Many thanks to the wonderful, fantastic and troublesome MLC for looking over this for me. :-D
I do not own them therefore I do not profit.
John had been happy enough in Afghanistan, considering the situation. His fellow soldiers looked out for him, and he looked out for them. There was security in knowing everything he needed was in his patrol pack and he was able to help the wounded when all hell broke loose. It hadn't been fun but he had been useful and known what was expected of him.
After being invalided home it had taken quite a lot for the former Army Doctor to re-adjust to civilian life. No more being a surgeon thanks to the tremor in his hand, no one to look out for him, no one to look out for. John didn't even know what he needed never mind making sure to keep it all in a patrol pack.
Then he met Sherlock Holmes and he was part of a battleground once again; a different sort of war this time but no less dangerous. Now, John's pack was invisible but that did not mean its weight was felt any less on the good doctor's back.
At first the burden would be almost nonexistent which meant the pack was empty. Then, one by one, he began to carry concerns for other people. A stone for Mrs. Hudson and her hip, one for the possible cancer patient he had been forced to refer, another for the young victim tragically torn apart by a mad serial killer. One by one, they added strain to the muscles in his shoulders.
Sherlock's storms would arrive unexpectedly and the genius' demons shouted loudly inside his chaotic mind. John's monsters worked differently. They took their time. Silent as they crept upwards and whispered poison into his ears: Insignificant, useless, pathetic, slow, stupid. Each believed lie an additional stress to an already heavy load.
Determined to be the rock for all, the former Army Captain would convince himself it was best to keep all of the items in his imaginary pack a secret. Others already had so much to worry about, he reasoned, there was no need to turn their minds to him. He could be strong enough for all of them. A lifetime of practice had made him an expert in moving amongst others without being seen if he chose. Or so he believed.
For years there had been one who would watch John with a focus bordering on obsession. Sherlock had never met anyone quite like the doctor and hadn't hesitated for a moment when faced with the choice of remaining in or leaving his life behind for three years. If there had been no Mrs. Hudson or Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, he would have still taken the leap off of Bart's roof.
Knowing John's stubbornness would cause a fight if he were to interfere too soon, Sherlock would keep silent but keep a close eye on the man he shared his life with. When he saw John begin to limp, Sherlock knew the time had come and would force him to sit on their sofa and, stone by stone, they would take every burden out and examine it.
Each was dealt with in a manner both men agreed on. Some were shared when his gangly friend placed them on his shoulders as well, others were discarded by the genius and the terrible lies were ruthlessly torn apart as if they were thin pieces of paper that had offended Sherlock and would not be allowed to continue existing another moment.
By the time the last item had been dealt with, John's body would be sagged against Sherlock's side. A long arm wrapped around the compact frame, tugging him closer. Doctor John Watson might carry many burdens but Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes was determined he would never do battle alone again.
A/N: The title of this piece is a slight change from Tim O'Brien's book entitled, "The Things They Carried" about soldiers in the Vietnam War.