Author's Note: Hey my darlings :3 Well aren't you just a lovely bunch. I was only met with optimism at my little prologue and therefore I have now finished chapter 1. Things are already starting to heat up. Hihi, I hope you will like this! I don't know how happy I am with it, but as long as you guys like it, I can survive. Happy reading :3
. . . . .
I wake up, it's a bad dream,
No one on my side,
I was fighting
But I just feel too tired
to be fighting,
guess I'm not the fighting kind.
Chapter 1
It was a few minutes past midnight when the cab pulled up outside of 221b. Sherlock Holmes got out and stared up at his former home, his stomach in uproar. It really was utterly ridiculous that he should feel as nervous as he did, he was never nervous. Yet it felt as if the small amount of food he'd managed to squeeze in during the day suddenly wanted to occupy the pavement. He swallowed hard, putting a shaking hand in his coat pocket. He quietly reprimanded himself for being such an idiot, something he never thought would occur, and made for the front door. He did have his keys still, but he figured John would think he was a burglar and either call the police or beat him up. He might still beat him up of course, but if that happened, it wouldn't be nothing Sherlock didn't deserve. After all, he could have returned a long time ago, but he'd been to much of a coward to do it. With a sigh, he rung the doorbell and waited. When he didn't hear anyone moving inside, he placed his finger on the doorbell and held it in for ten seconds solid. That ought to wake him up, Sherlock thought and chuckled nervously. But when no one came to open the door after Sherlock had impatiently waited over five minutes, he brought the key out from his pocket and let himself in.
The flat was cold and dark and Sherlock felt a chill traveling down his spine as he stepped on a small pile of mail. Something was wrong here, something had changed. Not only two weeks ago, Mycroft had informed him that John still resided at 221b and that he had been alright. Then why did Sherlock get the feeling that the flat had been empty for years? Sherlock stood frozen in the darkness for a long time, staring up the stairs of which he could only make out the contours, gathering the courage to climb them. Slowly, he made his way upstairs and took a deep breath as he reached for the light switch and flipped it. The sudden light made him flinch and he had to blink a couple of times before he could fix his eyes upon the room. It was as though he had never left. John hadn't changed anything at all, even some of Sherlock's mess was still there. Maybe this should have been flattering but Sherlock could only feel sadness, imagining John sitting in his armchair, broken down with grief and not willing to change anything for fear of forgetting.
He walked around the flat for a while, not knowing if he wanted to disturb John while he was sleeping. Apparently he was sleeping rather heavily since the doorbell hadn't awoken him, but that didn't seem like the John he knew. Perhaps he wasn't there. Maybe he'd found himself a woman and was sleeping there for the night. Sherlock tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his gut as he imagined it and decided to delete it from his hard drive. He paced back and forth impatiently, trying to make up his mind as if to open the door to John's bedroom or not. Wouldn't it be very rude to wake him if he was sleeping? Then again, if he was sleeping that heavily Sherlock would probably not wake him and he could relax, knowing that John was safe. Just seeing John's face again was something he'd wanted for a very long time. He was just about to make it to John's bedroom when he noticed something on the kitchen table. Immediately the situation became clear, although he did not want to believe it. Knowing that John wouldn't there but wanting to be absolutely sure, Sherlock burst into the doctor's bedroom. Of course he wasn't there. He hadn't been for at least one week considering the pile of post that he had stepped in on his way into the flat. Trying not to panic, Sherlock brought out his phone from his trouser pocket.
Afghanistan or Iraq?
-SH
It took less than a minute for Mycroft to reply.
I guess you are back then.
-MH
That isn't of importance. Tell me where he's gone.
-SH
Don't do anything stupid now, Sherlock.
-MH
Where is John?
-SH
The phone rang suddenly and Sherlock picked up reluctantly. He wasn't in the mood for talking with anyone, let alone Mycroft, but he knew he'd never get any information unless he picked up.
"Hi little brother" Mycroft's voice sounded almost amused.
"It's Afghanistan right? It would make more sense that he would want to return to something than start something new. Also it's more likely that they would accept him if they already knew of his competence since he's been injured." Sherlock was thinking out loud, waiting for Mycroft to confirm it.
"Yes, he returned to Kabul, Afghanistan about a week and a half ago. He left no message to anyone, we were worried."
"You were worried?" Sherlock said disbelievingly, his voice as cold as ice.
"If you had seen the state of the man Sherlock, you too would have been worried if he suddenly disappeared. I've grown quite fond of the man, oddly enough." Sherlock tried to ignore the stabbing sensation in his chest as Mycroft mentioned "the state of the man", as if John had been suicidal or something of the like. Why did he care so much that Sherlock was gone? It was a mystery. He had never really understood how John had put up with all his oddities, they would have cracked any other man. But John had stood there by his side, all along, always the solid rock in Sherlock's storm of mood swings and temper tantrums.
"I must leave at once then" Sherlock replied, ignoring the odd expression of affection he'd just heard his brother utter, "I cannot have John get shot in some dessert simply because he had nothing better to do."
"I do not think that was the case Sherlock." Mycroft sighed at the other end of the line. Since when had he gotten so soft? Caring wasn't an advantage, that's what he'd told Sherlock all his life, and now it seemed as if the man had stared caring a whole lot.
"It doesn't matter. I must find him and take him home. Do tell Mrs. Hudson to keep the flat for us until we both return."
