Chapter 11

John woke up as Mary's grip around him tightened. She had fallen asleep on top of him, which wasn't surprising after what they had been up to while she was already exhausted from the mission. John himself hadn't had the energy to protest anyway, at that point. But now she was snuggling even closer, still asleep, and John frowned at himself. Last night had been expected, almost logical, with it having been almost five days. But now Mary clung to him like one would to a lover, a partner. As if they had an actual relationship. Sherlock was probably right. From Mary's point of view, they seemed to have one.

Still, he really wasn't so sure about himself. Mary was great, yes, but a relationship had always sounded very serious to him. There had been a time his mates laughed at those views, back when they weren't married. But John really needed a certain click to consider it anything more than 'sleeping around', and as fond as he was of Mary, as great a friend she was, however attractive she was, he just wasn't in love with her and couldn't imagine he would ever be.

Yet Sherlock, the most observant man John knew, said he was certain that Mary was in love with him.
Everything John did now, would hurt his friend. His best friend. If they went on like this, Mary would believe that he returned her feelings and expect more from him that he couldn't give her, not as an honest man. But if he brought it up, told her that they should stop their 'arrangement', she would know he didn't love her in that way and feel rejected, maybe even think he wasn't attracted to her anymore. It could ruin their friendship.

John sighed and tried to pull away a little, but Mary just followed with her head on his chest and sighed happily. He had always feared it would end up like this, as happy as he had been to get into it and indeed chase the loneliness away. For a while he had been scared that he'd be the one to get too involved, but in the end it was Mary who was starting to see him as more than a friend, and perhaps that was even worse. Otherwise, at least he would be the one who ended up hurt, rather than hurting her.

He wished he could talk about this to someone, but Sherlock didn't seem the most competent when it came to relationship advice, and the last few days he hadn't been online much anyway. And when he was, he had been complaining about his brother who apparently was a prick. John suppressed a fond smile at the memory. He didn't normally think of a bloke as 'adorable', but the self-confident detective was like a child when something didn't go to his liking and he couldn't do anything about it.

Mary stirred and he sighed, debating whether he should wrap an arm around her or not. In the end he just lay still, waiting for her to wake up.

When Mary woke, she lifted her head up to smile at John. She was a perfect mess of puffy eyes, ruffled hair and morning breath. "G'morning," she muttered and yawned.

"Morning." John gently pushed her off so he could sit up and maybe feel a little less uncomfortable.

She frowned at him. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I... No, we just have to get up for work."

"There's no hurry," she said lazily, reaching out for him. "There's plenty of time for a morning cuddle. Or more."

"I'm sorry." John turned around to give her a weak smile. "I don't really feel like it."

She sat up, frowning. "Something is wrong then. What is it? Sherlock? Harry?"

"I... No..." He didn't feel like lying, but he couldn't tell her the truth either. "It's nothing, I mean, nothing important. Don't worry. I just think I need to be alone for a bit to, you know, get my thoughts in line." There, at least that was true.

"Right." She wrapped the sheet tighter around her body. "Well, I guess I'll see you around then."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. We'll chat later." He hadn't realised he could feel even more uncomfortable, but Mary's eyes on him as he quickly put on his clothes proved him wrong. Before he was done, she had lain down and turned her back on him.

"Sure," she muttered.

...

John was almost dragged in as he arrived at the medical post.

"Bit of a disaster going on here," one of the nurses told him. "They went on an unplanned recon and one of them was hit badly."

"Shit," John muttered, shifting his focus to what he had to do, rather than his personal problems.

"Watson, thank god," the colleague who had just brought the wounded in said. "Best have a look at Miller right away. Big chance the bullets punctured his right lung."

"Miller?"

...

A helicopter was needed to bring Miller to a fully equipped hospital as quickly as possible. John and the others could do a lot, but Miller was dangling on his last thread of life and it went over their capacities here. The lieutenant would be a lucky man if he got through this.

One of the other men who had gone along on the recon was telling how it had been Miller's idea to go, because he had a suspicion of some turmoil going on, but they had all been doubtful because Lt. Miller had been acting reckless in the last few weeks – but he had the highest rank out of them, so they couldn't really protest.

John, feeling miserable, let his head sink in his hands. He could imagine where Miller's recklessness had come from. The man's behaviour towards him had made it clear enough that John had stirred up memories he badly wanted to forget. It wasn't his fault, it was Moran's, but still he felt guilty.

"Watson." The other doctor put a hand on his shoulder. "Go to sleep. We've had a tough day and if things go on like this, I'm afraid we'll need you again sooner than we'd like."

John nodded. "Sorry, I was distracted for a moment."

"We're all tired. Just get back in the morning." She gave John a friendly nod.

