[When there is italics that is Sherlock's thoughts, it changes to John's during some parts but I will note that like I have done here]

"Sherlock, we have a situation."

"Sounds boring." Sherlock lay on his sofa at 221B Baker Street in his satin dressing gown and aimed his gun at the ceiling.

"Just come." Lestrade sighed.

"Um, no." That ceiling was asking for it.

"You'll either come or I'll arrest you."

"Arrest me?" Sherlock sat up to look at Lestrade. "Why would you arrest me? You can't arrest me."

"Yes, I can." Lestrade didn't budge. Interesting.

"On what grounds?"

Lestrade turned to walk away. "Unlicensed firearm."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Boring. Always so obvious. Why is the world so tedious? Nothing was going to amuse me today, especially not a madman. It was an open and shut case, why would Lestrade need my help, get a psychiatrist to talk to the poor bastard. Scotland Yard spent their whole time trying to keep me away from mentally vulnerable people so why him, why now? Hmm. Sherlock stood up from his couch and threw the gun down onto it. Potential.

.

"Right, I'm here. What do you want?" Sherlock barged into Lestrade's office and stood looking at him as he sat, feet up on the desk, halfway through a doughnut. "Oh, honestly Inspector. A doughnut? Are you trying to stick to all stereotypes this week, or just those concerning homosexual and inadequate policemen? And yes, I do mean 'inadequate' in every sense of the word viable in that sentence."

Lestrade stood up and brushed the crumbs from his clothes. "You're an arse."

"Brilliant(!) What will you deduce next?" Sherlock was in no mood for this.

"This way." The detective walked around his desk and as he went to exit his office he stopped and turned. "Homosexual?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Clearly not ready to talk about it yet. "Inspector, I am bored and I am here. Do you really want me to focus my attentions on your life because I can?" He smiled that bitter 'go ahead, tempt me' smile he gave Donovan more than ten times in a minute.

"Sod it." The Inspector walked away and Sherlock sighed before following him along the corridor and to the lift. Are we actually going to take the lift? Sherlock walked over to the door and opened it slightly.

"The stairs?" Lestrade looked as the lift beeped and the doors opened.

"If I were you, Inspector, I'd lead the way – those doughnuts are catching up to you." Lestrade sighed and walked towards Sherlock. He stopped in front of the man close to his face, took a bite of his doughnut in an attempt to convince Sherlock (and himself) that the younger man hadn't won and continued up the stairs.

They reached the interrogation corridor and stopped outside room three. "Listen Sherlock," which was followed by the usual eye-roll, "no, really, Sherlock. I know I say this every time we end up in a situation where I need your help-"

"Which is always."

"But… this man is in need of someone who can show him some compassion."

"So you called me? Not one of your better ideas."

"I didn't call you, I rang your door bell." Sherlock smirked at the man's use of facts to warn Sherlock that if he was going to play dirty then so was Lestrade. "Sherlock, the man tried to kill himself and he's shaken."

"How did he try?"

"He tried walking in front of a bus but a by-stander grabbed him out of the way. There's indications that he's tried it before in different ways."

"And the by-stander?"

"She's fine."

"Yes, I realised that she was fine, I meant who is she?"

"Some kind of registrar at St. Bart's. A Molly…" Lestrade looked in his notebook.

"Hooper." Sherlock was losing patience. Quickly. Very quickly.

"Yes, how did you know that?"

"I didn't, I guessed. Can I go in now?" Lestrade hesitated. "Oh for goodness sake Lestrade, you got me here, regardless of if you called or not, and now you're wasting my time and testing my patience. Can. I. Go. In… Now?"

Lestrade just nodded and stepped aside wondering if he should start packing his desk up now.

Sherlock opened the door slightly, it let out a whimper, before stepping inside to see the most disconcerting sign he had ever seen in the dim light of the interrogation room. He looked back at Lestrade standing in the light of the offices. He just gave Sherlock a weak smile that said 'Yeah, that's why.' and he walked away.

Sherlock stood for a second taking in the sight before him. Shaking. Tanned. Sand blond. Military haircut. Still shaking. Leaning to one side. The blanket wrapped around him prevented Sherlock from gaining more of an insight into the man. He needed more, as if it were a drug. He looked around the room briefly. Poorly lit. Dusty. Damp smell. Door creaked. Old carpet in good condition. The man hadn't even acknowledged his existence so, as Lestrade walked back over Sherlock took a step out of the interrogation room and, closing the door over a little, looked from the bag to the Inspector. Binned the rest of the doughnut then, good idea.

"Why didn't you give me any of this before I went in there?"

"I wanted you to see him before you made any deductions about his life. I wanted you to see just how low he is before you sneered at him."

