This story was fuelled by a friend of mine, who said she really enjoyed John 'pulling rank' during Series 2, and how she wished we had seen more of his military side. From that, an AU story formed in my mind, and here it is, coming to fruition. I hope you enjoy. This might go to Sherlock/John, emphasis on the might.
It was late at night, but Mycroft Holmes was still at the office, and was going to be here for a long time to come, the way things were going. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, rubbing lightly the space between his tired eyes.
He was attempting to convince a representative of the Armed Forces that the plan he had just detailed was a good one, and one that would work. It was taking some work. The Colonel before him was no fool, but he was suspicious. Especially, it seemed, of government and intelligence types.
"Mr Holmes, this simply isn't possible. We have officers who would, of course, be capable of what you ask, but I do not wish to move such officers away from their current positions, they are needed where they are."
"I can assure you, Colonel, this operation would take no more then a few days. Surely a few days will not be such an inconvenience?"
"Even if it were possible, it will take time to draft a list and select a suitable-"
"Actually, I already have a candidate in mind."
Holmes extracted a dossier from amidst the papers on the table before them, and handed it to the Colonel. It was stamped Confidential. The Colonel looked down at it, a slight frown on his face.
"Captain John Hamish Watson, Doctor of Medicine, with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. From his service record, he has had an exemplary career."
"How did you get this?" There was part annoyance, part shock in the Colonel's voice.
"I have enough authority for my requests to be met. This doctor is based in a camp that currently has four other military doctors. His position can be covered, if needed. As a member of the military, I trust he will also be capable of taking down any resistance, should any occur."
"How can you be sure this will not be in vain? Can your source be trusted?" Mycroft could sense he was in the final stretch. The Colonel could now see that this man had it all planned, and what was more, that he had authority. His resistance was waning. He gave a smile.
"He can be trusted. He is rarely wrong, and he will be in the firing line should the plans go awry."
"He will be the one going?"
"This is his party, so to speak. Besides, he would never allow others to go in his stead, it would be unthinkable."
The colonel gave a slight chuckle.
"You speak as though you know him."
"Oh, I do. He is my brother." Mycroft spoke the words quite baldly, and saw the slightest flicker of shock on the Colonel's face. The final nail in the coffin, he thought with a sense of satisfaction. He could see the sense of logic in the man's mind: If he was allowing a member of his own family to take part in this mission, he must be very certain of it's success. Therefore, it only made sense to see where this went...
"I will need to speak to his Commanding Officer about this, as well as Captain Watson himself. Only then can I give you your answer."
"No need." Mycroft said, getting to his feet. "My brother has already left for Afghanistan, with permission from military command. He will be able to... pitch the plan to the Major and Captain in his own unique way."
There was another flicker of surprise on the Colonel's face, which quickly turned to anger.
"You assume a great deal, Sir. For all we know, the Captain might refuse the operation."
Mycroft gave a tired smile as he pulled his coat on.
"You haven't met my brother, Colonel. He can be extremely persuasive when he needs to be. Good night to you."
With that, Mycroft left, leaving the Colonel to make quick calls to verify what he had said was indeed true... and to ponder what the hell was going to happen.
Christ, John was glad of air conditioned tents sometimes. The good thing about living on the larger bases was that almost all tents were air conditioned, meaning that you weren't trying to fix a man's leg in 40 degree heat in the shade. In a couple of outposts he had been to, things were certainly harder. And then of course, there were the times you were out in the field, working on a badly injured soldier or (worse) civilians with bullets flying around. Be grateful for the small things in life...
"More light, please." He said, and the lamp above the surgical table was moved so that the light on the area he was working on became brighter.
He was currently clearing a wound in the chest of a young private who had been brought back from a routine patrol dripping in blood. An Improvised Explosive Device had gone off without warning, but it was the shrapnel inside it that had injured three of the patrol. This man was the most badly injured, and was currently under anaesthetic.
He examined the wound carefully, checking for any tiny fragments of metal or glass he might have missed. This one had been lucky. Six fragments had hit him, but none had seriously damaged him. He would need rest, for certain, might even need to go home to do it, but he'd recover.
"Alright, this man is clear. Move on to suturing and bandaging, then have him transferred for recovery."
As he left the operating room and cleaned up, John felt a sense of tiredness. He recognised the young soldier on the table; had seen him arrive for his tour all of a month ago. He often recognised patients, but sometimes, it was a gut-wrenching moment, especially if it seemed they were beyond help.
He was just about ready to leave when a private came into the tent and saluted him quickly.
