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May be a one-shot or a mini series of books but haven't decided, enjoy

Minxy 12

Home Is Where the Heart Is

He could remember it just like yesterday when he and John H. Watson met. The blurred and thrill of the chase as it burned through his veins chasing the latest serial killer in the area. He'd been cocky and instead of using his gifted mind and high intelligence to catch the killer, he had instead been led into a trap and held at gun point. He remembered the pounding of his heart and the almost doubt he felt when he appeared.

As if out of nowhere the dusty brown, slightly short man appeared, no older than twenty one. He could tell that the man had a troubled upbringing, father in the army and little money to spare if the state of his clothes had anything to do with it. He had appeared on the cracked broken wall behind the killer, silently not even a rustle to alert the criminal of his presences. Then like a cat, graceful and powerful jumped down and grabbed the man, knocking the gun from his hand. It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

3 Years Later

Ever since that day their friendship had flourished into something a lot more. They had spent months as friends, best friends solving crimes together. They had told each other their aspirations for life and they had fallen in love. Just mere months after they had had that fateful encounter they had run away and eloped. They spent their honeymoon in the privacy of a hidden cottage in Cornwall surrounded by calm and peace, the beautiful countryside and one another.

This had all been secret until Mycroft had found out. The call from Mrs and Mr Holmes arrived on the Monday after their honeymoon, demanding why they weren't invited to their wedding. This of course was solved by the deal of Sunday dinner as with the family when the wedding and marriage of John H. Watson and Sherlock Holmes was celebrated.

Though their newly married life was met with sorrow and sadness 6 months later when John was accepted into the army. His dream of entering the army and training to be a doctor was a dream from day one. A year after acceptance letter he was drafted to Afghanistan. Both Sherlock and John feared that the next time they saw one another it wouldn't be due to anything good

Afghanistan 12 Months Later

Heavy gun fire sounded around him. Dust and debris was scattered around, screams and shouts of those around him filled the air. Captain John H. Watson was knelt behind the ruins of a ruined tank pressing bandages to the injuries around him. He had called for backup and was currently trying to save the lives of those around him. Images of Sherlock kept flashing before his eyes, his smile, his eyes and hair. His beautiful smile and snarky sarcastic comments that meant so much to him.

Forbidden tears crept into his eyes as the thought and memories continued to fill his eyes. His dirty face started to gain cleaned track marks as his tears slowly begun to clean his face adding a reminded of what was occurring around him.

"Sherlock" he whispered with a sob as his husband continued to occupy his mind filling his thoughts and helping to soothe the fear and panic he was feeling. His hands worked automatically sticking and holding pressure to the wounds of his men around him. The gun fire blurred in his ears as all he could think about was the love of his life.

Heavy noise of the helicopter moving towards them filled his ears, hope filling his heart and soul. He would live. Sherlock.

"Retreat! Run for cover!" he yelled above the noise as he and his men ran for the cover and safety of their ticket to safety. The hot dessert sun leaving his voice hoarse and lips cracked and bleeding. His heart thudded painfully as multiple feet ran towards the helicopter.

As they approached the helicopter hope filled him he had made it. He was alive for another day! The slamming of the door startled him they had made it. He watched as the battle continued below him as he and his men left the battle to safety. Dizziness and exhaustion slowly began to dance through his body from his head to his feet and pain erupted from his shoulder and leg.

He slowly moved his head down to look at his shoulder and saw bright crimson liquid start to stain his uniform. His leg held a not much better gruesome wound. He had been shot. He grabbed his shoulder and swayed with dizziness. His actions had grabbed the attention around him.

"Sir? Captain are you alright? Medic! We need a medic over here!"

That was the last thing that John heard before darkness and pain consumed him.

London

"So Sherlock what happened here, how did the woman die?" Lestrade said as he looked at the woman in front of him. Pale skin, red lips and red hair. She laid with her arms crossed and a black dress on.

"Don't be an idiot it's simple the gardener killed her with the fork, see the mud on her shoe? She's been having an affair with the gardener and she ended it when her husband nearly found out. Out of revenge and spit he killed her. It was really simp-" He was cut off when his phone began to ring.

Mycroft

"What do you want now? I'm busy." Sherlock greeted.

"John's been shot. He's being transferred to St Bart's as we speak. He's been discharged from the army. He's coming home Sherlock. For go." Mycroft stated gently as he broke the news to Sherlock.

Sherlock shut up. He John was hurt? Shot? Oh God

"When?" was his only heartbroken reply when he thought of his husband being alone, scared and injured.

"30 minutes until he arrives at St Bart's, he has a private room ready and the best medical team we have. Tell him it's good to have him home, I just wish it wasn't in this way. I'll see you tomorrow brother mine" and just like that the line went dead.

Without saying another word Sherlock turned and left almost running out the door ignoring the cries of those around him. He had to get to John.

St Bart's 30 minutes later

He ran into the room and saw the freshly settled John Watson in his bed. Not many people knew that they were married he thought as he watched the doctor write WATSON in capital letters on the whiteboard by the bed. WATSON-HOLMES he thought bitterly as the doctor left.

The beeping of the heart monitor and the bed occupied by a much smaller husband than he remembered drew in his attention. Wires, thousands of wires were attached to his small but yet incredibly brave and strong husband lay. His left arm was in a sling. Shot. His right leg was wrapped in a cast and most probably held multiple stitches, most probably the same with his shoulder.

His face was slightly dirty, the remaining dust and dirt from the battle. Sherlock quickly walked over and sat on the side chair next to the bed. His husband blended into much with the white hospital sheet, he was too pale. He grabbed the thin hand and held the limp hand between both of his stronger and sturdier hands. His lips pressing multiple imprints on to the skin in front.

Time seemed to blend into mere minutes when his husband begun to slowly awake.

"Shrlck" he muttered as eyes begun to move quickly underneath closed eyelids. Sherlock gently shushed him as he stroked his hair and hands gently in encouragement. John's head slowly fell to the side facing in Sherlock's direction, his eyes slowly opening staring at Sherlock.

"John, you with me?" he whispered gently never stopping the gentle caress of his hand through John's hair. A weak nod and groan of confirmation echoed around the bare and empty room.

"Shush you're alright sweetheart don't try and talk, just sleep, rest and recover. You're home now, safe and sound. I'm not going anywhere ok? I'm here, shush" His voice lulling John back into a peaceful sleep a small smile etched onto his tired and pale skin.

"I'm not going anywhere, my home is where my heart is John. You're my heart. You're my home." Sherlock whispered more to himself than to John a gentle and loving smile directed at John in front of him who slept on unaware of the rare sentimental emotion shown from Sherlock.

"You're home."

FIN

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