A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited this story. Any feedback you could give me is very appreciated.

Hey, John,

I hear you'll be gone a while longer, yeah? That's okay, so long as you're alright and you return in two years, like you're supposed to. I know how much you love your sweets, so I made you some chocolate raspberry biscuits!

Love,
Mum

I read over the cursive script again, smiling slightly as I finally fold up the paper and lift the tray of biscuits off the table beside my bed. I peel the plastic wrap away, breathing in deeply as I pinch one and wave it in front of my nose. It smells delicious, just as Mum's biscuits always do, but I still wish I had a color to go with the smell.

I pop the treat into my mouth as I replace the wrap over the top of the plate and slip it under my cot. I can't have the others knowing I have sweets; the whole plate would be gone by this afternoon.

I lift up from my bed with a groan, stretching my back as I turn to look at my clock.

5:56 AM.

I groggily reach for my bedside table and pull out an outfit for the day, cradling it in my arms. I sigh, turning to see my "roommates" still lounging lazily on their cots and snoring softly. I shake my head fondly, my feet pattering against the floor as I make my way to the barracks for a shave and a shower. My hair has grown...unruly since my recent deployment; it's really been bothering me.

Turning the knosel of the showerhead, I shimmy out of my tank top and drop it carelessly onto the tiled floor; not like anyone else is awake yet. Won't matter much if I make a mess. Steam billows up from the tight stall as I quickly yank my boxers off and fling them away. Next, I toe my socks off, then splay my hand under the spraying water, feeling the heat.

Smiling in approval, I slink under the spray of water, relishing in the way the warm rivulets dribble down my back. It feels as if the steamy drops soak into my skin and alleviate the dull ache that's been blooming there for days. I feel the knots in my muscles gradually dissipate as I lean against the tiled wall and reach for the bottle of travel-size shampoo on the shower's ledge.

Squeezing a dollop into my hand, I roughly rake my hands through my disheveled hair. The white foam smells cheap, but it still smells good enough for me as I inhale deeply and turn to get the body wash.

I unhook the loofa from the showerhead and squeeze the (once again, cheap) body wash onto it. I rinse it under the water and smooth my hands over it before starting my way down my body.

I start with my neck and shoulders, then my arms, hands, and chest, next my torso and back before going to my legs, feet, and, well, you know, the...others. After cleansing my whole body, I watch the foamy soap and shampoo combine with the water and slither away, pooling by the drain as I rinse myself off.

Turning the knosel off, I step out of the shower and reach for a towel from the rack beside me. I ruffle my soaked hair with it before rubbing it over the rest of my body.

I pull my baggy white t-shirt off the sink vanity, slipping it over my head as I reach for my pair of clean boxers. After pulling them up, I reach for my camo cargo pants, shimmying them on as I glance to the mirror in front of me.

After replacing the towel, neatly folded, onto the rack, I bend over to scoop up the mound of dirty clothing. I start back for the barracks, my wet feet slapping softly against the floor, echoing in the hallway as I walk back to me and my team's room.

6:21 AM. Hmmm...must of been daydreaming in the shower...

Now that I think about it, I vaguely remember thinking about all the colors I might see if I looked into the mirror across from my shower stall. Mum told me my skin is a tan color, and she tried to explain it, but it's still difficult to imagine. She told me water looks blue, but not in small quantities, so I tried to imagine the "clear" color she told me of. I wondered what color the shampoo and body wash and loofa and tiles were. I wondered what the blue of my eyes and the blonde of my hair looked like, trying to think of how Mum had described it. I wondered all of this while I was washing myself.

I'm still wondering, now, I suppose.

I realized that I couldn't imagine any of it while I was standing there, letting the spray wash over me, and I felt disappointed; I still feel disappointed.

I sigh tiredly, albeit it's still in the early hours of the morning. As I sit on my cot and drag my shoes out from underneath of it, I see one of the soldiers in the bed across from me stir awake. He wakes groggily as I pull socks from my bedside drawer.

As I slip on my shoes and tie the shoe laces, I realize the soldier is Bill Murray, one of my closer, more sincere, army mates.

"Mornin', Capn'," he murmurs into the pillow. As he tries to push himself up, he licks his lips and squints at the clock on his beside table.

6:23 AM, it now reads.

"Morning, Bill," I respond, finally finished putting on my shoes. He smiles at me as he rolls over and yawns, rubbing at his squinty eyes. "Might want to wake the rest up soon," I say, gesturing to the rest of the barrack's filled beds.