"Excuse me captain, i've been asked to tell you that the Major wants to see you. He said it's urgent."
John's brows drew together for a moment. Major Chatley was his immediate superior, and the man in charge of his entire unit. He gave a nod.
"Thank you private, i'll go over there now."
He exited the tent just behind the private, and made his way through the camp towards the Major's office.
"Captain Watson!"
He looked round to see Lieutenant Karen Williams jogging to catch up with him. She was perhaps one of those he worked most closely with out here.
"I just got a report back about Corporal Jackson. He's been transported safely back to the UK, and it looks like he'll recover."
John gave a relieved sigh. Corporal Jackson had been injured out in the field, and he had genuinely thought that he wouldn't make it, his injuries had been so severe and he had lost a lot of blood. But he had held on, and after getting him back to base they had managed to tend to his injuries enough that he was critical, but stable. Still... the ride back to Britain was long, and John had been worried.
"I'm glad. Things looked hairy there for a bit."
"Too true Sir. He's made of strong stuff, that one."
John gave a chuckle.
"Let's just hope he gets to use that stuff."
They continued walking towards the officers quarters.
"You going to see the Major?" Williams asked.
"Mm, some sort of meeting."
"Sounds serious."
"I'm as clueless as you are, believe me."
"Well, good luck Sir." Williams said with a smile, and as John turned left towards an office door she kept going straight.
John knocked on the door, heard the word "Enter." and went inside.
Major Chatley was tall, broad and dark-haired. As John stepped forward and saluted at attention, he looked round, and so did the other man in the room. Also tall, also dark-haired, but slighter, younger. The Major spoke.
"At ease. Sit down Watson. Thank you for coming promptly."
John moved to the free chair before the Major's desk. He cast a glance towards the other man. He didn't look military; at least, he wasn't wearing a uniform, instead a well-cut shirt and trousers. Clothing John certainly didn't associate with out here. The man seemed quite at his ease however. After a moment, John cleared his throat.
"The private said the matter you wanted to discuss was urgent, Sir."
"Well, I have been told it's urgent." The Major cast a glance towards the other man. "This... is Sherlock Holmes, Captain, he has just arrived from London. Mr Holmes, this is Captain John-"
"I am aware of who he is." Said Sherlock Holmes. His tone wasn't necessarily rude, but abrupt, as though such pleasantries as exchanging names were a waste of time. He turned his head to look at John, fixing him with a piercing, blue eyed stare. "I asked for you to be brought here, Captain, as there is something I wish to discuss with you."
"What sort of something is this?" John asked after a moment. For a moment, he thought he saw a slight smile on the other man's face. As though he found the question amusing.
"An offer. An assignment."
"I would have appreciated being informed of what this 'assignment' was before now, Mr Holmes." Major Chatley's tone of voice was disgruntled. "Or, indeed, being told of your arrival more then the two hours warning we actually received."
"Well, now that the Captain has arrived, you can both be informed at the same time." Sherlock said, somewhat cooly John thought. He had to hand it to the man, he had some gall. If the Major had been glaring at him the way he was now looking at this strange man, he'd have been running, but Sherlock Holmes appeared completely cool and collected. He turned to face John again, effectively ignoring the Major.
"My offer concerns a matter that requires attention. I require someone with medical expertise, and since you are the highest ranking military doctor in this base, I would assume you know something about injuries and deaths."
"I've seen more then my fair share, i'd say." John said blandly. Again, he saw a slight twitch of the man's lips, but his face quickly became a cool mask again.
"Then you'll do perfectly."
"Excuse me, but are you saying you want to take one of my qualified doctors from this base for some operation?" Major Chatley's tone was hostile. Not least, John guessed, from the fact that he was being cold-shouldered.
"Yes, that is what i'm saying."
"It can't be done." Chatley's tone was flat, decisive. "You're wasting your time here."
"You're saying so without even listening to what the assignment is?"
Before the Major could answer (and potentially send the man off), John spoke up.
"Major, I would like to hear what he has to say, rather then simply sending him packing back to London."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock cast him a look. It was a searching look, and John had the idea that the man was reassessing his opinion of him. Chatley huffed.
"Fine. Speak your piece, Holmes."
For a moment, John thought that Sherlock was about to answer back... but he simply gave a little nod, then looked at John.
"There is a man currently in hiding in this country whom I am... keeping a watch on. I believe he may have been badly injured recently, and I know his location."
"And... you need me to come and tend to his injuries?" John guessed.
"No. I need you to help me kill him." Sherlock said quietly.