"I don't sneer!" Lestade just gave him a look and an officer who was passing by laughed. "Who was that?" Lestrade opened his mouth to answer. "Actually don't tell me, I don't care, they're not important." Sherlock dipped his hands in the bag as Lestrade held it open. "Has he said anything?" He took out a wallet. Worn. Money; old five-pound note and loose change. Library card, donor card, bank card, ID card – all expired. No driver's license. Business card stuffed behind the donor card – psychiatrist, and a lottery ticket from two years ago. Wallet used but not recently or fully. He put the wallet back and picked out the phone.

"No, he hasn't said a word, it's like he doesn't even know we're here." The detective watched Sherlock riffle through the wallet wondering what he could possibly see. Before Lestrade had even finished talking Sherlock had reached for the phone.

"He's in shock, I'm sure the registrar could have told you that. Even Donovan could have told you that." New phone, not more than three months old, new model not out longer than six months ago, new marks on the handset. Inscription on the back, 'Harry Watson, From Clara, XXX'. Scuff marks by the outlet. Sherlock had a look in the phone itself. Messages, inbox – 18. No personal labels. Outbox – 2. Short answers. Internet history – None. Calls, Incoming – 9, missed – 5, outgoing – 0.

"She did." Sherlock assumed he was referring to Molly. "The registrar, I mean." Yes. He took out the keys. Three door keys. No key ring. Then he looked at the chain. Identity chain. Good condition, but with a few scratches from recent wear.

"Hmm." Sherlock put everything back in the bag. "Is this everything he had on him?"

"Yes."

"Everything?"

"Yes! Why?"

"The by-stander, she didn't take anything?"

"Why would she do that?"

"Well, a vulnerable man obviously in shock and indebted to her, she may have sensed a chance and took it. Was she injured?" Sherlock locked at the Inspector. Bags under his eyes. Shaved this morning. Clothes in good condition except for the doughnut debris and the new stain on his right cuff. Shoes unscuffed. Hair washed and styled.

"Why would she do that? And don't start, Sherlock." Lestrade spoke with determination but keeping his voice down as the door to the interrogation room was still ajar.

"You are assuming that, because she saved a man's life, she is a good person. Probably because you thought she was sweet, innocent and a little in shock herself."

"Why shouldn't she be?"

"She deals with dead people every day she'll be hardened to it."

"She didn't look hardened to it. Mind you, he seemed fine when she came in with him but the minute we took her away he crumbled so what do I know?" Interesting.

"Not a great deal. Don't start what?"

"Deducing me Sherlock."

"I can't help it, I look at you and I know you slept on a friend's sofa last night because she's chucked you out again, for the last time-"

"Sherlock…" Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose.

"- and I'm afraid that 'friend' of yours wants a lot more from you but you know that, that's probably why you went to his last night. But you don't want the station to know that she's done it again so they've all probably guessed why and letting them find out would confirm it. Although, I can't see why you'd be bothered if they did know."

"What… How…?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You have bags under your eyes suggesting you didn't get a very good sleep last night but you've showered and shaved, at a better standard than you'll achieve in most last-minute B&Bs around here, and I doubt that you'll get a full English at that time of the morning anywhere else but a friend's house, a friend who wants to cook you breakfast at six o'clock in the morning after you've just been given you're final marching orders? That's not just a friend." Sherlock lifted Lestrade's right arm. "You should roll up your sleeves when you eat." Lestrade pulled his arm from Sherlock's grasp and rubbed at the stain. "And your clothes are almost completely new, they're not out of the packet but they're worn only once or twice before suggesting that they were someone else's who hadn't worn them in a while because they weren't his style or because they didn't fit or, the less likely, you left them there the last time you were thrown out," Lestrade was getting annoyed now, "but your shoes are completely new, they're unscuffed and the bottoms are not even touched, I saw them earlier in your office, so they're not just new, they're new on this morning, so you friend has different sized feet from you, if the clothes had been yours then you would have had left shoes there too. I don't try to see these things, I just do; they just jump out at me."

"Not every time, I've seen you searching for things."

"Yes, the less obvious things but the others just appear as if you had just said them, like that room in there, it's not a proper interrogation room."

"How did you know that?" Lestrade put his arms on his hips in the way he did when he was too angry or intrigued to brush him off.

"It's damp and dusty in there meaning that it doesn't get regular upkeep, if people were in and out of there all the time then there would be at least areas that were clean from use. The poor lighting along with the fact that the carpet is old but barely worn tells me that people don't go in there a lot, not enough to replace the main bulb or wear down the thread. That and the door; it creaks so it doesn't get opened very often."

"Alright, now that you are warmed up Sherlock, what can you tell me about that man?"

"What? Why would I tell you?" Sherlock looked at the Inspector confused.