John tried to follow her advice and sleep, but he was just too restless. The remaining adrenalin of working on the wounded soldiers, combined with guilt ghosting through his mind, just wouldn't allow him to get the rest he needed so badly. After a while he gave up and flung his legs over the edge of his bed, got up and took his laptop.

***
To: Sherlock Holmes
Subject: A hell of a day

You still awake?

John

To: John Watson
Re: A hell of a day

Yes. Something wrong?

Sherlock

John breathed in relief as he saw Sherlock's answer appear. At least he didn't have to be alone.

To: Sherlock Holmes

Re: re: A hell of a day

Miller got shot. I just need to talk to someone, can't sleep.

John

Less than a minute later Sherlock logged on to Skype. As he appeared on the screen, his brow was creased with worry. "What happened?"

John took a deep breath, grateful to see his friend even though the circumstances weren't ideal for the other. "He was brought in when I started work today. Had to patch him up, but- it wasn't enough, and he's brought away, and I hate to say it but objectively speaking the chance is minimal that he will make it." John swallowed.

Sherlock nodded. "And you blame yourself?"

"It is my fault." John closed his eyes for a moment. "He had gotten reckless. My actions made him think too much of what had happened to him and..."

"And if it bothered him so much, he should have sought help," Sherlock interrupted. "It is not your fault. He was the victim of a crime and you tried to help him."

John looked hesitant and grabbed the edge of his laptop to keep in control of his emotions. "I should be able to cope with this. Losing a patient, all that. I've gone through it far too often. But now I just can't put it out of my mind."

John took another deep breath, lost for words. He just needed someone's company to clear his mind, but that didn't make him the most enjoyable person to be around now. He wished he could take Sherlock's hand, just something, to ground him, and instead clung to the sides of his laptop. "I'm sorry," he mumbled after a moment.

Sherlock frowned. "For what?"

"For losing it like this and pouring it all over you at this hour."

"First of all, you haven't lost it. Secondly, that's what... friends are for, right? And thirdly, while I'm staying with my 'dear' brother, I welcome any kind of interaction at any hour of the day or night."

John smiled a little. "You're a great friend, Sherlock. Thanks."

Sherlock chuckled. "I can honestly say that no-one has ever said that to me before."

John shrugged. "I mean it."

"I'm glad. You're a great friend too. One of the few things that have kept me sane through all this."

Another small smile broke through John's expression. "I can imagine it wasn't easy to face Moran on your own."

Sherlock laughed. "Oh, Moran was easy. Well, not easy, but interesting. No, the real challenge has been being confined to a hospital bed for the better part of a week without strangling anyone. And now..." He glanced around. "This..."

John shook his head, smiling. "Only you would call a man interesting after he's basically tortured you." Then his expression turned more serious again. "I can't help but worrying... from a professional point of view, I mean - what did Moran do to you?"

Sherlock hesitated, then muttered. "We... had sex..." He looked down at his hands.

John almost choked. For a start he hadn't expected such a straightforward answer, and the content wasn't to his liking either. "Did- did you have sex, or did he... force you?" he asked carefully.

Sherlock shook his head. "It was rough but... consensual."

John frowned. "Are you attracted to him?"

Sherlock huffed. "No."

"You did that just for information?" John tried not to show the disgust at the thought that anyone would even voluntarily touch Moran.

"No." A hint of colour spread across Sherlock's cheekbones. "I sucked him off for information. The... rest was when I was trying to keep close so I could protect the witness, should she resurface."

John stared, now unable to hide the fact that he was horrified. "God, Sherlock..."

Sherlock shrugged. "It wasn't that bad. He never damaged me. And it was always safe. Even when he had me tied up and could have ignored my wishes, he always wore a condom."

"I'm not sure that makes it okay." John's voice was trembling. "I mean... God."

"Really, John. I mean, it's not exactly like I enjoyed it, but it didn't really bother me."

John bit his lip. "Okay," he said, not sure how he could tell Sherlock how not okay it was without scaring him off.

"And it's over now anyway. I can't go back to him."

"You don't want to, do you?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "The risk had become too high. That's why I left."

"And he had beaten you into the hospital," John pointed out.

"I would have been fine," Sherlock said dismissively. "It was just my brother pulling strings so he could have someone keep an eye on me. No, the reason I had to get out was that Moran wanted to use me for testing."

John frowned. "To me, it looked like you needed a hospital or at least a doctor to watch over you. What kind of testing?"

"Drugs," Sherlock said, his voice a little flat.

"What?" John looked confused. "In what way did you have to test them?"

"Try them..." Sherlock muttered.

"As in, use them?" John looked disgusted.

"I told him no," Sherlock said, defensively. "That's why he hit me."

John chewed his lips, looking at Sherlock in sympathy and slightly desperate that such a clever man could get in such a mess. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock sat looking at his hands for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Nothing happened," he muttered.

"Would there have been a risk? I mean, that you actually did that?" John frowned, a little incredulous and distracted from what he actually was going to say.

