Tactical Destiny

by Kiri Asakura

After a bleak stay to military service in Afghanistan, Dr. John Watson back to London to continue to live a civil life trying to forget the past that now has terribly afflicted him. Trying to overcome the fact that he can never again regain the great romance that inescapable fate in the desert made him live beside the tenacious Sergeant John Porter.

1. An Oasis in the desert

Note: Well, this is my new fic Richartin (you know it's Thilbo in parallel worlds :v). This fic is based on a crossover between the BBC series Sherlock and also the british series Strike Back fic ;)

The main pairing is John Porter / John Watson and history and plot unfolds around the fate that brought them together in the desert while they were serving in the military and their love that lived together thereafter.

….

Chapter 1 - An Oasis in the desert

John Watson had spent another restless night in which his most recurrent nightmares had incurred from the depths of his dreams; he had had nightmares every night since his return to London from the arid lands of the Middle East. It was another night when John Watson had managed to sleep until very late at night after long hours of wakefulness turning in bed, thinking about each of the things that devastated him. Thinking about how alone now he was among those four walls of his small and modest bedroom.

A few weeks ago he had been staying at a hotel in London but because the pay received by his army pension was not enough he had to think about renting a modest little room and move there. Anyway he was now alone. And the house that he had purchased with his partner a year ago was too big for him.

Watson did not want to remember the person who he had loved so much and that had made him so happy during the past year. The rigidity with which he had instituted did him suppress all that kind of feelings, in his ideology seemed to be better the idea of removing something that already was hopeless, something that had no reverse gear. Porter was dead and shed a tear for that would not revive him. The best was to continue the course of his life and what it could provide him with the passing of the days, months and years.

But although he himself did not want that he could not help feeling terribly devastated, he could not help mourn. After all, despite the strict military training he had not ceased to be a human, a human who loved, because nevertheless he always will love Porter. John Porter, he had the same name that him, John, John Watson. They were the same age and both were British citizens who had served to his nation in the midst of warfare.

But Porter had died in fulfilling his mandate, with all the strength and tenacity and demeanor of a sergeant. And sadly Watson had not even been able to assist a funeral to say goodbye to him one last time.

Over the day, contrary to recover, John Watson felt increasingly depressed and his leg wound worsened the situation significantly.

Almost immediately after moving into his new home Watson decided to consult a psychologist and therapist just how before a few days ago some of his acquaintances had suggested to him. He was not sure if it could mitigate some of his depression but he thought it could at least distract him a little, forget, that was what he mainly wanted. Watson was not shown too optimistic.

He walks clumsily helped with his staff to reach the site where the therapist was. That would be his first session and really it was difficult because he could not even express to himself how it was that he actually felt about all that, to be alone, after being injured and especially after losing the love of his life in that cruel and terrible way.

After a while of mentioning the external aspects of himself to the psychologist and begin to understand the dynamics that led a session the therapist suggested that he should start to write a personal blog about his concerns because to do that would help him to unburden his sorrows. Until then Watson had been rather introverted and elusive, he had completely omitted the life that he had beside Porter and even hide his sexual preference. All therapists in the world could go to hell after all, neither of them nor anyone else could know anything and much less understand his feelings. Go to therapy prove to be merely routine for him or something like that, at least until he getting used a little again to live a civil life in London.

At night when Watson returned home to enjoy a tasteless dinner that he had prepared for himself without much effort he pondered a lot about the fact that his pride of military doctor and pride of himself had been the real factor because he had omitted to talk about Porter to the therapist.

He thought then if he would continue to do that for as long the duration of the therapy and then he decided that indeed it would be best. He decided that if he was going to delete of his thoughts and his memory to Porter then he should also delete it from his conversations as well. He thought he never will date with another man anymore. Maybe later he could try with women. Porter's death was hurting him too much.

Definitely he needed a new life.

FLASH BACK ON

It was a mild day in the streets of London. The agent John Porter was walking back to his house. It was a normal day, nothing important had happened since he had returned to his native country after the success of his mission in Zimbabwe. Fortunately for him, he was able to take some days off but now he could not stop thinking about the death of his ex-wife and especially in the contempt of his daughter who still believed that he was the cause of the death of his fellow seven years ago.

