without John translating for him and smiled.
"I was going to say the same thing".
Sherlock nodded and got in the car without another word.
"He's a strange one. Take care of him".
"It's what I always do" John replied, laughing, and Bill chuckled.
"Oh well. Take care of yourself too, right? He isn't the only one who needs you".
John promised and got in the car.
"We should be home for dinner" Sherlock said, and the doctor smiled.
"I'm sure there's something in Mycroft's jet."
The consulting detective stared incredulously at the idea of owing his brother dinner and as they left the camp behind, the doctor's laugh rang out into the desert.
Author's note: Brain? Brain, what are you doing with the prompts?
I hope you liked it, please review.