I knew who they probably were, but I blinked twice before the blurred shapes vaguely became Mary and Holmes.

"Watson? Are you with me?"

"Harry? Are you with me?"

"Always, Little Brother. Doesn't matter if I'm here and you're in India, I'm always with you."

I could not form the words—could not even turn my head, oddly enough—but stark relief appeared in his face anyway. Mary stood to wrap me in an awkward embrace.

"You are not allowed to scare me like that."

My tongue and lips felt almost numb, as if a wall had appeared to divide my brain from the rest of my body, but I slowly pushed out a quiet response.

"S-ssorry."

The reply came out nearly inaudible even to my own ears, but she released something between a wet laugh and a sob.

"Thank you for coming back," she breathed directly into my ear. "I love you." A kiss landed on my cheek.

"L-love…" That attempt was louder, but I could not finish the phrase. She did not seem to mind, burying her face in my neck as I realized Holmes had gripped my hands again.

"Watson?"

Focusing completely took a minute longer, but my eyes eventually met steely grey. Bright with fear and nearly glistening with relief, something about this had apparently scared him. His hold became nearly painful.

"I am sorry. I am so sorry."

I had no idea for what he was apologizing, but I doubted it was needed. "S-s'al—"

"No," he cut me off, the word steady though the deep red coloring his ears announced his discomfort. "It is not alright. You are not a burden, a traitor, a murderer, a fool, or anything else you were just telling yourself. You are needed here, and nothing has changed that. You did not desert me. I was trying to protect you, and it was a key portion of my plan to draw you out of that canyon before Moriarty arrived. Not because I do not trust you, but because I know you too well. Your loyalty is unmatched, Watson. You would have stepped between us before I could challenge him, and he would have shot you immediately."

He was probably right, I could admit, at least about my stepping between them. I had known only that Moriarty was trying to kill my friend, and someone accosting us on a dead-end path could only have been the man I had thought Holmes had been trying to escape.

Mary readjusted to lean against me as some of the tension left his shoulders. "Good. You agree when I point out that you would have stepped between us. Why will you not believe me when I insist that you did not desert me by leaving?"

Because I should have seen through the note, should have realized someone was trying to draw me away. I had known he was in danger, but I had left him with only the most perfunctory of hesitation. He should not have been able to get rid of me that easily. No patient should have been able to lure me from his side, no matter that he had told me to go. My friend was notorious for concealing danger, and I had spent ten years learning to see through his deflections when he tried to dive into something without backup. I had thwarted him far too many times to fall for that note so easily.

I could not say all this. I could not voice even some of it, I discovered when I tried, but I did not need to. He was far too skilled at reading my thoughts on my face.

"It is because you knew I was in danger, and you think you should have seen through the note." He cupped my hands in his, watching for a confirmation, and I nodded after a moment. Why he was so adamant, I was not sure, but the memory of terror lingering in his eyes announced this meant more to him than I thought it should.

"I just told you that I know you too well, Watson. Do you not think I would have chosen just the right phrasing, the right amount of careless plea to send you away? I needed you to leave before Moriarty arrived, and that note was my one chance. You would not have let me face him alone. You would have refused to leave if I told you he was nearby, and he would have killed you. What makes you think I could want that?" He paused, studying me. "You were not drawn away. I sent you, on purpose, knowing exactly who was coming, because I had a chance against Moriarty alone, but we would have been killed immediately. It would not have been your fault if Moriarty had won, and if I had not sent you away, your blood would be on my hands."

I could not survive your death any more than you could mine, that suggested with different sounds. Holmes would never voice as much even if it were true—he had already said much more than I ever would have thought him capable of putting into words—but that did not change its presence. Perhaps…I hardly dared to think it, but perhaps he somehow thought just as highly of me as I did of him?

…Not by blood but by bond, may my oath never end.

The words drifted through my mind again, Holmes' voice overlaying Harry's from long ago. Harry had found that line in one of Mother's novels. It was an oath of fealty originally exchanged between brother kings. Through a fluke of ancestry, two brothers had found themselves kings of neighboring countries, and they had sworn that oath as part of a larger ceremony, promising that their countries would be one in all but name. Harry and I had stolen it, at first simply because we liked it, but then it had gained more meaning in the aftermath of a family member abandoning us. We had quoted it to each other in later years as the need arose, and I had last heard it the night before I shipped out, one of the last things that my brother had ever said to me. I had never thought to hear it again.

