They had all agreed it would be best if Sherlock eased his way into the criminal family that was running the drug operations, by pretending to be a strung out uni student, which for Sherlock wouldn't be too hard. He barely weighed anything at all, looked practically sixteen, and had the all over sullenness of a teenager at that.
Together, Sherlock and John had been scouting out the new area and the house for any clues or helpful little tidbits they could find. Plus, it made John feel helpful with the case, which set his mind slightly more at ease. At least now he knew approximately where he would be, and what kinds of situations he might be getting himself into. The neighborhood wasn't as horrible as John had originally thought it would be, in fact it was quite suburban. There were neatly trimmed lawns, eco friendly vehicles, and even a few kids playing off to the side. But under all the suburban dream laid some dark secrets. Women and children locked in basements, meth labs in the garage, and somewhere certainly, a few shallow graves. It looked like a place John could see himself living. John tried not to think about that as he packed Sherlock a small bag. Even though, there was still a few days before Sherlock left, John thought he should get a head start. For the most part the bag was packed with socks, underwear, a few books, nothing of substance. But he was trying to look like a broken student after all.
"John, I do not need you packing my bag, as if I am incapable." Sherlock said as he walked into the room.
"If I left it up to you, all you would have is two volumes of some obscure medical text and a microscope." John said with a laugh.
"I am completely competent, I did live a significant portion of my life with out you." Sherlock said as he peered into the mirror.
"And look how that went." John said as he moved over and wrapped his arms around his small waist. "I'm going to miss you." He said, pressing a kiss into his shoulder.
Sherlock flipped around and grabbed one of his favorite ratty pj shirts off of the dresser and handed it to him. "I read that familiar smells can help with separation and the feeling of loss in infants. This shirt should smell enough of me to be sufficient."
John looked at him and blinked a few times, feeling slightly insulted and slightly aroused. "I think this may be one of, if not the sweetest thing you have ever done for me."
"Why do you say that? I am just making sure you are adequately prepared for my departure. As are you by packing my bag." Sherlock said as he resumed what he had been doing before.
"Yes, but it's not what you did, it's the fact that you did it, you crazy man." John said as he followed him.
"I don't understand, so it's not the actions I preformed that impressed you, it's the motive behind them?" Sherlock said looking puzzled.
"See, you understand perfectly. When you do things like this, it shows your love." He said holding the shirt as evidence.
"So when Mrs . Hudson gives me one of those god awful sweaters..." Sherlock said, pausing.
"You say thank you, because it shows how much she cares for you." John said as he sniffed the grey, holey, t-shirt. It did smell like Sherlock, like dusty books, black coffee, and a twinge of cigarette smoke.
Sherlock quickly walked to the closet and pulled out one of John's old jumpers. It had been a favorite until it got too worn to wear except around the flat. "May I take this?" Sherlock asked cautiously.
John's reply wasn't hesitant, he toed over and kissed the tall detective. He moved his lips quickly and harshly. He ran his hands under Sherlock's button down, undoing buttons as he went, feeling the ridges of his abdomen, rising and falling under his fingers.
Sherlock pulled away for a breath. "This is our ninth kiss this morning, you have touched me over thirty times, and you are constantly staring at me. Are you alright?" He asked as he pulled John away from his chest.
"I'm fine, it's just, if I'm not going to get to see you for awhile, I want as much of you as I can get." John said as he pecked in another kiss, lingering just a bit to long on his lips.
"I really don't think it will take me that long to dismantle the operation. I will only be away for a few weeks and then I can do the rest from home. Plus I will be able to text you, when possible. Maybe even call." Sherlock said as he rebuttoned his shirt.
"You do realize this will be our longest separation, ever. Since we met we have only ever spent a few nights apart." He said nervously playing with his hands.
"Yes, I realized that last night." Sherlock stated, as he wandered about the room, picking up this and that before putting it in the small duffel.
"And? Any emotion or sentiment to go along with that?" John asked, annoyance running through his voice as he rolled his eyes.
"John, honestly. You are turning this into a much bigger issue than it is or needs to be." He said, frustration rampant in his tone.
"So you don't feel anything? Seriously?!" He asked, his voice getting louder.
"Not about this, no. It might as well be a holiday. I don't see why you are making such a fuss." Sherlock said, in his most serious voice.
"We have been through this. Because I love you! Because I am worried about you!" John said, trying to get through to him.
"Well then, stop. You don't need to worry about me, I will be fine." Sherlock reasoned.