Some years since had happened since had been withdrawn the charge of a sergeant in the Special Air Service after that fateful incident in Iraq. Those days filled with gunpowder and violence had ended and he thought he would never get involved with foreign terrorists ever to his old companion Hugh Collinson, manager in charge of MI6 section 20 British Secret Intelligence Service had called him to give him charge an important mission in Iraq, the same place where they had been shot three of his companions, resulting in two dead and one of them in vegetative state.

After successfully completed the new mission in Iraq and in Zimbabwe one day he was called again from the secret service agency MI6 by Collinson who ordered to assign to him a new mission in Afghanistan.

"Someone has hacked the ground encryption codes"

"If the Taliban are able to access our systems and redirect our missiles it would be very serious. We need answers and solutions as quickly as possible. Perhaps we have a new type of terrorist class. We have to stop it soon" said Collinson.

"Gerald Baxter in Iraq 2003 was technical-support contractor, civilian, not military. A missile guidance software engineer. But he screwed up. He was responsible for the accidental bombing of a village where women and children died. Baxter was found psychologically unfit for active service in conflict zones. He returned to Britain where he was diagnosed and hospitalized for post-traumatic stress disorder. We think that he may now be in Afghanistan. All records of Gerald Baxter stop at September 2005. There's no trance of him after that date" said Lt. Thompson.

"Okay John, your mission is to locate and extract Gerald Baxter" Collinson said as he gave to Porter a folder with information about his false identity and how he must to carry out his mission.

"So I go in as an arms dealer? then I want a translator and a fixer with connections to the Taliban" said Porter decided.

That was a tough night for Porter because he had to learn all about the software commands for missile launches. It was not an easy task because he really didn't know much about the subject, he was not an engineer such as Baxter, but was dogged and determined and that helped him to memorize everything about such weapons.

After several hours of flight in one of the jets of the special British military force and having to go through a thorough transfer to the infiltrated area Porter reached the city of Kabul where a helicopter was waiting for him and then it took him into southwestern Afghanistan, in the province of Helmand. Porter came along with his guide and translator designated to a kind of small bazaar, where the governor of the province who would buy alleged weapons was hidden.

He was presented with the false name of Tom Wallace and then began trading.

"So that's 7.32 by .39 mil 7.32 FMJ ammunition with steel core" said Porter to his prospective buyer who was looking at him with serious fixing. Besides Porter told them the price and the total units that could offer them "c'mon, ukrainian manufacture fully accredited EUCs"

But after the assistant of the governor told him he was not interested in such weapons, Porter decided to talk once about what his true ambush.

"I have associates connected to Arafel Systems in Chandrigar. These associates can get access to the LTD code encryption software on the next generation of Brimstone laser-guided missiles. Yeah, a hacker's paradise. These weapons are due to come online with ISAF forces within the next three months. Control them and you control the war.

After leaving the place without consummating the negotiation, Porter was intercepted by several men who covered his head with a sack and put him into a truck. They had kidnapped Porter.

After coming face to face with Gerald Baxter and having to escape the Taliban group that had hidden certain corrupt ties with US officials, Porter found out what had really happened on that fateful incident in Iraq seven years ago. All this time he had lived a lie, everything had always been guilt of Collinson. And without he have imagined before now he was face to face with Collinson, in this arid land of the border between Afghanistan and Pakistan, on tribal lands, finally facing the tragic mistakes of the past that had eventually turned everything into a heap of selfishness. Baxter had died at the hands of the Taliban, despite all the times that Porter had managed to save his life during the journey through the desert.

A fierce fight broke out between Porter and Collinson in that house made of adobe in the desert. Until, after a group of Taliban found them, Collinson was seriously wounded and decided to drive a hand grenade with the last strength of his life, while Porter escaped unhurt in the jeep SUV.

But Frank Arlington and Zahir Sharq still were with the firm and austere order to find and neutralize Porter, obliterate him of their affairs. Their closest contacts had informed them that Porter probably headed in the direction towards Iran so he perhaps had diverted his route to the other border.