"Watson?"

"T-tha—"

The question cut off, my mouth inexplicably unable to form the words, and I tried again.

"W-where—"

Again, the attempt abruptly ended, and I scowled. I had no idea why I could not speak, but the inability was quickly growing irritating.

"Calm down, John. It's alright. Take it slowly."

"T-that…line…That…oath…H-how?"

He quirked a grin. "You muttered it one day while you were reading," he told me, "and I found the same lines written on a scrap of paper on your desk." He shrugged. "It obviously meant something to you, so I remembered it. A few months later, you tried to distract me with a pocket watch, and the pieces came together."

"Harry…p-promised would n-not…then…after Edward—" I could not finish, could not even make every word audible, but Mary caught the name.

"Do you mean your mother's brother?" I nodded once, and she caught Holmes' confusion. "Edward stormed out shortly after John returned from Australia, disowning them as he went because Harry enjoyed art and John spent hours playing his viola."

"And Harry promised he would not abandon you like that," Holmes finished, understanding. "Then you promised the same to me, however silently. You did not break that, Watson, and I will not."

"You m-meant—"

"Yes," he said quickly, cutting off my question. "Yes, I meant it just now and years ago, and you are far too stubborn. How many times do I need to repeat myself? Nothing that happened that day was your fault. You did not betray me or abandon me. I sent you away to keep you safe. My disappearance was not your fault, and it would not have been your fault if Moriarty had won. You did not break your promise."

Hope bloomed, and he made no effort to hide his relief when he read the emotion on my face. I still did not fully agree with him—and I knew he could see that—but if he believed it, if he truly did not fault me and never would, that was almost as good. It meant he would never leave, never cast me aside though I had failed him drastically.

He probably read the reasoning on my face, but he made no comment. I looked around the room as hunger reached my awareness again.

"Here." Mary replaced the plate someone had moved while they were trying to reach me, and I shakily claimed a piece of bread as my attention landed on Mrs. Hudson. She merely smiled at me from her place on the settee, her relief evident though she was apparently at a loss for words, but Holmes and Mary were not the only two whose pleas I had heard.

"Uglier s-still," I forced out, slowly enunciating the words to make my mouth cooperate. "The war 's not…'s dire…Who?"

"My father said that all the time," she answered, her smile widening that I had heard her.

"C-commander," I managed, the words still difficult but growing steadily easier. "'D-defeat does not d-define you.'"

Her smile froze, turning into stunned surprise. "Unless you let it," she finished. "You know someone else who said that?"

I hummed a response, using the excuse of another bite to gain control of my tongue. "Years ago," I said, the reply finally of normal volume, though a bit slow. "Commander D-dauntless. Never…knew his true name. Ev'ryone called him C'mmander D-dauntless. Battle is ugly, but the battle inside yourself 's…uglier still. Do not give up the war b-because of one defeat. It is…never as dire 's it appears."

Her hand came up to cover her mouth. "Dark hair," she asked immediately, "brown eyes, a scar on his right cheek, and would never accept a negative answer?"

I nodded. "Always so…c-confounded sure of himself. He b-bordered cocky at times, but 'e was right…too often to ignore."

"Alan," she breathed, Holmes and Mary completely forgotten as she stared at me. "What happened to him? Did he survive Maiwand?"

I shook my head. "Battle of Cha—" I might have mostly regained my speech, but my obstinate tongue refused to wrap around the word. "Battle of Chara—" The word faltered again, and irritation shot through me.

"Charasiab?" Holmes asked before I could frustrate myself, "April 1880?"

I nodded sharply. "Ambush on the road a week l-later. Ghazis…appeared out of n-nowhere. He screamed a warning jus' before they charged. Shoved me…away from a thrown Khyber. T-took it himself. Nothing I could do. You…knew him?"

"Alan," she said again. "Alan 'Dauntless' Hudson. He was reported missing in action in May, and they presumed him dead in August."