"Sherlock I do not think this is a very good idea. You will be in mortal danger." Mycroft sounded genuinely worried. His behaviour was so odd that Sherlock nearly had an urge to laugh, but he kept his calm.
"Whenever am I not, brother dear. I will return, and I will return with John Watson by my side. Good night and good bye." Sherlock hung up before Mycroft could utter another word. As much as it amused him that Mycroft had developed feelings, it also made him rather uneasy.
Sherlock who had been standing in John's darkened room while he was talking to his brother, hastily exited it quickly and sat down in his armchair, resting his chin onto his fingertips. Yes, he would travel to Afghanistan with the first flight he could find. He would find the Army base camp and enquire for doctor Watson. They would surely know whom he meant and if they didn't he could surely make Mycroft gather the information for him. Mycroft had strings to pull everywhere, which often proved necessary, even though Sherlock tell Mycroft what an asset he could be. After finding out where John was, it would be an easy task to get him back home. He simply wouldn't accept no for an answer. John needed to be at 221b Baker Street with Sherlock, nothing else would do. Also, Sherlock was terrified. Terrified that John would get hurt. Not by a silly bullet to the shoulder but life and death hurt. The only reason Sherlock had been able to stand being away from John for so long while Moriarty's men where being eliminated, was that he'd known that John was alive and well. That in their flat, John still breathed the air they had once shared and that was all that mattered. It was not knowing where John was, of he was well, that made Sherlock's stomach turn with fright. He flipped out his phone and started searching for flight to Afghanistan. He had to find John, there was not a moment to lose.
. . . . .
"WATSON, GET IN LINE!" Sergeant Mackay roared as the new recruits were gathering on the outskirts of base camp. John knew Mackay from his earlier service and was happy to see that the man had survived this long, considering the man had no inhibitions whatsoever out on the battlefield. Mackay probably didn't know any of the other's names yet and it showed authority to have the soldiers listening to your command. Therefore, John clicked his heels together and put his hand to his hairline, a slight smile at the corner of his lips.
"YES SERGEANT. SORRY SERGEANT." he yelled and Mackay pursed his lips in an attempt to hide his smile.
"There boys, that's how a man behaves around here when he gets an order. Now I want you to do fifty laps around camp and then come back here. UNDERSTOOD?"
"YES SERGEANT!" the boys yelled in unison and began to run for all they were worth. John was just about to get going when Mackay called for him to join him. John quickly jogged up to his old friend who roughly grabbed his hand and shook it hard before pulling him into a bear hug.
"Ahh Watson! Aren't you a bit old for this now, eh?" he laughed a booming laugh that made John's ears ring a little bit as he pulled away.
"Nah, I'm fit as a fiddle." John smiled and flexed his bicep to prove it. Mackay chuckled.
"You look like shit old man." he stated, laughing as he hit John hard over the upper arm jokingly.
"Nice to see you too, you damn tosser!" John had forgotten just how much he had missed Mackay and his constant laughter. He had never met a man as cheerful and optimistic and God knows a man like that was needed in a sad place like this.
"Yes yes, well start running. I don't have time to stand here and chitchat." he joked and winked, reminding John of the first time he'd met Sherlock and he quickly ran off so that Mackay wouldn't see his face fall. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn't the memories fade just a little bit so that he could have some peace? It was all he asked for.
The next day, after nearly fainting because of hard work and sweat constantly trickling down his neck into his clothes, Mackay ran up to him and asked if he wanted to come with him to the local pub. John immediately accepted, thinking that a pint or two was just what he needed right now. They set off at around eight, traveling in a small car while Mackay told John stories about what had happened since he'd been sent home. Most of John's mates were dead or had simply disappeared. It was only Mackay and two others from their original group that was still alive and neither of them were still here. The pub was a small place, but it wasn't crowded. John suspected most people were either too nervous to come out this time of day, or it was simply because it was a Tuesday. Either way, they both got pretty drunk after Mackay challenged John to a round of "who can down most pints in one minute". John lost, managing only two and a half while Mackay managed five before he looked as if he was gonna throw up and banged the glass down on the table with a loud thump. John found himself genuinely laughing for the first time in years and was sad to leave the pub when they closed at 2AM. The two men stumbled outside, laughing at nothing in particular when suddenly John felt a hand close itself over his mouth as another strong hand forced his arms together behind his back and held him in a tight grip. John could make out a muffling noise behind him, so it seemed they had attacked Mackay too. He made a feeble attempt to free himself, but it was useless. His mind was too much poisoned with alcohol to be of much use and his limbs just wouldn't listen to what he was ordering them. He tried screaming but the man who was holding him dug his nails deep into John's cheek, effectively silencing him. With panic he saw that the men were forcing them towards a big van that was parked a few feet away and when they reached it someone hit him hard in the head, successfully putting him to a drunken sleep.
Wouldn't mind it
if you were by my side
But you're long gone,
yeah you're long gone now.
- A Bad Dream, Keane
. . . . .
Author's Note: Sooooo, what do you think guys. What's gonna happen to John? What will Sherlock do when he arrives in Kabul and John isn't there? It's all very exciting isn't it? At least I hope it is, so that you will continue reading! Hihih. If you liked it it would be so wonderful if you wanted to leave a review. They are quite the motivators you know.
ALL MY LOVE, UNTIL NEXT TIME.
*Less than three*
