18 Days left

"Come ON, Mycroft, there has to be something you can do!" Sherlock shouted at his brother.
"For the last time there is nothing I can do, Sherlock."
"Well… then try harder!"
"Sherlock, when Doctor Watson signed up for the war he knew there would be the possibility of being called back into action. He signed up for the war and now he has to deal with the unfortunate consequences that come with it."
"But you're the bloody British government, just tell them to find someone else!"
"That would just put someone else in this position. It doesn't work that way. John was chosen for this, not someone else. Now I am sorry but there is nothing I can do."
"UGH!" Sherlock sighed and fell into the chair behind him. He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed dramatically. Mycroft looked at his younger brother and exhaled quietly.
"I really am sorry, Sherlock. There is nothing I can do."
Sherlock just sat there, unmoving, then suddenly jumped up, grabbing his coat and scarf and putting them on as he huffed outside. He wasn't sure how long he had been walking, when his phone beeped. He reached into his pocket and opened the text.

Got a case for the two of you. I understand if you have other things to do. -GL

John and Sherlock had told Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly about the situation the night after they discussed it. they had invited them over for dinner, but it was apparent something was bothering the couple the whole time.

"Thanks again for having us over," Molly said, "this is nice."
"Yeah, but what made you decide to do this?" Lestrade asked.

"They can do things like this without reason, Detective Inspector," Mrs. Hudson tutted.

"I know, it just seems like something odd is going on."
"Actually, we do have a reason," John said.
"Well, don't leave us in suspense," Molly pressed, thinking it would be good news, like the other two guests.
John seemed hesitant. The others could see Sherlock grab his hand reassuringly. "I have been called back into duty. I am to leave for Afghanistan at the end of the month."
Everyone was silent. Nobody really knew what to say. Lestrade was the first to break the silence. "I- I'm sorry to hear that, John. I really am," he said as the others agreed.
John gave a small smile. It was all he could really do. "Thank you."
"Oh dear, so soon?" piped up.
"I'm afraid so."
"How, how long have you known?" Molly asked.
"Two days."
"Well, I appreciate you letting me know dear."
"Of course, Mrs. Hudson."

Before he knew it, Sherlock was at the crime scene. He sent a text to John telling him to meet him there, whether or not it was convenient. He looked at the body once and knew what happened.
"Killer ran to the east. It was a family member of hers."

"How did you know that?"
"Easy. She was stabbed from the back, notice how the puncture is bigger on the back than the front therefore the whole of the blade ruptured her back and only a small bit punctured the front and unless he stabbed her twice in an exact symmetrical order, that's how it was done. Now when he took the blade out of her back, she fell on it with her head facing west. The killer took off to the east but tripped on her arm, which is the cause of the mud on her sleeve. Now, the blade has a family name inscribed on it, Witelson, and considering how clean it is despite the blood it was taken care of, someone wanted to cherish it. Very expensive and not to mention antique brand of knife, very, very old indeed. They kept in a safe place, not out in the open. Now, she has no ring on her finger or trace of a ring since her entire body is the same color of tan including her ring finger and that kind of tan is obviously from spending time in the sun so that excludes husband or fiance, boyfriend or girlfriend maybe, but I'm sure her family wouldn't want anyone that wasn't part of the family to know about the heirloom, so it is most likely a sister or brother due to the fact that her parents are both dead according to the two obituaries on the mantel. Lestrade who is sister Witelson. Angry sister who killed this woman to get her boyfriend for herself."
"And how could you tell that last part?"
"Easy. One of the pictures on the mantel has the face of a man with his arm around this young woman and the face of a woman cut out of it with the scissors still near it and the faces still on the floor. And if that isn't proof enough, we check her phone," Sherlock went over to the young woman and pulled her phone out, opening her text messages, "you will find the first chat of the list is Sarah Witelson. You open the messages, find that this young woman, apparently named Louise, found out she was cheating, and threatened to move herself and boyfriend somewhere she couldn't find them. Sarah didn't like her and responded with 'I would rather kill you' so Louise replied 'try me' and got back 'so be it'. Now if that is all you need, Lestrade, I will be on my way." Sherlock turned and left without another word. He sent a text telling John to just come home instead of the crime scene, and arrived at 221B in a matter of minutes, enjoying the crisp London air. He walked into the flat to see John taking his jacket off, and for some reason it pushed Sherlock over the edge. He walked quickly over to John and before the shorter man could say anything, he was pushed against the wall with his hands pinned over his head as Sherlock's lips crashed into his needingly. The kiss was full of passion and hunger and need and it didn't take John long at all to respond to the kiss. He managed to work his hands out of Sherlock's death grip and slid them down Sherlock's sides, untucking his shirt to rub his hands on his beautiful milky skin. John's touch sent shivers up Sherlock's spine and John smiled when Sherlock moaned into the kiss.