"Of course there wouldn't. I'm not an idiot," Sherlock snapped.

"Sorry," John said quickly. "I didn't mean to insult you. I'm just trying to understand."

"Nothing to understand. Moran is a prick who doesn't mind using people around him without any regard for their safety."

"Yeah, I- I understand that much." John just didn't understand why someone wouldn't turn and run away from the man if they knew this. "Really, please stay away from anything that has to do with him. Even if it's good for the case. Your health is far more important."

"Why do you think I left?" Sherlock seemed thoroughly annoyed. "I have no intention of doing drugs for Moran or anyone else."

"I know. Sorry, I'm fretting a little too much with... all this." John sighed. "I really should go to bed."

Sherlock echoed his sigh. "No, it's me. I'm a little jumpy on the subject because of my brother's paranoia."

"I'm not blaming you. He does sound rather horrible."

Sherlock snickered. "He is. A complete nightmare."

John smiled. "Will he keep you imprisoned for much longer?"

"If it was up to him, then probably forever. But I'm not staying much longer. Sooner rather than later, he'll get so annoyed with me that he'll kick me out."

"He just can't lose you and wants to keep you close," John grinned.

"No, he wants to control me and avoid embarrassment."

"I doubt you'd embarrass him," John said. "He'd better be proud of you for all you achieve. All those solved cases."

"All the people I offend. All the stupid social rules I break to get to the truth... He's never not embarrassed by me." Sherlock chuckled.

John smiled. "Then that's his problem, not yours."

Sherlock nodded. "But try telling him that."

John yawned. "Maybe I'll be able to sleep now."

"Good," Sherlock smiled. "You need it."

"Yes." John frowned at the clock on his computer screen. "And there isn't much more than two hours left, before I have to get up again."

"Then get to bed," Sherlock said, in a mock-commanding tone.

"Yes, Sir, you too," John chuckled. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Sherlock did not log off this time, but waited for John to do it.

John smiled at him. "See you soon," he said, before logging off. He stretched, went to bed, and was indeed able to catch the two remaining hours of sleep.

...

The next day was as busy as John's colleague had predicted, with the advantage that there wasn't much time to worry about anything other than the patients. John did take the time to ask for information on Miller's situation, but it was still pretty much the same as the day before and no one could really say if the lieutenant would make it.

John was glad he had seen Sherlock, even if he was tired and had a headache from the lack of sleep. He worried about the detective, but then he was safe now, and all in all it had been calming to talk to him, however gruesome the subjects.

In the evening, he decided to go and find Mary, to keep her informed about everything that had been going on and to make sure she didn't worry too much about him.

Mary was engaged in conversation with two other soldiers. She looked up and flashed John a brief smile before continuing the story she was telling the others. John smiled back and leaned against the wall, waiting, as he didn't want to intrude by sitting down next to Mary.

Mary took her time, talking with her friends. When they finally left, she got to her feet and walked over to John. "So," she said. "Any news about Miller?"

"You know about it?" John asked. He shook his head. "He's pretty much the same as yesterday."

"We're all very worried about him. He may not have many friends but he's still... one of us." She bit her lip, not quite meeting his eyes.

John nodded. "I wish I could be certain that he'll make it. He's had to go through so much. Now luck ought to be on his side."

She nodded. "Yes. It seems like it must be his turn to catch a break."

John sighed and rubbed his face. "It's been far too busy here, these last few days."

"Yes. But I suppose that's just how life at the front is. Periods of insufferable boredom followed by stress and worries."

"Yeah. I'd better go to bed early today. How have you been?"

She shrugged. "I've been fine. Busy."

John nodded, suddenly feeling a little awkward. "Well, I'm really tired. I'd better be off."

Mary nodded too. "Sure," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "Me too."

"Alright. Goodnight?" John said.

"Goodnight John." She offered him a thin smile before leaving.

...

The next day was just as busy. Now and then, John caught a glimpse of Mary, but she barely acknowledged that she had seen him. Probably because she was busy herself, but John had the feeling that she wasn't doing anything to close the distance between them either.

In the evening, he went to look for her again, this time in her room. "Mary? Can I come in?"

"Sure." Mary did not look up from her book.

"Er, hey," John said as he stepped in. "Are you okay?"

She glanced briefly at him. "Sure," she said again.

John frowned. "Mary, please tell me what's wrong. It's like you've been avoiding me. You are my best friend here, right? Then why can't we talk anymore?"

She sighed. "I'm fine. I just thought you needed some space. You seemed a bit... off... the other morning."

John hesitated. "I was just... thinking too much, I suppose."

"Oh? About Harry?"

"Yeah. About her too. And Sherlock. Just... all that."

She frowned. "About Sherlock? I thought he was done with Moran and out of danger."

John shrugged. "I'm not sure it's that easy."