He nods faintly as he asks,"How do ya get up so early, John?" His words are slurred with sleep as he grabs an outfit from his nightstand and makes his way to the hallway.

I smile. "I've gotten used to it," I say simply, and he accepts what I'm saying, then, he's walking to the showers.

He disappears down the hallway as I get up from my cot and press the alarm button on my clock. I turn the volume knob all the way up before slapping my hands over my ears and sitting back down on my bed.

I grin as the recruits shift in their sleep, then almost flinch away from their cots. One soldier rolls completely off the bed onto the floor, and he startles awake. Another tries pressing the off button on his alarm, but just manages to turn it on, making him almost leap from his bed as he quickly turns it back off.

I turn my alarm clock off as I shout,"Good morning, sleeping beauties!" None of them smile at me as one glares daggers and some others cross their arms. I smile mischievously as I scratch the back of my neck in mock embarrassment. "Oh, sorry; did I do that?"

Wiping the smug smirk off of my face, I hold my hand up in a morning salute, which they return almost automatically, despite their drowsiness.

"At ease," I command, and they all assume the position, as do I. "All of you are required to take showers, so go get into a bathroom stall, you sleepy prats."

They smile slightly at the nickname, and although it may sound a bit harsh, they've been around me long enough to know it's just part of the way I show affection.

They practically drag themselves out of bed as they saunter into the hallway, venturing towards the shower stalls. I rake a hand through my unkempt hair as the last of them file out of the room, Bill appearing in the doorway. I turn to the clock again.

6:37 AM.

"I heard them grumbling about being woken up so early," he says, a small smile on his face as he goes to get his own shoes on. "Then again, I heard what woke them up, too."

I turn to him, then turn to the table beside my bed as I open the drawer. Drawing my personal Browning from its confines, I stuff it into my pocket after making sure the safety is on.

"Easiest, fastest way to wake them. Breakfast is soon, and I wasn't going to wait up for them if they were still asleep," I reply, glancing to Bill's agreeing face. He nods slightly as he finally finishes tying his shoe laces and I sit back down on my bed. I lean back onto my pillow, continuing,"If you don't mind, while they're all not here, I'd like to get some peace and quiet."

He silently nods to me as he leans back onto his cot as well, saying,"Yeah, I'd like a bit of a rest before we go to breakfast."

So we lay, and we don't talk.

My thoughts drift to colors again, to the crimson color that was explained to me during medical school when I asked what it looked like. To the olive color that Bill explained is the hue of my camo cargo pants. To the sandy tint of the sand of Afghanistan that Mum told me about before I left.

Then, my thoughts morph into ones of my family; Mum, Dad, Harry. I remember I have a photo hidden in my nightstand, and I lift up from my bed, pulling the drawer open. I scour the whole confinement before triumphantly pulling the picture out and shutting the drawer.

I let my thumb run over the teared top corner of the Polaroid photo, reading the writing scrawled on the bottom corner.

9-8-76 John's 5th Birthday Party

I can see myself, short and scrawny, beside my stocky father. My mother and Harry are standing behind us. Dad and I are wearing eyepatches, and I'm wielding a foam sword, grinning with a bandana covering my shaggy locks of hair. He's got a pirate hat on his head, an arm slung carelessly around my shoulder as my mother hugs him from behind. Harry, despite her usual feigned indifference, is smiling widely beside me, slightly taller and older.

I remember the day like it's yesterday as I smile down at it, remembering the way Mum smiled at my father, how happy her grin was. I wish I could see the colors of the picture, know what shades I was wearing on my birthday.

I suppose most of my thoughts always end up back on the subject of color, but I just can't get it out of my head.

Suddenly, I hear all of the boys file back into the room, roudy and soggy as they go to their cots to retrieve their shoes and socks. I turn to my alarm clock, whatever-color numbers almost burning into my vision.

6:52 AM.

I lean forward off my bed, stretching my arms as I glance between Bill and the rest of the soldiers.

"Be ready within five minutes; chow time in eight," I announce, and I walk out of the door, alone. Bill doesn't follow me as I venture to the chow hall, and I feel so desolate with all of the gray walls surrounding me, enclosing me, making me feel almost...claustrophobic.

I just want color.

A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed! John and Sherlock will meet soon, I promise, but I still need suggestions for a menial job Sherlock could take up. If you can't give me a suggestion, that's alright I suppose.