TheDarkestShinobi: I can't stop.

I don't think I want to be helped.

Chapter Start:

He was leaning over another's body, way too close for most men, but John had a job to do. There was a lot of blood, and even more displaced skin, but this was something he could patch up. He could save this man's life. It only took a few minutes.

"I'm sorry, Captain."

"No, no, you did fantastic." The man let out a moan of pain as John expected.

"Come on now, would you let the queen hear that?"

"No, sir." He laughed. "Will I live?" John nodded; happy he didn't have to lie to this one like the one before. Today was a bad day.

"Just make sure you apply pressure," He instructed and the man used both his hands to press on either side of his side.

"You shouldn't, but if you feel sleepy stab yourself in the leg with this." John handed him a syringe and looked him over.

"That will keep you." He smiled slightly "Thank you for your service."

"Wait, take her, she's not done yet. Keep her happy, Captain."

Join was handed the automatic with ease and he nodded. Popping out of cover, he let a few rounds fly. He was a medic, and he was so accurate with a gun he could be anywhere else.

There is a man behind the wall that surprised John. He brought a metal pipe down. John is fast enough to move, but not fast enough. The cry that rips from him sounds inhuman and the pain in his leg feel unbearable, but he is a solider and he's not done yet. He presses all his weight on his other foot and jabs the man with the back of the gun. Then he takes half a hop back and fires two shots into his chest.

He can't think properly with the jolts coming from his leg, but it can't be broken. Nerve damage, ligaments? Focus Watson. He opens his eyes and mouth as he arches when a stronger one rips through him before hobbling back into the street.

He can see an ambush waiting to happen, so he takes a deep breath and steels himself, before setting up his power stance and firing on them first. His leg screams and he may have too, but he saved his men. That's all he cared to know.

Then his shoulder is on fire and he spins into darkness.

Please, God, let me live.

Then he hears a gunshot much louder than the others.

…

John's hands shake as he pulls his key from his pocket. He hasn't been out of it enough to know when someone else has been in his flat, so he's cautious as he walks up the stairs. He shouldn't have left his gun in his room. He takes the path that doesn't creak and isn't entirely surprised to see his door ajar.

There are two men inside and they are carrying weapons they think are hidden. Both stand tall and strong, and that's what lets John know this isn't a burglary. He stands in his doorway to watch them, but they aren't doing much.

"Why are you here?" He takes two determined steps forward and only stops when they raise their arms to their temple in a sweeping motion. John did the same, three seconds later, they lowered their hands.

"Air Force and Navy then, why are you here?"

"Because I asked them to be." He turns to see Mycroft leaning against his wall. "Tea?" John took a cup and sat at his table with the other three as if this were a regular occurrence.

"Sherlock seems to be doing okay." John hummed a response and looked the two others up and down before turning to Mycroft. He hates that his hands are still shaking. Mycroft noticed. "Missing the battlefield?" He asks knowingly. John has had enough.

"Not to be rude, but you didn't come here to discuss your brother, if I may, why are you here?"

"For the third time now," Mycroft looks amused.

"Maybe this time I'll get an answer." His voice is sharp and filled with tension. Things ended badly with Sherlock. Mycroft looks down before nodding and the officer from the Air force speaks first.

"We need you back, Captain." And the shaking stops. John smiles and sets his tea down.

"What do I do?"

…

"Not to be rude, but I'd hoped I'd never have to see you again." She said first, her ankles crossed and her old notebook fetched. He smiled back, it was tense. She watched his cane more than his face. Blank page, although the one before only had his trust issues on the top line.

"Uh, same." She sat in a chair across from him. She could feel his frustration and anger and maybe today would show progress.

"You seem tense John." His face flattened before he shifted on the couch.

"I can't walk." Her smile is sympathetic and he hates it. "It's Psychosomatic, or whatever you call it." They both called it that. They were right, yet here he is. "but I can't use it right." He threw himself up, landing on both feet in a standing position for a second before his leg shifts and he falls back down to the chair, causing it to rock onto its hind legs for a split second before settling on all four. He grabs his thigh hatefully and shook the entire leg. "Look at it!"

"I can see." She shifts, changing the subject. "I've been reading your blog, what's happened with Sherlock." John slumps before forcing himself to sit upright.

"Too much," he twitched violently, "not enough"

"John…" He can see it in her eyes now.

"Oh, I get pity now, the solider, fatally wounded but survives!" She tries to interrupt him but he doesn't let her. "Then his mind never leaves the battlefield until a crime." A terrible crime; a delicious crime. He had killed a man; saved a man.

"John-" she sounds frantic.

"Now he's back, one year later and even worse!" John is stunned by the raw emotion in his voice. John counts 30 clicks of the clock as he lets himself breathe and she watches.

"Did that help?" She finally asks, and she sounds genuinely curious.

"A little," he admits. 10 more ticks of the clock.

"John, I know you have always been against medication" John slumped in his chair

"Fine." He looks away, had trembling.

"Fine?" she echoes, questioning his easy early submission. He had fought her on this long and hard before.

"Just make it okay." His head is in his hands and his voice is broken. She lets her face fall now that she knows he can't see her. She had put hopes in this one, the strong medical doctor who was a war hero. He could have left the war behind; she really knew he could've. She writes down a prescription with calm hands and a thudding heart.

He took the sheet of paper without looking at it, and spent the remainder of their time talking about a man in a hat he hated, a sister who couldn't put the bottle down and how appetizing cigarettes and alcohol were starting to look.

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