"Oh? Is Moran after him?"

"I'm not sure. He's with his brother, so I guess he's safe there, but I still worry about him. It's like he doesn't realise what danger he is putting himself in," John said.

"He's a grown man John. I'm sure he can take care of himself."

"I know, but I can't help that he's on my mind. He's my friend," John shrugged.

"He's not your only friend," she muttered, looking down at her book again.

John frowned. "That's not what I'm saying, is it? I care about you too. You know that I do."

She sighed. "Do I? I'm not so sure anymore."

"Hey." John sat down next to her and gently bumped his shoulder against hers. "Tell me what I've done?"

She looked at him and smiled a little. "You haven't done anything. You just seemed so distant the other day. I was worried that I had done something wrong or that you were regretting our... arrangement."

"You've done nothing wrong, Mary." He laid an arm around her waist. "Don't let me make you feel bad."

Her smile widened. "No?" She leaned a little closer, but hesitated as if she wasn't sure if it was okay to kiss him.

John also hesitated for a moment. But then, it was just a kiss, and if that could help to make things right between them... He closed the distance and kissed her gently.

Mary sighed as their lips touched. For a moment it was soft, gentle, almost chaste. Then she wrapped both arms around John and turned the kiss more passionate. John gasped, surprised by the sudden change, but then reflexively pulled her closer. Mary moaned and within moments had them both down on the bed, slowly undressing John, without taking her lips of his.

A little voice in John's mind said that he should push her back and avoid making things worse, but his body disagreed wholeheartedly. Besides, that way he would hurt her again - and actually, how bad could a relationship really be? What did it matter if she loved him?

Once Mary had gotten John's shirt off, she began kissing her way down his chest, until she reached a nipple and sucked eagerly on it.

"God, Mary," John gasped, uncoordinatedly tugging at her clothes.

She shifted a little to make it easier for him, not taking her lips and tongue off his nipple. John gently pushed her back, but ending things wasn't even on his mind anymore. He started kissing her neck, meanwhile taking her clothes off. Mary closed her eyes and quickly opened John's trousers and pushed them down to his thighs. She pressed her palm against the bulge in his pants and giggled softly.

John moaned, his fingers trailing softly down the skin of her shoulders to her breasts.

Mary pulled John's pants down and, pushing him onto his back, straddled him. She looked into his eyes for a moment, smiling, and then leaned down to kiss him hungrily.

Answering the kiss, he tilted his hips and stroked down her back until his hands arrived under her knickers. "Off," he growled, stretching the fabric a little to indicate what exactly had to go.

"Impatient, are we, Captain?" She laughed and kissed him again.

"Tease," he mumbled between kisses, one of his hands wandering to the front of her body, still under her knickers.

"I can afford to take my time," she purred. "Now I've got you right where I want you."

Finally he pushed the fabric down as far as he could, which wasn't as far as he wanted, and then kissed her again. "So this time you don't want me to give the orders?" he said, a little breathless.

"No, Captain," she answered, chuckling. "I think that, at this moment, I am the one in command."

He smirked and bucked his hips up. "Then make some decisions."

"I am," she said and kissed him again. Then she moved off him long enough to get her knickers off. But instead of straddling him again, she knelt next to his head and bent down to take his cock in her mouth.

"Oh, god," John moaned. He tapped her thigh. "I can't reach you like this."

She shifted to straddle his face, keeping up enough that she wouldn't smother him, but close enough that he could reach.

"Yes," he mumbled, pressing his lips against her skin and licking. Mary was everywhere now, doing wonderful things to his cock; her smell, her taste... What would Sherlock smell like?, he suddenly wondered, then frowned at the thought and focused on Mary.

...

Okay, so he had done it again. How could he be so stupid? He was only making things worse, but there he was, after a fantastic shag that he hadn't deserved at all. Everyone who thought of this would call him a selfish bastard. So did he, really. But Mary could make him stop thinking completely, apparently. What he was doing here just wasn't fair. He really ought to make up his mind. It had been great to see how happy Mary had been that morning, waking up with him, and yes, he could agree with experiencing that moment more often. But apart from not being sure about his feelings, they could easily get into trouble if someone wanted to complain about him shagging a subordinate. And then there was something else nagging him. Why on earth had he been thinking of Sherlock? Worrying about him was one thing. Getting curious about him during sex... Well, that was more than a bit not good. Maybe Mary was right and the brilliant detective was becoming a bit of an obsession. But he wasn't even gay. It had nothing to do with that.

It just didn't help that he hadn't heard from Sherlock since their nocturnal chat. The man would keep him hanging for days without an explanation and John would only get more impatient to hear from him again. It was ridiculous. Maybe it would even put his mind at rest if he gave in to what Mary wanted. A stable relationship with a real person would make inappropriate thoughts about his long-distance friend impossible.