Hey guys, sorry I'm being so slow, Real Life has decided to make its presence known to me. Anywho, I may come back and add what's going on with John overseas or create drabbles (depends on your opinions) this is after Sherlock has been working with Scotland Yard for about a year. Which means he is now...19?...I haven't slept in three days, I'll get back to you on his age.

...

To whom it may concern:

We regret to inform you that on December 1st, Captain John H. Watson, M.D. has become MIA (missing in action). Captain Watson had been on patrol when his unit was attacked. He is presumed dead.

Sincerest apologies,

General Jedediah Donovan

A short note. Not long enough to be considered a letter, but a note. A fucking note. And it was his fault this had happened. If he had been more careful, if he had fought harder against Brooke's attack, John would have been alright. But no. Brooke managed to get him high and John paid the price.

He's no longer aware of where he is. He can't breathe, can't think of anything other than John. JohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJo hnJohn…

A scream, so wounded and raw as to make even a murderer flinch away in horror, ripped its way out of Sherlock's throat. "NO!" Sherlock dropped to the ground curling in on himself and leaning his forehead against the walkway.

He heard nothing, nothing but Brooke laughing and saying, "I know of your past addict!" The feel of a needle in his arm. Of John holding him, John laughing, John carrying him, John kissing his forehead, Jihn telling him it's better to be who you are then fake being someone else.

Then hands were on his shoulders, but they weren't John's hands. Sherlock reared back, scrambling away. But the person followed and pulled him into her. "Sh-sh, you're okay. Easy does it, what's a matter? Sh-sh."

…

Seargeant Sally Donovan flinched as Sherlock Holmes let out an almighty scream and fell to the ground. A paper fluttered down next to him and she slowly picked it up. She read it, then read it again.

While it was hard to believe Holmes would have someone he cared about, she knew he was being legitimate. You don't fake that kind of pain. Her dad had been in the Army and she remembered the day her mom had received a similar letter.

Carefully, approaching Sherlock as she would a wounded animal, she gently laid a hand on his shoulder. As soon as she came into contact with him, he snapped away but she didn't let him run. It would be so much worse if she let him. She pulled him into her arms and set about calming him.

She knew if he didn't say something soon he wouldn't say anything later. When she asked him what was wrong, he stopped fighting her and started clinging to her like he was drowning. "John." It sounded so heartbroken.

"C'mon, up, up we go." She let him lean heavily on her as she pulled him to his feet. She half-turned to Lestrade and said, "I'm commandeering your car, you drive."

He just nodded, looking shocked. Almost everyone at the scene looked shocked. Not surprising, Holmes didn't lose control like that.

Once she manouvred them both into the back (Sherlock was still clinging to her), Lestrade spoke. "Where to?"

"Do you know his address? Or somewhere he finds safe?" Lestrade shook his head. His phone pinged and he looked to find a text saying 221B Baker Street -M. Holmes.

"Who is M. Holmes?"

"I dunno, Lestrade. Probably a relative." Sally ran a hand through Sherlock's surprisingly soft hair. He seemed to have gone into the comatose state of denial.

…

Once at Baker Street, Sally and Greg half carried half dragged Sherlock up the stairs. A tall man with a slight resemblance to Sherlock took him from their arms and laid him on the couch. "Ms. Donovan, if you would be so kind a to stay. Inspector Lestrade, you may leave."

And with a slight nod from Sally, Greg left her to fend for herself.