Chapter 6
Welcome Back
John
When the assignments finally come through, John's official letter read Royal Regiment of Fusiliers. It had come as no surprise and had caused a rush of feelings to come forth ranging loyalty and nostalgia, to eager anticipation, and if he was completely honest, a hint of anxiety. John had grown used to the flexibility of civilian life. While the phase 1 training had allowed him to brush up on the basics and begin to acclimate back into active service, training was not the battlefield. John could take comfort in the fact that so far things had gone smoothly. It was surprising how quickly the routines had come back to him. It was amazing how much his body remembered, often before his mind questioned or responded. Some things became so deeply ingrained that they could never be forgotten, but this was no longer training. He would be back in combat soon.
John's new commanding officer was a man by the name of Major James Sholto. Though John had yet to meet him, he had already heard a number of nasty rumors. John hated rumors and never repeated them, but most often they were impossible to avoid completely. John vowed not to let them affect his judgment and to base his opinions on facts and actions. According to rumor, Sholto had led a troop of new recruits into an ambush where all but one of the recruits died. The attack left Sholto disfigured, horrifically burned from the blast of explosives. He was lucky to have survived and no one had expected him to return to active duty, but he had defied expectation and returned.
The gory story notwithstanding, he also had a reputation almost prohibitively strict and by the book. Insubordination was simply not tolerated. Punishments were often severe, even for simple mistakes. He possessed a commanding presence and had a way of speaking to you as of you were under intense interrogation. You didn't reply to his inquires…you gave up information. That said, however, he was fair. If someone performed admirably, he didn't ignore it. It was acknowledged and often led to promotion. John could understand that. If there was even grain of truth to that story, then policy and procedure should rightfully be the man's top priority and as for commanding presence, that was par for the course in the military. John could deal with it so long as he was fair. High expectations were not a negative in John's mind; they were a requirement.
John was pulled abruptly from his thoughts by an unfamiliar voice. "You looked as if you were a million miles away. Don't let Major Sholto catch you staring off into space like that." John's eyes flickered over the man's insignia noting that he was a lower ranking officer, Lieutenant, before moving up to meet the speaker's eyes. He was tall and broad shouldered with hair as dark as Sherlock's with dark brown eyes. He was accompanied by a large bloodhound that stood stoically by his side. John frowned as he took in the animal. It wasn't that fact that the officer was a handler, service dogs were often used throughout the regiments, it was the breed that took him by surprise. Most war dogs were shepherds. Bloodhounds, though unmatched by another breed in terms of tracking ability because of their superior sense of smell, had a reputation for being stubborn and easily distractible, making them very hard to train; and those traits were undesirable in service animals. "Name's Jones, Lt. Peter Jones." He introduced himself and then gestured to the dog. "This is Toby." The dog's tail wagged when he heard his name and his tongue lulled out as he started to pant. He then went on to say. "I see that we'll be serving together. Have you met Major Sholto yet?"
"No, not yet" John answered. "Capt. John Watson. Good to meet you." He said and shook hands slightly warily keeping an eye on the dog as the dog sniffed his hand when he pulled away.
"Likewise," Jones replied with a half smile. John could see his curiosity under the surface, but John didn't like to disclose his background to just anyone. That was something that must be earned and was a sign of implicit trust on his part. The only one who knew his whole story was Bill Murray. Even his commanding officers didn't know everything, as Mycroft had altered and redacted much of the information in his military file.
"Not often you see a blood hound amongst the ranks." John said evasively. The man's smile widened as he looked down at his charge.
"Aye, notoriously stubborn and hard to train they are, but not Toby. He's the best of the best. Made it through all the required training. He's the best tracker there is. He can do just about anything, search and rescue, drug detection, bomb sniffing. Hell, he even track cadavers for body retrieval." Jones admitted as he gave Toby a scratch behind the ears.
"Always good to have someone watching your back." John agreed still wondering if the dog was only trained for tracking. The question slipped out before he thought better of it. "Will he attack on command?" Jones winced before answering.
"Aye, that was the one part of training that he had some trouble with. They are not an aggressive breed by nature, but he'll do it." Jones replied as the dog's tailed wagged furiously with the attention.
John raised an eyebrow, but otherwise made no comment. "What tour number is this for you?" Jones asked he looked John over seriously. "Did you get a late start? Career change?"
John sighed and debated how much to disclose. He didn't want to alienate his fellow officers and John knew that his rank and age would garner some sideways glances, so he really could blame the man for asking. "I've held a number of occupations as a civilian before reenlisting. I have served with this regiment during my last two tours in Afghanistan." It was now Jones's turn to raise an eyebrow, but he had the good grace to let the subject drop.