Porter's jeep crossed the road in the middle of the dirt way to reach Lashkar Gah, where he knew he could find help and shelter of his British comrades. But the desert is an inhospitable place and the fuel would not last him too much. At night and being completely exhausted Porter knew he had to stop the vehicle to rest even if it was only for a moment. He thought that since he had become in soldier this was the first time he really felt alone in the desert. Besides sometimes he still could not help to feel a bit of sadness for what had happened with the death of Steve, Baxter and Collinson. He also felt that it was the first time in the desert that could stop a bit to admire the starry sky at night.

Porter had to endure the cruel cold of the night of the desert, slept curled up inside the jeep but certainly could not fall right asleep because his mind demanded to be always alert, those who persecuted him could surprise him at any time and at anywhere and then kill him without he could notice it.

Early in the morning just as the sun began to raise behind the mountains, which were visible still a little distant, Porter awoke from his sleep. It had been a good night's sleep despite everything, now he felt strong enough again to continue his hard way up towards the British camp in Lashkar Gah, but he knew still had a long way to go.

He perked up as soon as he could and realized that also was very hungry, he could not even remember when had been the last time he had eaten anything. Perhaps he was also dehydrating, in his canteen he discovered that was no longer even a drop of water, but that should not stop his escape. He had to draw strength from wherever to go on, he had to put aside his hunger and thirst. The road was still long but not eternal and he was decided not to let himself die in this way in the desert after having endured all, after having fought that way.

The accounts were settled, Steven and Collinson were died, his target Baxter was dead as well but he still wanted to live his life in London and give to himself other opportunities to continue to serve on missions for the military, something in what he had always delivered.

He started the Jeep quickly while the cool weather in the morning began rapidly to become back into a scorching heat. While Porter was driving the Jeep on the arid desert he sometimes could not help feel falter due to lack of food, water and the sweltering heat. But his tenacity was relentless and soon he could see how the dunes gradually decreased. The mountains were increasingly closer to him, he wanted to think it was real and not a vague mirage. He had never experienced one but he knew that could always be a first time for everything.

But above all Porter felt very grateful because had not seen any terrorist for now. Everything was going well, he just had to withstand a little more. Unfortunately, his mobile phone was now completely useless and even if from section 20 in London had been trying to contact him all attempts were in vain. Until then the MI6 didn't know yet the fact that Collinson was dead and that Porter was traveling alone in the desert.

The special agency would send jets and a helicopter of the British Special Forces in search of their two militaries in mission, but at that time Porter would reaching Lashkar Gah and would be safe in the British military camp.

Finally just detracted less than 20mi to get there but Zahir Sharq and his men did not give up and had sent for his capture from the day before. The enormity of the desert had hampered them a little their task at a moment, but finally they saw the Porter's Jeep and surprised him and unexpectedly shooting a burst of high-caliber projectiles at him. Porter reacted so fast and bold as he always had done and quickly took one of the guns and shot to the extremists without doubting, while protecting himself into the Jeep. Porter managed to slay several of them and decided to start to increase the speed of the jeep but another burst of bullets was fired suddenly against him and although Porter tried to cover behind shrinking inside the Jeep a bullet reached to touch his left side of his torso. The immediate sensation that he had by that bullet that struck him, was an intense heat feeling that soon became in an acute pain. Soon he realized that too many splinters were embedded in his back and arms. But he was perfectly trained to put aside the pain, the most important thing was to keep accelerating the vehicle and protect his life to return to attack them at every opportunity, to remove as possible all his enemies. As he had always said, the guy with the bigger weapon and best skills is the one who always wins. He must win.

He drove the Jeep more quickly and finally to his fortune Porter could reach a rocky area where he had time to stop and hide. He thought then that he had finally made them lose the track.

He stopped a moment to sigh and groan a bit for pain caused by his wounds, by bringing his hands to the wounds he realized that his fingers came out completely covered in blood, was losing much. Inside the Jeep had fortunately managed to reach some cloths and immediately did a couple of makeshift tourniquets. The pain was increasing gradually and feared the loss of blood made feel him dizzy and it also could make him to faint at any time, now being wounded made him have a enormous disadvantage. The damn camp was near but too far at the same time. Luckily the arid desert was ending, the sand now seemed to be replaced by rocks of enormous size which helped him better hide from his enemies. Surely there were still enough of those bastards alive and were probably hidden in anywhere, maybe they were stalking him and heavily armed, too many men for a single man like him but Porter never gave up, nor even for all that horde of trained terrorists, with all their ideology disguised as orthodoxy, dangerously armed and above all if they were unharmed. Porter was not determined to die in the desert of Afghanistan and much less in the hands of those fools.