Sherlock moved from John's lips to his neck, sucking and nibbling as John ran his hands through his dark curls, small purple bruises forming on his skin.
"Well, what brought this on?"
"You're beautiful, don't let anyone tell you any different."
"You're the beautiful one here. I love you so much, Sherlock."
"Maybe we should move this to the bedroom."
"Sounds good to me."

~Semi-Smut ensues~

The two of them stumbled into their room. John unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt and threw it to the side before undoing his trousers and ridding him of those as well. Once Sherlock was naked he started on John's clothing, tossing them aside to rest with his before pushing the older man on the bed, moaning at the feel of his hardening member against John's. He ground his groin into John's and God did it feel good. He planted his lips on John's and made trails down his jaw to his neck, then chest and then down his stomach to his groin. He kissed the tip of John's head making him gasp. Sherlock licked John's length from bottom to tip before taking it in his mouth, causing John to gasp once again and shiver. Sherlock licked his way up John's cock until he reached the head, licking his slit slowly, before taking the entire length in his mouth. John bucked his hips up, pushing his cock further into Sherlock's throat as he tried not to climax just yet. Sherlock took his mouth off of John's cock and moved up so he was eye level with John. "Roll over," he whispered to his lover. John obliged as Sherlock grabbed the lube out of the drawer. He lubbed his fingers up and stuck one of the digits in John's entrance, making the soldier moan. After sliding it in and out again, Sherlock slid in a second finger as he scissored John's entrance. He added a third after a while and then aligned himself with John's entrance.
"Ready?"
"Fuck Sherlock just get inside me."
Sherlock slowly pushed himself in, slowly thrusting in and out, gaining speed. He searched a bit with his head before he hit John's sweet spot. John gasped and fisted the bedsheet in his hands.
"Fuck Sherlock! There, right there."
Sherlock rammed John in his prostate, thrusting harder each time making John, and himself, moan out. He continued to thrust hard until he couldn't couldn't hold on any longer. He released his hot seed into John and that pushed him over the edge as he himself climaxed before Sherlock fell on top of him, panting just as hard as John was.

~Semi Smut over~

Sherlock planted a kiss on his husband's shoulder blade before forcing himself off the older man. He grabbed some tissues from the bedside table and wiped John's and his own stomach clean. He then tossed the tissues in the bin and cuddled to John, who tiredly placed his arms around him and laid a chaste kiss on his pale forehead. He nuzzled his head into Sherlock's dark curls, following the world's only consulting detective into sleep.

17 days left

John woke up due to a slight movement at his side. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times before looking over to Sherlock. The man had his face scrunched up in a nightmare and was muttering small, inaudible phrases. He took a stuttering breath before whimpering in his sleep. John tightened his grip on the detective and stoked his curls, muttering soft words into Sherlock's ear.
"Ssh, it's alright, love. I'm still here. It's just a bad dream. Everything is alright."
Sherlock slowly calmed down before burrowing himself as close to John as he could. John rubbed his husbands arms and pulled the duvet up to keep the two of them warm. He placed a sweet kiss on Sherlock's temple and continued to mutter soft words until he was sure Sherlock's nightmare was over. He glanced at the clock; 3:10. He would normally be annoyed about being up so early on a work day, but John had told the hospital about being called back to Afghanistan, and that he had to resign so he had time to prepare. He was surprised at how understanding the staff was. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair as before he got up to get a drink of water. He walked out to the kitchen and turned on the tap while getting a glass from the cupboard. He jumped slightly when he felt long, thin arms wrap around his middle. He leaned back into Sherlock's chest and let the younger man hold him close. They walked over to the old couch and Sherlock sat down as John opened the window, letting in the cool night breeze and sound of small rain droplets pounding the sleeping city of London. Sherlock grabbed a discarded blanket from the floor and wrapped it around the two of them; one that was light enough to protect them from the chill, but still have them cuddle together. They looked out at the luminent street covered in small drops as they talked, laughed, anything really. It was nice. They had both been very stressed with the date coming closer and closer. At about 5:00, John nuzzled his head into Sherlock's neck and fell asleep, leaving the detective to rub his arm and leave small kisses on the top of his sandy blonde hair before getting up gently and playing his violin, ensuring that the doctor would have a nightmare free sleep.