AN: So this chapter was really hard to write. It means a lot to me that people are actually reading my work, and in turn I'm doing my best to write each chapter as soon as possible.

This is the song I wrote it to/imagined to be playing during the scene if it was a film: watch?v=FGz4DsTmCSU

Glossary of Terms:

IED-improvised explosive device

FOB-forward operating base

Daisy chains- many IEDs detonated by the same connecting wire

M1114- brand of Humvee: wikipedia/commons/2/24/Bulgarian_M1114_HMMWV_in_

Buffalo- larger Humvee:

John stared out the window of the M1114 Humvee, but there was nothing to see. All around the convoy, there was nothing but a vast expanse of sand in all directions. But John stared out the window anyway; anything to distract him from the fear and how heavy his gear was and how dangerous this mission was. He kept telling himself they would reach the FOB soon and everything would be fine. He promised himself he would be allowed to go home soon. He tore his eyes from the window and looked at the men around him, all clad in the same sandy coloured camouflage. He was a doctor, not a soldier, he thought to himself. He could feel a bead of sweat rolling down his back, but it was hot and unpleasant. It was always so goddamn hot is Afghanistan.

He wheeled around to look at the Buffalo behind him; far bigger than their Humvee, and safer too. The whole situation seemed completely unreal to him. It was as if his body was in the Humvee, but he was looking down on himself from above. He wasn't really there at all. His mind had never left 221B. There was a sudden jolt as the convoy came to an abrupt halt. John scrambled for something to hold onto. The men looked around at each other with furrowed brows. Something was happening at the front of the convoy. They all waited in silence for instruction, breathing steadily, but heavily.

They felt the explosion before they saw it. The grounded quivered beneath them, like a lifeboat in rough waves. They were helpless against it, disoriented by its tumultuous roar. Then the world turned to flames all around them as the IED detonated. John stared on helplessly as the front Humvee turned to flying shrapnel and hunks of flesh. The wall of flames before them was almost blinding, and John struggled not to blink. Someone beside him muttered 'Shit.' in a shaky voice. They were under attack.

A call came over the radio for John. They needed a doctor up front. John should have been terrified, but he found himself relieved. At least now he could help. Now he wouldn't feel so helpless. John exited the Humvee, supplies in hand, flanked by two others from his vehicle. His mind seemed to jump back into his body then, making him painfully aware of where he was and what he was doing.

'We're under fire!' The first man said to him, as bullets rained down upon them, as if it wasn't obvious. They kept moving, keeping low. John struggled to hold the weight of all his gear. They reached the first convoy as quickly as they could, the sand stinging at their eyes, and took refuge behind the skeletal remains of the Humvee. There were burnt corpses everywhere. The whole vehicle had been killed instantly, or so they thought. 'AHHHH.' Someone screamed in pain nearby. A survivor. John ran towards the sound, dodging more bullets as he entered the barren space outside the shelter of the wreckage. When the man saw John, he met his eyes with a pleading look. The damage was extensive. His whole body was badly burned, already blistering in places. There was shrapnel embedded deep into his abdomen, slicing through his layers of protective gear. But worst of all; his left leg had been entirely severed below the knee. John could see the bone piercing out the end, surrounded by pulpy, shredded flesh and skin. The man was breathing heavy, trembling all over, as the blood rushed from his wound. John remained calm, 'What's your name?' He asked, reaching into his kit for the tourniquet. 'P-Patrick.' He whimpered.

'Alright, Patrick. I need to apply this tourniquet so that you don't lose any more blood.' John didn't wait for a reply. He strapped it on and twisted the handle as he said the words. Patrick screamed in pain and John felt hot blood splash across his cheek.

'Th-Thank…you.' Patrick said with a sigh after the bleeding stopped. His eyes rolled back in his head as he drifted towards unconsciousness.

'Patrick, stay with me.' John yelled at him. Shaking him gently. Patrick's eyes snapped back to the front. For the time being, he was safe. John breathed a sigh of relief, though the relief didn't last long.

Only a few seconds later John noticed the line, just a little groove in the sand, like a snake print. He reached gently into the groove until he felt a wire. He tugged gently until it surfaced, and he could see what direction it was coming from. But it wasn't coming from one direction at all. Daisy chains, he thought to himself in wonder. All around them, in every direction, the wire continued, like a big circle surrounding he and Patrick. Daisy chains; they meant to soldiers what the black spot meant to pirates; certain death. There could be no escape. Patricklooked up at him, and John look back, saying sorry with his eyes. They could see the cylindrical structures at the ends of each wire, just waiting for detonation. This is the end, John thought to himself, and his mind wandered away from this place, back to his family. John had always heard of people's lives flashing before their eyes in their last moments, but he never thought it could really happen. Yet in his last few moments of life, he could see each moment with his family, like a montage, moving too fast to comprehend. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as the images slowed and came to a conclusion with one final image of Sherlock's face, staring at him with his sad blue-green eyes. 'I love you Sherlock.' He whispered. Then he was consumed by the burning heat and light, as the bombs were all detonated in perfect unison.

As soon as the phone rang Sherlock knew something was wrong. He leapt out of his chair to answer it. 'Hello?' Sherlock answered with a trembling hand. He listened intently, his face an emotionless mask. Hamish looked at him expectantly, his eyes glimmering with hope.

'How?' Sherlock said, his voice cracking. He listened again, the mask melting away with each passing moment.

'Thank you for the call.' He hung up before the caller could reply.

There was stunned silence throughout the room for a few seconds as Sherlock crossed the room. Then with a fierce cry he ripped that goddamned clock off the wall to reveal the bullet holes beneath and threw it to the ground with all his might. It shattered loudly, splaying its facets across the carpet. Sherlock sunk to the ground, putting his head in his hands, and was rocked with sobs. Hamish had never seen his father cry before, and it terrified him. He collected up the broken shards of clock and gathered them into a pile.

'It's okay, Daddy. We'll fix it.' He said through tears, and hugged his father tightly while he cried.

AN: Hope you guys liked this one. I got a lot of help with the military jargon from my father, so please note that everything is accurate. Reviews are the best gift I can receive. If you like this story, tell me. If you hate it with a burning passion, tell me. THE DOCTOR IS ARRIVING IN THE NEXT CHAPTER SO BRACE YOURSELVES PEOPLE.