He strove again to restart the Jeep, but this time it was more difficult, and returned to run the road. Perhaps he still had about 50 minutes to reach the area where he could find the camp and constructions of Saxon style engineering in city of Lashkar Gah.

Walking the path suddenly he realized like a rim of the vehicle had been damaged and immediately this made the speed of the Jeep decreased. In a moment the rim was useless. Porter immediately knew that this had been caused by a projectile impact. The Taliban were hot on his heels again, firing missiles at him, relentless.

"Shit! These damn imbeciles never end" cursed while hitting the steering wheel of the vehicle on a temporary outburst. He was too upset, angry and terribly sore. But he had no time even to stop for a second to think about all what was bothering him. He could only curse everything for a moment and think about how fast would have to out of that situation and get away from the terrorists.

They soon returned to shoot a hail of bullets at him but Porter could be skillful enough to sneak out of the Jeep. He took a couple of machine guns and despite the pain that afflicted him, left the Jeep and hid between some concave stones that resembled small caves. The damn Jeep now no longer served and he had to move on foot, wounded and weakened, dehydrated and filled with rage toward those damn extremists. They all were crap, all of them could go to hell. Porter continued cursing everything. Still he was losing blood.

To lose sight of him they stopped to fire the projectiles and then the men of Zahir Sharq approached promptly to the Jeep which now was abandoned and unusable. The Jeep was completely full of holes caused by the burst of bullets. They discovered that Porter was not there, Porter was hidden behind rocks and when the men neglected Porter shot them mercilessly from his location, killing them in the act, without giving them time even to notice that he had stalked them from the high. He had mocked them. Porter's face was not lost a fleeting smile sadistic of satisfaction. He was really tired of all those stupid dogs of Zahir.

Before leaving his hiding place Porter looked cautiously if there were not more of them near to him, ready to shoot to him with their heavy weapons. When he saw that apparently had ended with everyone, Porter decided to come out of hiding in order to continue the journey on foot. But just as he turned again he heard a burst of gunfire suddenly. He felt like one of those bullets had reached him through the skin of his left arm. Porter could not avoid scream out in pain but skillfully he ducked to hide back into the rocks despite the pain of the impacts which were making him lose consciousness, but without knowing the ground where he was standing was loose and unstable and suddenly it broke off under his feet. Porter instantly felt like falling down by the ravine, ending in a narrow and short stream. Porter did not know at that time when he began to lose consciousness, perhaps the wounds and weakness made him faint before hitting the water. For a moment he thought that this could be his final, the bastards extremists had won, they probably would leave him die and take his corpse to the hands of Zahir, it was all what Porter could reach to think within his consciousness meanwhile his wounded body fell down by the ravine. Those bastards had beaten him. But before his mind lost completely Porter thought he heard the sound of a pair of helicopters approaching. Then he didn't know anymore.

….

Porter gradually awakened in the middle of a commotion. His eyes opened slowly as they got used little by little to the sunlight. He immediately tried to guess what was what really had happened and where the hell he was now. His head was spinning, he felt terribly dizzy and his vision dimmed and it was still a little blurry. He was too weak and sore. At that time he only had saw the roof of the place, which seemed quite run down. Then he saw that the rest of the furnishings were not very clear because a thin curtain placed around the bed where he lay didn't let seeing well. He realized well it was early morning, he could recognize the morning sun through the window. He put a hand to his head by inertia and soon a sharp pain afflicted him in the abdomen. The pain prevented him to sit or even move, the same thing happened with his left arm. This had to be because of the bullets that had reached to hurt him. He soon realized that he was in a small but functional room and surely it was a makeshift hospital. It was finally in the British camp. He smiled to himself to know that he was safe and recovering. Although, he could not remember how he had made it out of that. He was somewhat incredulous at it.