Her husband. No wonder she had spent the first several months after Holmes and I took rooms searching the papers. With the end of the war about a month after Maiwand, she had been searching for the fate of her husband.

"Hero. He s-saved me. Others, too, but spec—specif—he jumped in fron' of me."

"Oh, Alan," she murmured, as if he could hear her for the quiet. "How fitting that you would go saving another. Thank you." That was directed at me. "Nobody could ever tell me what had become of him."

I barely acknowledged the thanks, my attention on capturing a piece of cheese that eluded my shaking hand. I finally gave up, resisting the urge to glower at the plate as I ate some meat instead.

"Why?"

"Why what?" Mary answered.

The glare escaped when I dropped a piece of bread. "Two weeks should not…leave me this feeble." I vaguely remembered walking under my own power, for all that someone—probably Mary—had guided my steps. How could I go from that to unable to do even the simplest tasks? I despised being an invalid.

"You have eaten nothing but broth for a fortnight, John, and moved only between the bed, chair, and washroom. You also mentioned after that last fever patient that brain fever affected the link between body and brain. You know there is a difference between the conscious and unconscious mind."

The unconscious was cockier, I had told her, and more willing to push to the far limits of endurance. Knowing that did nothing for my frustration when I needed help steadying a glass, however. Holmes could not quite cover a twitched grin.

"Give it time, Watson." A few days of recovery is better than no recovery at all.

I huffed but made no comment, hearing the unspoken addition for the relief it was. I still did not understand what had scared them so badly, but that could wait a bit. I had a different question for now, one that I hoped might smooth some of the worry still lining Holmes' face.

"Nothing?" I asked quietly, my eyes on that elusive piece of cheese though I was far more aware of Holmes' spiking concern.

"Nothing," he repeated firmly. "I swear."

The surety in his answer nearly distracted me, but I dragged my thoughts back to my current plan. I could reason his reply out later, and only affected hesitation delayed my response. I finally nodded.

"The restaurant owner w-wants to talk to you."

Mary frowned, perplexed, but Holmes' confused unease lasted only a moment before he barked a laugh.

"I did not start that food fight. You are the one that made a catapult out of your spoon and fork."

"But you just s-said nothing…that happened that d-day was…my fault." I tried to bury my smirk in my plate as Mary snorted. "If it is not my fault, then…you must have started it. Those peas undoubtedly…c-came from our t-table."

The lines on his forehead disappeared, changing to laugh lines around his eyes though his grin did not escape. "I did say that. Fine. I will take the blame for that one, but never again. The next time a child hits you with a carrot, you will take responsibility for the results."

That was oddly specific. "S-so I am in the clear if they throw a bean. Deal."

"Watson."

I merely grinned, firing back another short remark, and Mrs. Hudson eventually stood, not bothering to hide her smile as she took a bundle of knitting back to the settee. Mary rose from the arm of my chair to sit next to Mrs. Hudson, but Holmes moved only far enough to claim the other armchair. Every pawky observation received a subtly witty one in reply, and I settled comfortably into my seat. I would have quite a bit of thinking to do later—to sort out Holmes' assertions, to settle what I remembered of the last two weeks, to decipher what had scared them so badly—but that could wait. I would recover enough to resume my practice in a few days, and perhaps he would let me help with his cases occasionally. For now, it was enough that Holmes sat in the chair opposite me, trading barbed comments. It was enough that he was alive, that he wanted to be here, that he did not hate me.

I was not alone, and he did not fault me. I wanted little else and probably never would, and I gradually steered the conversation to another amusing morning. If he ever did come to his senses, I would hold these memories dear.

Somehow, however, I did not think he ever would. That probably showed in my tone.

"I know you can get up early when you wish, Holmes, but that does not apply when you never went to bed in the first place. Just how many nights did you go without sleep on that trip?"

His reply was intended to taunt more than answer, and I well knew it. I gave him what he wanted anyway, simply enjoying my friend's presence.


Oh, Watson. Peas? Really? Everyone knows grapes fly better XD Hope you enjoyed the story, and don't forget to drop a review!

Thanks to MHC1987 and Corynutz for your reviews on the last chapter