"Because you're a show off, it's what you do and I let you do it. Everything you have just said I let you carry on with saying to get it out of your system but now it's about that man. When you go in there, you won't be able to help it, you'll want to impress and dazzle him but he's been through a lot and besides the fact that he's in shock and has bigger things to worry about I don't want you doing what you always do."

"Which is?"

"Show off by telling people the bare, stinging truth regardless of situation and without thought to whether they have the strength to handle it." He gestured to the door. "And he does not have that strength. So…" Sherlock's face softened and he looked outward to the room, to the desks and people that filled it, feeling a little ashamed of the fact that he didn't think that far ahead. No, not ashamed... Annoyed, "tell me what you have noticed."

Sherlock looked down and to the sides as he spoke, looking at anything but Lestrade until the very last word. "I can't find out very much from the man himself because he's covered and not interacting but from what I could see and his effects…" He took a breath. "Retired Army medical officer, home due to an injury and psychological problems as a result, probably has bad dreams, single or at least not married, has a brother that he doesn't speak to for various reasons and not adjusting to life back here well, if at all."

"How?" Lestrade didn't even bother to end that sentence properly.

"His haircut and dog tags say military, the tan on his face looks a bit dark for his skin tone, even under that light, so it's recent and it's not a holiday; people don't get back from a holiday then jump in front of a bus. And his wallet is full of expired cards suggesting that he's just gotten back from a long time away and hasn't had the time or hasn't bothered to renew them all yet. He's leaning to one side as if in pain but showing no discomfort as if he's used to it or has forgotten so I'm assuming some kind of injury that wasn't sustained today, and the number for a psychiatrist suggests something's going on. That and the bags under his eyes tells me he has very good reasons not to get much sleep at night. He has three keys on his key chain – two yales and one mortis – which suggests a flat and the absence of a key ring tells me he has no need to distinguish his keys from other sets, everyone has key rings eventually – they are the annoying present choice popular among family and friends, so they are most likely new keys to a new residence. Also the absence of the key ring and the number of missed calls on his phone along with the way he replies to few texts on his phone, in short answers and only when the person expresses a desire to go round and check on him, tells me that he's not exactly adjusting to civilian life very well and wants to be left alone. He's got enough people who worry about him, his brother is the one who gave him the phone because he wants him to stay in touch, but he can't bring himself to face them. That and the suicide attempt really suggests a very unhappy person; he hasn't even acknowledged our presence." Sherlock looked in the door at the man and saw that he hadn't moved. Wait.

"He's in shock, Sherlock."

"But he's not." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the man.

"He is!"

"Look." Sherlock pulled Lestrade in the door and, still watching the man, shut it loudly. Nothing, he didn't even blink. Lestrade put the bag down on a dusty shelf and walked towards the table. He turned to Sherlock and shrugged his shoulders. "Really look!"

Lestrade sat down gingerly and looked at him, the one lamp was on the end of the table that was up against the wall opposite the door and directed towards the man's face. "What am I looking for, Sherlock?"

"He's in shock? So a military man is shaking because he failed to be hit by a bus?"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade went to get up but Sherlock put his hand on Lestrade's shoulder and forced him to sit back down.

"You missed one thing that I said." When Lestrade looked at Sherlock with that vacant look that seemed to have adhered itself to his face Sherlock could have screamed. "I said 'retired army medical officer' and you didn't ask where I got medical officer from."

"I thought it would be on his dog tags."

Sherlock froze. "I didn't read them." Lestrade rolled his eyes. Hmm, I will need to remember that. "I said medical officer because you said that he was fine until the registrar left. If it was shock he would have been into it almost instantly and not once she had left," Lestrade motioned to talk, "yes I know, you could argue that it was to do with her being the one who saved him, yes but it wasn't. Something like that suggests pre-existing relationship there, think about it, a woman who works with dead people all of the time notices a man in the street looking like death himself, she wouldn't normally see that, so why did she notice him? This time on a weekday she would have been coming back from lunch so she wasn't trying to attract him, he's depressed and wants to be left alone so he wasn't trying to attract her either; she noticed him because she knew him. I assumed medical. How else would a military man, single and been away for a long period of time know a registrar well enough to make that kind of gesture towards her when he's spent the whole time he's been back shutting people out, shutting his own brother out? Sentiment."

"So… he's not in shock?"

Sherlock sighed and grabbed the bag from the shelf to bring it closer to the light, he fished out the dog tags and handed them to Lestrade before dumping the bag on the table. "He hasn't made any effort to move the light from his face even though his head must be pretty sore at this point. Look at him." Lestrade looked up from the dog tags. "He's not shaking now." Sherlock watched him for a second. The man had stopped clutching the blanket and had let it fall as he looked forward, not at either of the men but right through them, back straight and emotion off. Sherlock looked at Lestrade as he leaned forward smirking at the Inspector's confused expression. He placed both hands on the table before gesturing with his head to the dog tags and looking back to the man. "Tell us what you know."