John put his hands on his head. Why couldn't Sherlock understand that he couldn't just flip his love on and off like a switch. Maybe he was just going about this the wrong way.
"What if I was going back to Afghanistan? What if you knew I would be on the front lines, everyday, and there was nothing you could do to protect me. How would you feel?" John asked, trying to appeal to his empathetic side.
"That's a moot point, won't happen." He said, refusing to answer.
"It could, Sherlock, if my therapist ever clears me for active duty I could have to go back for a third tour. You know that's a possibility, one we don't like to think about, but it's still there." John said, finally acknowledging the thought that had been lingering in the back of their minds for a while.
"That's more of an if than a reality. If your therapist did clear you, I would just convince Mycroft to use what pull..."
"No. We are not bringing your brother into this! If I get called back, I will go. If they called me back, that would mean they need me. I signed up for a possible four tours, that was my choice." John said, definitely getting sidetracked from the original argument.
"But everything has changed since you joined the army. You are no longer a struggling young man, with no family to speak of, who had nothing to lose. You have me now and what about Madeline? Would you really risk letting her be an orphan because you have some foolish delusion of responsibility and obligation to a country that continually lets you down?" Sherlock asked, holding back the urge to hit him, if for nothing else to knock some sense into him.
"Sherlock, don't you ever use my daughter against me. I always think about what's best for her." John said very sternly, with a finger pointed in his direction.
"Well, you need to see reason! The risk completely outweighs any benefits. I don't understand why you can't see that for yourself!" Sherlock said, moving his hands in large gestures.
"No. You are never allowed to use my daughter as leverage. This doesn't even have anything to do with her." John said, now almost yelling.
"It has everything to do with her! You are her father! You should know better than anyone why it's ridiculous to risk your life when you have a child. If you were to die, where would she go? To Lea? To Harry? You think being raised by your irresponsible alcoholic of a sister is in her best interest?! We know how well it went with you." Sherlock screamed.
That was when he felt John's knuckles connect with his cheek. Hard and fast, leaving him no time to react. He looked at John, hurt in his eyes and shock on his face.
"You know very well who she would go to."John said as he shook out his hand and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
"Goddammit Sherlock!" He yelled from the living room.
Sherlock was left standing in awe with his face stinging. The skin over his left cheek burned as he reached his fingers up to test the damage. No blood, but there would most likely be a very dark bruise under his eye for the next while, if not a black eye as well.
John was furious. He was livid and wild with anger. How did they go from fine to fighting so quickly. He was supposed to be the one mad at Sherlock, hell, he still was. But Sherlock had no right to be angry with him. Just as he started to replay what had just transpired, Sherlock walked into the living room
"John. You are not allowed to risk your life." Sherlock said, his cheek already turning bright red.
"But you are?!" John scoffed.
"I am doing this for the greater good, by solving this case, I will hopefully save hundreds of lives." He said, desperately trying to stay calm.
"What do you think I do in Afghanistan? Sit around drinking tea?" John said, still furious.
"I understand what you do, but you can save lives right here, you don't need to be in a battlefield." He said as he moved cautiously toward the army doctor.
"Ya? When was the last time I even was at the surgery? It's been months! How is that saving lives?!" John asked, flailing his hands in the air.
"You don't have to be doctoring to be saving lives. Without you I wouldn't be standing here." He said, memories of cases past flashed before him, the cabbie at the forefront being the first. The first case, first meeting, and the first time John saved his life.
John was silent. Obviously they had both been saved at one time or another by the other person, but he had never really thought about it as saving his life. He always figured that if he hadn't shown up, Sherlock would be able to wriggle his way out somehow. But really this was the first time since they had met that Sherlock was working a case alone. Maybe that was why John was so on edge, he wouldn't be there to protect him if anything went wrong.
"I need you. Without you, I'm nothing." Sherlock said, trying to get him to understand.
"Well, now you know how I feel about you taking on this stupid case." John replied, not looking at him. He knew if he looked at him again and saw the bruise he put there staring back at him, he would give up the whole argument. He hated when he lost his temper, it hadn't happened often since he left the army, but every now again, he just couldn't hold it back. Really Sherlock shouldn't have said what he did, but that definitely didn't put John in the right.
"Then come with me." Sherlock said, cupping John's face in his hands.
"I can't go with you. What about Maddy?" He asked.
"Mrs. Hudson." he answered simply.
"What happens if we get hurt?"
"We won't." He said as he kissed the shorter man, proving all had been forgiven, and that maybe (for once) instead of John taking care of Sherlock, it would be the other way around.