"Oh, I see you've finally awakened!" suddenly said an unfamiliar voice but it was very nice for Porter despite the serious tone that person was using. The person entered the room and approached to him. Porter could not clarify his vision well but to hear the sweet tone of the voice and silhouette of that person could think he was a young male nurse, or maybe a doctor. The young doctor, with very blond hair, had a tablet with records in hand and moved closer to the bed of Porter with the intention to make a cursory review of his patient.

The blond pulled the curtain and using his stethoscope on the chest of Porter he began to hear the beating of his heart. Porter was still terribly ailing but when the blond came to make such a review could make out well in his white robe had written "Dr. Watson ". Watson continued examining him quite serious.

"You have been unconscious for a couple of days ago sir, it's necessary that I examine you and check if everything is alright" said Dr. Watson formally as he took off the stethoscope from his ears and immediately he wrote some notes on his tablet of records.

"Oh, really I was unconscious for two days? those bastards Taliban…" muttered Porter, speaking he found that his weakness was avoiding him even to utter the words well. He had to make a great effort to achieve it "well I have to say that I'm very happy to be alive" Porter tried to express laughable.

Watson looked at him closely for a few seconds and gave a brief smile. With just seeing Porter he found that he really was an extremely tenacious, courageous, determined, firm man and after admiring a little all that Watson came back to him to review the progress of healing of his wounds. He raised some bandages, first of the arm, to check that the wounds were healing well and at that time, in that closeness, Porter could better make out the face of Watson. His vision was still a little wrong but could realize that Watson was pretty focused and attentive in his work. Porter assumed he was a serious, reserved man and noticed that he was not a man too young, maybe Watson was the same age like him. Knowing the fact that in a person of that age could be a face with such serenity and subtlety and a sweet voice like his, it inevitably aroused some curiosity in him.

"It seems that your wounds are healing very well, Mr. Porter" said Watson and continued inspecting the wounds of Porter.

"Thank you very much for take care of me, Dr. Watson" said Porter gasped and smiled at him, a sign of his full appreciation. Watson looked at him and met his gently blue eyes between all those scratches on his face. Porter smiled again.

"You are still very weak, Mr. Porter. You should not over-exert yourself too much. Don't worry, now you're safe with us. And I must say that besides the gunshot wounds you received also suffered a broken right tibia and delicate bruises due you fell into the creek from where you were rescued. Luckily, though the impacts of the bullets struck you deeply, they not damaged any vital organs. And also you presented a seriously state of dehydration and wasting, surely due to a lack of food. We have supplied intravenous fluids and of course we have treated your wounds and injuries. You'll have to stay with the plaster on your leg for several weeks. In fact you came here looking terrible, you lost a lot of blood, but everything is progressing well. When you recover a little more you will be forwarded back to the UK, so don't worry" finished explaining Dr. Watson.

"It was you who treated me and provided me all this, Dr. Watson?" Porter asked with difficult voice but trying to sound sweet, and he would not stop smile at the nice doctor who had healed him and saved his life.

"Haha well, me and my two colleagues" Watson muttered timid.

"Anyway I appreciate it enormously Dr. Watson. You saved my life" Porter said, smiling even more, and tried to raise his arm in order to reach out and touch a bit the white robe of Watson.

"It is my duty to attend to war wounded, Mr. Porter" Watson said dryly, but could hardly he conceal that receive these type of acknowledgments of someone who wounded that he had treated pleased him greatly, especially in the case of a very attractive Sergeant like John Porter.

"I hope someday I can pay you, Dr. Watson" said Porter glad, without stop to watch the friendly face of Watson, who stood looking also at him from the foot of his bed.

"Well, I must inform to the staff that you Mr. Porter finally awakened. I'll be back in a while, okay? Please rest a little meanwhile" friendly Watson said.

Moreover at that time Zahir had already contacted Frank Arlington informing him that his mission to kill Porter had failed and that now he was safe in the British camp in Lashkar Gah and they should wait another moment to retake the ambush.

Arlington Frank was furious.

….

Porter returned to doze a little as expected, because of boredom and because he really was very weak. In nearly an hour Watson returned to the room this time with a tray in his hands, which contained a bowl of soup, a stew with beef and nuts and a glass of any fruit juice.

