When John was seven, his family lived with his mother's brother. He had two kids who absolutely hated John, they would pick on him because he was littler and didn't technically have a home. It was only for a few months, but his cousins were absolute tyrants. They would lock John in the bathroom, closets, bedrooms for hours. He was never claustrophobic so this didn't really bother him, and he would just retreat into his head and wait for an adult to find him.

One time in particular stuck out to John. His cousins had a sandbox that was unused and littered with cat poop. It had a dome lid that was supposed to keep cats out. His cousins had pushed him into the sandbox and sealed John in. He was cramped inside there, screaming for help. He didn't want to be crushed to death—he was screaming for help but Harry was out with a friend and his mother was gone. He was trapped in that sandbox for an hour, but it felt like half the day. John had spent five minutes banging on the inside of the dome, but it clipped shut from the outside. He laid on his back in the gritty sand, the cat poop thankfully old and hard as opposed to fresh. He cried for another fifteen minutes and for the remaining 40 minutes, retreated further into his mind than he had ever gone before. Even after his mother found him, while she was screaming and cussing at his cousins, he was completely devoid of his emotions. He was still in his mind; a happy place in which he created adventures and got himself lost.

John recalled this as the plane landed in what had to be the world's biggest sandbox. He shivered a little bit as he caught a glimpse of the ground. He gave a side glance to Milo who was clenching his jaw. Milo caught his eyes and a flash of panic riddled them before he calmed himself. All of the soldiers exited the plane in an orderly manner. They were assigned their places. Milo looked like he could cry with relief when he was paired up with John again. John didn't want to admit just how happy he was when he heard that as well. They were dismissed and followed their respective platoon leaders.

John was given a schedule and told when to show up to certain classes. Milo didn't have to train anymore, he had become a soldier and that was all he wanted. Typically, to become an army doctor, one had to finish two years in training, but John had excelled so rapidly that they had just accepted his one year at medical school as one year in training and sent him off. So John only had two more years of school before he could officially have a patient.

He was in an army base in Afghanistan. He was in Afghanistan and he was studying to become an Army Doctor. John chuckled when he realized that this was exactly what Sherlock had imagined he would be. Then almost immediately, he would feel terrible. When he had break time, just as he did when he was in training, he would sit with his case open, pull out a pair of socks that contained a tiny silver box. He would debate on opening it to hear its music, but he never did. Milo would walk in and he would stow it away quickly. This is how it went. This is how it always would go. This is how John expected it to end. It's almost how it did.


A very, very long period of time passes after this. Alright? Okay. Short chapter, but sort of necessary. I almost piggy backed this onto the previous chapter, but I just liked how the last chapter ended. So here's a tiny little chapter and I'm going to wait a couple of days before I post the next chapter. Cool.

Tell me what you think!