Note, though I have tried to research material for this chapter there is very little on what happened to John in Afghanistan so I made this bit up using real soldier's accounts, cannon information taking into account modern advancements, photographs and various other websites. Sorry for any wild inaccuracies.
It was just a regular petrol, John's third one of the day. The sun was sitting high, the day was hot as always and the road dusty. The beautiful Afghan land mostly barren save for the scattering of nearby trees and sand coloured buildings which are marred by the signs of war. The scabby green of the grass and the watery wash of blue sky are the only real colours to be found amongst the dull golden browns. John and the rest of his team had been checking for possible insurgent activity, taking care to watch out for hidden improvised explosive devices as they carried out their patrol around the edge of a small eastern town.
They'd stopped to talk with some local boys who were grazing sheep nearby. Daniel gives them some gum and one of the boys tells a joke and everyone's pretty relaxed given the circumstances for there's been no recent trouble in the area and no suspicious activity.
Despite this, something niggles in the back of John's head, like something isn't quite right. Having picked up a lot from Sherlock, John trusts these instincts and scans the area carefully.
There's a movement in a building known to be abandoned and something gleams in the sunlight just out of the corner of John's eye. John's training kicks in automatically, before his brain has time to react to the sight of the gun pointing at him.
Everything after that is a whirl of bullets and dirt and John's yelling at his men to take cover and dragging the boys to safety. They squat behind a low wall as the calm quiet of the afternoon is broken by the sound of guns firing. The sparsely populated area empties in minutes as civilians flee to avoid getting caught in the cross fire leaving John's men to fight the enemy.
John gives the boys a quick once over, checking them for bullet wounds and is relived to find them unscathed. John tells them to get to safety while his men provide cover. The boys run like lightening and a tiny part of John wishes he could go with them. The same thought crosses every other soldier there, but they stand their ground and do their duty.
A quick survey of the area tells him his men are slightly outnumbered, nine to seven, but they're better trained and better armed. That knowledge doesn't make the bullets the enemy fires any less deadly though. John returns their fire with his own but like the doctor he is, his main concern lies with the safety of his men. John calls back to base to let them know of their situation and his men's current position.
The conflict seems to last for hours with the rounds hitting near them, kicking the dust up and impeding their sight but in reality it's probably nearer twenty or thirty minutes. John hears the bullets whistling close by their heads but there's little John can do except tell his men to keep firing and try to lead them into proper cover.
Jeffrey goes down badly and John rushes to provide medical attention. He's been caught in the side of the head, it's nothing too deadly and brain damage is unlikely but the bullet took a considerable amount of flesh with it and blood seeps heavily from the wound. As John works trying to stem the flow of blood, David provides covering fire. John works quickly and applies special gauze which helps with the clotting process and it isn't long before the bleeding stops.
So intent is John on treating Jeff he fails to notice as a bullet rips cleanly through his shoulder. The bullet is in and out of him in a matter of seconds but it's not until Bill notices the large patch of red on his shirt that anyone realises John's been hit. Realising he's injured pain shoots through John and it's worse than anything he's ever felt before. By that time Jeff is stable and the most of the enemy has either fled or is dead. Two shooters remain but they're low on ammo and have a terrible aim. The others get one of them as John tries to fix himself up with the wrong hand.
He fumbles with his pack and Bill, a trained nurse, takes over and gives John something for the pain. Only it doesn't seem to work and he can't help but yell in agony. Shortly after that everything becomes hazy, as John begins to go into shock due to the blood loss. As he lies there in pain all John can think about is how much he wants to live and how much he wants to see Sherlock again. John thinks about his smile and his kiss and tries to picture what Sherlock was wearing and what he did and said the last time John saw him.
John is still stubbornly clinging onto consciousness as the medical emergency response team they called for arrives. They hear it first, the helicopter hovering noisily overhead ready to take him and the rest of the wounded to the nearest field hospital. And at that moment in time that sound is the sweetest sound on earth for it means there is hope.
John hears them talking to him, the specialist medical personnel as they strap him to a stretcher and carry him from the dusty chaos onto the chopper. But their voices seem distant and faint and John's head seems scrambled and he can't understand their questions. He hears someone let out a strangled cry in pain and it might be him or one of his men he can't tell. He calls out Sherlock's name and imagines that the hand that squeezes his belongs to his genius detective. The helicopter starts moving and with that thought fixed firmly in his mind John gives in to the darkness and sleeps.
He wakes briefly during emergency surgery and flits in and out of consciousness during transportation but it's not until he is back on English soil that he properly regains consciousness.
The first time John wakes, he wakes to the feel of unfamiliar bed sheets. Ones which are far cleaner and softer than the ones he is used to while serving in Afghanistan but are a far cry from the expensive Egyptian cotton that covers his and Sherlock's bed. His eye lids feel heavy and the bed pleasant enough and even in his heavily medicated state John can almost hear the soft soothing notes of Sherlock's violin serenading him in his slumber. The traces of a smile ghost his features at the sweet sound and John quickly slips back into sleep without ever opening his eyes.
When John wakes properly some time later it is dark. The first thing his eyes manage to focus on is Sherlock, lying near his legs with his body half slumped out of a chair and half slouched over the foot of the bed. His face is hidden and John hasn't seen him for months but even so John recognises him by his mop of long curly black hair. Sherlock's ridiculously expensive suit is crumpled and unkempt. His pale hands loosely fist the crisp white sheets and overall he looks almost as bad as John feels. Sherlock looks exhausted as if he hasn't slept for days and knowing him John is probably correct, though given the circumstance John is hardly angry at Sherlock for he'd be the same if their roles were reversed.
John tries to stretch a hand out to touch Sherlock only to be reminded as to the reason why he is currently in hospital as pain shoots through his shoulder at the slight movement. One of the various machines he's currently connected to beeps slightly and for a moment John is sure Sherlock is going to wake. He doesn't though which is a relief for John can tell he needs his rest.
Knowing his way around hospitals a quick scan of the room tells him he's in some fancy private clinic that is probably largely funded by Sherlock's parents and that he's been out of it for some time judging by the little camp Sherlock has made in the corner and the decorations that seem to flood his room adding much needed cheer to the clean sterile room. It's an impressive collection of balloons and flowers and cards that speak of many trips to the gift shop taken probably by Sherlock while the doctors got on with their examinations.
"So this is what it takes for you to get me flowers" He thinks as he rests his eyes once more.