"Here's your food, Mr. Porter" Watson said trying to sound cheerful, though he did it only for his patients because he actually felt a little tired of being in that country and all this military activity out there.

Porter roused himself completely to see Watson approaching to him and was glad to see him again. He was delighted to be able to eat something finally. Porter tried to get up but the terrible pain of his body made him feel as if a thousand needles were nailed on the skin. It was a hellish pain. Porter winced due the pain and Watson placed the tray on the table for a moment for help him.

"Don't try to move too much Mr. Porter, your injuries are delicate and it's better to maintain the rigid position" Watson scolded him and tried to help. Porter smiled laughable.

"Yes, you're right Doctor, I must obey your orders, I'm sorry" Porter apologized and Watson helped him lie back on the bed carefully.

"For these cases only is sufficient to operate the bed to recline it up" said Watson and flipped a button and the bed tilted up slowly, leaving Porter in a position sitting up without moving. Watson retook the tray and placed it on the legs of Porter.

"Thank you very much Dr. Watson, you're my savior" Porter laughed and Watson took a spoon and then took a little of soup from the bowl to give to eat to Porter. Porter felt like a little child. The idea that the blond young doctor gave him eating like that amused him greatly.

"Well, I will help you to eat Mr. Porter" said Watson bringing the spoon to his mouth and Porter smiled cheerful. Watson almost could not help blush.

"Dr. Watson please, stop calling me Mr. Porter. My name is John, surely already you know" said Porter after trying the first spoonful of soup, Watson was about to approach him the second.

"Yes, I know, we also have all your data, I know well who you are... and ... let me say that I have great respect and admiration for you, for your heroics and how you had fight against all those terrorists" Watson said this time bypassing his gaze to hide his shyness.

"Then if you know please call me John, call me by my first name" Porter asked smiling.

"Mmh okay, I will do" said Watson and gave a brief sigh of conformity.

"And by the way Dr. Watson, what's your name? You have not been enough cordial with me to tell me what's your name. If I found out that you're Dr. Watson has been thanks to the name written on your robe" said Porter trying to intimidate him mischievously. Watson turned to him and smiled again.

"It is true, I have not introduced me with you properly, well my name is John, John Hamish Watson" he said with a wide smile on his serene face and then realized funny how Porter looked at him in amazement.

"So you call John! Like me, great! This is really a pleasure" Porter laughed at it, but not too much as he wanted because laughing made him suffer a terribly pain in his stomach.

"You can call me Dr. Watson" said the blond with fake authority, he was joking with him flirtatiously.

"Errr ... I think it will be funny this situation" Porter said smiling.

"Now please finish your meal Sergeant Porter, you don't want it cool" said Watson funny again and extended the spoon to the mouth of Porter, also liked to think that one man of war so attractive and tenacious as Porter was called like him, although he already knew before.

"okay John" said Porter and tested the tablespoon that Watson was giving him at that time.

FLASH BACK OFF

….

John Watson reawakened from a deep sleep that oppressed his chest. It was nearly 4:00 am, so marking the digital clock perched on his desk and his breathing would not diminish until after a few minutes later. Again he had been having all these recurring dreams that hurt his thoughts, all these events that he had to see and experience during the war that he had to witness, since that first time they had sent him to complete his medical practices the service of the British military in the lands of India, long time before he met John Porter in the desert of Afghanistan.

Damn dreams were becoming more recurring. Before since his last return to British soil, all that Watson had been dreaming were occasional images of war dissipated in his subconscious, dreams that just appeared sporadically, until everything all those dreams began to increase in frequency at intervals of two or three days. But now he had these nightmares every night. He thought then that maybe his mind insisted on hiding his pain of losing Porter, covering all his grieving and pain with those nightmares. Maybe it was better start meeting new people. But he had never been really good with it.

Nor had a good relationship with his family and he did not want to have it. He had too many conflicts with himself for having to endure the folly of his alcoholic sister.

Watson had opened his blog just one day before but had not written any word on it. That day he out from his drawer his laptop and turned on, with the purpose to start to type a first initial note. As he entered the blog was dubiously stopped before starting to type something, he really had no interest or desirous to write something. For a moment returned to his mind the memory of Porter and he thought it might be good to write a little about what they had lived together.