"Captain John Watson, seven one one two six."

Lestrade looked to Sherlock. "That's what's on here… Whoa whoa, Sherlock… What's going on?"

"When she saved him, did he hit his head?"

"Yes." Thought as much. Lestrade stood up and moved away from the man who was a frighteningly different picture from the man who was ushered in here. "He was knocked out for a while. But he woke up in the hospital when our boys were bringing him here."

"Why did you jump out in front of the bus?"

"Captain John Watson, seven one one two six."

Sherlock walked out of the room, waited for Lestrade to follow with the bag of things then he followed the detective to the door of the small room. "He won't change, not here, he's reverted back to his training. You need to get him out of here and somewhere safe before he leaves."

"Before he leaves?" They walked back to the interrogation room but stopped a step away from the door that was still ajar.

"He thinks he's a prisoner of war, as far as I remember they didn't sit around waiting until their captors were done with them – they tried to escape. They don't even move unless-" Sherlock looked at the gap and saw the light flicker, his face showed realisation. "Oh."

"What?"

"Oh. What an idiot." Sherlock looked around the room and put his finger to his lips as he looked back to Lestrade. When he spoke again, he did so with a whisper. "How many people in this room are armed?"

Lestrade mouthed. "None." Sherlock looked at him confused. Lestrade made a gun sign and pointed to the room he had retrieved and returned the bag of effects from and to and then made a 'cut' motion to his neck. Sherlock understood what he meant.

"That's it?" Sherlock mouthed.

Lestrade nodded unsure of why he was still whispering. Then he raised his eyebrows in question.

"Still here, freak?" Donovan slowed as she walked past.

"Shut up!" Sherlock spat in a whisper, he was trying to think of a plan. Sally looked to Lestrade who told her to shut up. "We have been talking in front of him because we didn't know, we didn't think that it could be worse, but now he knows that we know he's not in shock he'll-"

"He's not in shock?" Sally said surprised, her voice at normal level.

Sherlock shot her a look. It's blown now. "Everybody out now!" He shouted but nobody moved. The door to the interrogation room swung open and the man came rushing out at Sherlock with, what Sherlock could only assume was, a leg from the chair the man had been sitting on. Oh great, the super-soldier is with us. And now everyone started to leave, Britain's finest running for the exit like scared children. Sherlock would have laughed at the ridiculous behaviour from trained police officers if he wasn't worried about the man knocking him out.

"Donovan get out and I don't know… call someone. Move!" Lestrade shouted at her and watched as the Captain threatened Sherlock, apparently oblivious to his presence.

"Captain, listen to me, listen to me, we are not your enemies!" Sherlock was grateful for the thickness of his coat as he proceeded to defend himself against the soldier and his improvised weapon.

"Why have you captured me then?"

"Captain, we haven't."

Lestrade tried in vain to get the man's attention. "Sherlock, what do I do?"

"Use your brain, Lestrade!" He ducked and spun under the man as he curled over Sherlock, he then turned on his heels to try and strike Sherlock lower down. Whatever the man's injury was it isn't bothering him now. Inter- Sherlock moved his upper torso backwards, just dodging a blow. Interesting.

"Oh for god's sake Sherlock, now is not the time to be a clever bastard!" Again with the assumption that I can just turn it off. Idiot.

"Sherlock, is that your name?" The Captain lunged forward and trapped Sherlock against the wall. He was insanely strong.

"Yes, Captain. We are not your enemies! We were just…" He really struggled under the Captain's hold, which was something Sherlock was not used to. "We were just trying to find out what happened to you."

The Captain looked at Sherlock's coat. "You're not wearing a uniform and you're English. Why?"

"Because I'm not a captor. I'm a detective."

"And what are you trying to detect?" The man bared his teeth with the last word. That's not army training, that's animal instinct. He was showing Sherlock that he was the one to be feared and yet he was restraining Sherlock. Not injuring me.

Sherlock took a shot. He stopped struggling and just stood against the wall to see if the man would take his chance while Sherlock wasn't putting up a fight. He didn't. Interesting. "I'm here to find out why you tried to kill yourself, Captain."

He loosened his grip and stood back a bit. "I… I did what?" The look on the man's face hit Sherlock like that chair leg.

"Forgive me for this, Captain." Sherlock looked at the man as he watched the scene behind him without breaking eye contact.

"For what?"

Sherlock didn't get a chance to answer as Lestrade hit the Captain on the head with the butt of his gun. The man fell and Sherlock stooped to catch him before he crashed onto the floor. "Was that what I was meant to do?" Sherlock nodded. "Why couldn't you have just said it?"

"And let him know? Come on Inspector, you must have gotten this job on some basis other than having my phone number." He sighed. "Honestly."