Shenanigans

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or anything.

Author's note: I know that I had put this fic as 'Complete' but me and my friend were bored in Maths again and we got carried away, not that we minded, and we wrote three more drabbles that fitted this story. So it's just drabbles now, I hope you enjoy them and please review! This is my friend's first published story and I really enjoy writing it with her as we casually pass the notepad with her stories on it behind another friend's back 'casually'. Please review. And remember that her words are in bold and mine are not. Thanks!

Sherlock and John were husbands, and happily so . As they neared the lifeless body John timidly grabbed Sherlock's hand out of insecurity. Sherlock smiled reassuringly.

"Get a room; this is a bloody crime scene!" Anderson shouted while Lestrade frowned at the forensic scientist's behaviour and Donavon nodded with Anderson's comment.

John and Sherlock lingered close together while they examined the crime scene.

Suddenly the smell of blood took John back to Afghanistan and he fell into a nightmare. Sherlock had been standing, deducing, when his husband had been struck by the PTSD attack. John had a seizure on the floor and Sherlock stopped deducing to help his husband with tender words.

Sherlock crouched by John's head, ran his fingers through the army-doctor's hair and calmed he soldier. John stopped shaking and his breathing calmed.

"Sh'lock?" John blearily called out.

Sherlock picked John up so he was cradled in his arms. John's head fell on his shoulder and he buried his face in Sherlock's neck.

"I'm taking you home." Sherlock whispered and kissed John's forehead. He looked up at the officers.

Lestrade nodded and he left to 221B Baker Street to comfort the little soldier.