"I met him in the arid Afghan lands, just over a year ago. The staff of my department informed us that day suddenly reached a report from MI6 in London who asked for help by Sergeant John Porter and his fellow, the former soldier Hugh Collinson, in turn a dangerous mission at the time. According to the report Porter and his companion found escaping from a dangerous group of Taliban terrorists who had been infiltrating into the missile control systems. But it turned out that Sergeant John Porter had been the only survivor of that mission and he was lost in the desert, likely heading to our camp in Lashkar Gah. They immediately sent a couple of helicopters in his search and after an exhaustive search finally found his whereabouts. They had seen him fall down a ravine into a creek, probably due shot and he had been seriously wounded. In the place the bodies of several Taliban militants were also found. The staff responsible for that helped him out of the water and hastily took him to our medical base. Until then I had only seen him in the photograph that had shown us, but when he arrived on a stretcher allocated conducted by paramedics I saw him in person for the first time. Porter was unconscious at that moment and his face and body were covered with his own blood. I just did my job, I rushed to help him properly along with two of my medical colleagues and that was how we extracted the two bullets and shrapnel that struck him. When all the mishap had subsided and after finishing attending him in those surgeries I could finally make out his face, seemed calm. A strangely feeling made me appealing to assist him and watch his sleep that night and take care of him until he finally woke up. Until then I never thought how important would be Porter in my life thereafter until ..."

Watson hesitated again and then stopped. He did not know if he should admit that he was trying to restrict the feeling of anxiety and sorrow caused by the death of Porter or maybe it was because of his strict military training, because somehow in the academy had almost forced him to restrain his feelings. Watson felt depressed again, hated feeling somewhat depressed, he did not want that would deepen more and more with each passing day and made his life heavier. And then he decided to delete the text that he had written. He left his post in white again. Maybe another day finally could decide to write something, something that had nothing to do with John Porter.

The day after reawakening of his nightmares, Watson left his flat, perhaps in search of an employment, even with his crippled leg could well find a job even if it was small and modest. On the way while he was through the park a voice suddenly called him.

"Hey, John, John Watson" the man said. Watson turned and realized it was an old acquaintance.

"Stamford, Mike Stamford, we were at Barts together" pronounced the man as he extended his hand to greet the blond John.

"Yes, Mike, sorry, hello" said John Watson cordially, but without much effort.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?" Mike said. At that time a series of withering memories crossed the mind of John Watson. Sometimes he could not hide his dejection to it.

"Err…yes I got shot" Watson finally confessed. It had been done in the inhospitable Middle East.

After talking with his old friend for a while in which Watson made a huge effort to have a normal mood, Watson finally spoke about his modest military pension and he possibly could no longer afford to live in London for a long time. At that time Stamford suggested him to share one flat with someone and although Watson was completely incredulous and pessimistic about the idea he didn't imagine that same day a few hours later he would meet with who would be his new and important partner, Sherlock Holmes, in a very cool presentation.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? Mike. There's not signal on mine" asked Sherlock who had just given him a brief look at Watson who had come along with Mike to that laboratory.

"Oh, sorry, it's in my coat" Stamford apologized to Sherlock.

"here, use mine" Watson suddenly suggested.

"Oh thank you" said Sherlock turning to him at last.

"Oh, he's an old friend of mine, John Watson" said Mike Stamford.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock suddenly asked to him, sidestepping the gaze again. John was completely intrigued by his inference.

After starting a little strange mutual agreement about sharing together a good apartment in central London and after that Sherlock was capable to explain how he had managed to guess about his stay in Afghanistan and inferring that Watson was a military doctor attending now a psychological therapy, Sherlock agreed coolly, as he usually did, they should cite the next day in the afternoon.

At that time Watson could not help laughing ironically, it seemed that Sherlock was being too cocky and was true he was really surprised because he had managed to guess the condition of that so rightly only through a superficial deduction, but John was not willing to endure such arrogance.

"is that it? We've just met and we're going to go and look at a flat? We don't know a thing about each other. I don't where we're meeting and I don't even know your name" said Watson serious and confusing and a little bit exasperated.

"I know enough, I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan now pensioner due the injury of your invalid leg..."

Sherlock turned to give a series of explanations, all completely accurate. Then he dared to leave the laboratory but first let him know his name.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street."

That would be the beginning of a new life next to this new partner, Watson turned out very interested.

FLASH BACK ON

….

It was early in the morning and although the pain was still frightfully infernal Porter felt it gradually decreased. But besides that, now he felt a little excited. It had spent a week since he had reached the makeshift hospital taking for a while to Zahir Sharq and his men. That should worry him because surely as he could escape from there, they would return to look or worse attack the camp where he was now recovering. But strangely he did not feel too worried, maybe it was due to the presence of his new friend Dr. Watson, as he was under his care and attention. Porter really felt comforted by having someone such calm and sweet like him to assist him. Seeing and talking with Dr. John Watson somehow encouraged him, made him forget a little his cold condition of sergeant of the highest British forces, a rough and determined type, heavily trained to kill any enemy without hesitation.

"Good morning John" Watson said as he entered the room, smiling a sweet smile for his patient Porter "How do you feel today?"

Porter was very happy to see him. At that time it seemed that the melodious voice of Dr. John Watson was playing sweeter than usual. That captivated him even more.

Watson started making some notes in his tablet of records and then moved closer to the bed of Porter.

"I feel better today and I think I improved a little bit right now just to see you, Dr. Watson" Porter said smiling. Seeing Watson his pain stopped little.

"Oh, really? I know that makes me glad so much indeed" Watson muttered a bit shy, laughable, trying to concentrate on doing his notes on the tablet of records.

"Makes you happy that I mention the fact that I improvement just to see you, John?" Porter said even more intimidating. Watson laughed graciously intimidated.

"No, of course not, comforts me to see your improvement, actually" Watson admitted to Porter trying to not do noticing his embarrassment. Watson actually had liked that remark unleashed. But he would not admit it.

"At least you care about me, I can live happy with that and especially happy to see you whenever I need to take my medicine again" muttered Porter laughable. Watson smiled again but this time could not help laughing a little at that. He found it funny the way how Porter addressed him. But Watson not perceived that was a flirtation, or maybe he didn't want hitherto.

"Haha well, talking about medicines, right now it's your turn to take a capsule" said Watson and pulled out a small bottle with capsules of medicine from one of the pockets of his white robe, then took a glass half full with water and the reached it for Porter could take it. On the bed now Porter was leaning so was sitting upright.

Porter smiled and took the capsule but let Watson gave him to drink the glass.

"Thank you very much for your care, Dr. John" muttered Porter with seductive smile and his look with eyes like sapphires fixed at the blond doctor. Watson could not help this time greatly blushing.

FLASH BACK OFF

Watson reached his current flat, modest and small, cold and empty almost as much as himself. It had been a strangest day. That morning, so suddenly had to raise the question that he could not find someone with whom he could share an apartment, even would have been considered it ridiculous and in the twinkling of an eye he already had dated with a man somewhat cretin to meet the next day the new possible site that they would share.

Watson turned on his laptop in order to investigate a little about that strange man.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" The words did not stop to resonate in the mind of John Watson. Then he remembered how it had been that first kiss he had with his late boyfriend, John Porter.

"It was that day, the camp was forcibly compelled the decision to change its location when suddenly I tasted his lips for the first time, in that subtle desired, longed kiss amid the field of Girishk in the province of Helmand. A sweet and exciting kiss, like an oasis in the desert... "

Watson again felt invaded by anxiety and melancholy. Thinking that he never more could kiss the lips of his beloved John Porter squeezed cruelly his soul. Watson finished writing his post on his blog but this time he not deleted it, he decided to save it better but only for strictly private use.

"I love you John Watson, I don't want this feeling I feel for you fades, never, as the sand touched by the wind in the desert…"

That night, Watson had no the same recurring nightmares, this time his dreams became in placid memories of his beautiful romance lived with John Porter. Watson dreamed all night with him.

….

Final note: Okay, I hope you have enjoyed even a little of this first chapter, you'll see in later chapters what really happened long ago before Watson returned to London and a few more things, especially hot situations hehe.

All your comments are very appreciated ;)

By the way, English is not my first language so I apologize if I made mistakes ^^