A/N: If you hate long chapters, I'm very sorry. Well, actually I'm not but I would be sad if you didn't read this chapter :P. This one was a lot of fun to write since it's all angsty and whumpy and all that fun stuff so please enjoy 5 pages worth of my writing ^_^ (Seriously you guys. 5. Freaking. Pages.)

P.S. Reviews would be positively lovely!


I knew Sherlock would follow me. I knew he would pick up on all the little hints I dropped. Sherlock's deductive skills must have been rubbing off on me and I knew just what to do to make him do what I wanted (even if he didn't realize it). I couldn't believe it when my plan actually worked. I, John Watson, had managed to (for lack of a better word) seduce Sherlock Holmes. At first I was just going to wait for him in the shower, but then I had a flash of brilliance and I hid behind the door. I figured he would see all the little things I was sure were there that would lead him to me. However, the idea of showering with me must have clouded his mind just enough to miss all the hints that I wasn't really in the shower.

Once I was on top of him though, I didn't really think about it much. I thought of it not at all when I was under my now-naked lover. I didn't really think about anything but the feeling of Sherlock's hands and lips on me and how it felt to know that I have this beautiful man completely to myself for as long as we wanted it that way. We spent so much time in the bath that I thought I should be worrying but I found that I really didn't care. Lestrade could solve at least one case on his own and no one of importance should be calling today.

Sherlock sat down and wrapped his long limbs over and around me as I settled into his chest. I was suddenly overcome by exhaustion as he hummed a composition I knew was meant for me. His deep voice vibrated through his chest and my back, and I felt a little guilty while I was falling asleep but I knew Sherlock didn't mind.

I barely noticed it when Sherlock turned off the water, and I didn't even realize it when he unwound his limbs from mine and climbed out of the bath. When he woke me I randomly saw Afghanistan for just a moment, but then I saw Sherlock standing naked beside the tub and that was all it took to return to the present.

I took the hand he offered me, marveling at how strong his long fingers were as they gripped my hand and wrist. I ran my fingers through his hair before reaching behind him for a towel. I wrapped the towel quite low around his hips; so low that I could see the delicious "v" that was formed by his groin meeting the flat expanse of his stomach. He responded by putting my usual robe around my shoulders, ducking down quickly to kiss my chest once softly. He closed my robe over my chest loosely and barely tied the belt around my waist. We left the washroom with our fingers intertwined to find Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen looking right at us. She darted past us as I was sitting down in my chair, muttering something about "married ones", her face a rather alarming shade of red. Sherlock looked at me with amusement and I couldn't help but laugh along with him.

Sherlock began playing the piece he had been humming earlier but was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. I watched him stride quickly into our room to get it and answer, his tone irritated because of the interruption. It sounded like Lestrade had a new case for us though judging by the volume of Sherlock's voice. I loved hearing him get excited; he always sounded so adorably human. His voice suddenly became worried in response to something Lestrade said. I got up to go see what was wrong when Sherlock came out of our bedroom walking quickly. He grabbed me and pulled my face to his, crushing my lips against his once…twice…three times.

"My dear John, I have to leave," he murmured when he was done bruising my lips.

"Leave? Only you," I asked, picking up on his use of "I" instead of "we". He nodded then said "Lestrade just phoned and said there was a case I needed to help him with and he didn't know if I'd seen it on the news yet or not. John, this case is an eleven and I've got to take it."

I still didn't understand why he had to go alone and I told him as much. He grabbed my face again, this time kissing me slowly and as sweetly as he ever had.

"The case is in Afghanistan, John. Even if you think you're ready, I know you're not and it would pain me to know that you began having more flashbacks because of me."

All of this was murmured against my lips, my mouth moving with his as his beautiful lips formed the painful words. I thought about trying to convince Sherlock to take me with him, but then I remembered the nightmares I'd had just last night and I shuddered at the thought of going back to where they had originated from. So, as much as it pained me to do it, I nodded my head and closed my eyes, breathing deeply to attempt to compose myself. Sherlock took one of my hands and placed it on his bare chest and I was suddenly trying to touch and kiss every part of his bare torso that I could, my hands and lips working furiously. He responded by pushing my robe off of my shoulders and kissing the newly exposed skin.

After we had gotten our momentary fill of each other, we stayed in the middle of the sitting room just holding each other close and trying to muster the strength to let go.

"Oh John I have to stay," he groaned after we had been silent for a while. I released my hold on him and pushed him gently in the direction of our bedroom saying, "no, Sherlock. You have to go. As much as I would like it otherwise, I can't keep you to myself." I almost pulled him back when I saw the torn look on his face, but I didn't so he went back into our room to get dressed and begin packing. I decided to wait to get dressed until after he was gone, knowing I probably wouldn't be able to handle watching him pack.

He came out of the bedroom as impeccably dressed as always, including my favorite shirt of his. He was torturing me on purpose! His expression was innocent enough but his eyes were just a bit too bright with some sort of mischief. The buttons on this particular shirt were straining more so than on any of his others and the dark purple of it made him look…delicious. There was really no other word for it. He glanced at me once then grabbed his laptop from the desk.

When he was ready to leave, I had composed myself well enough to give him an only slightly erotic kiss which he broke off with a groan, nearly sprinting down the stairs. He didn't look at me again, even when he reached the landing that led to the next flight of stairs. Just like that, Sherlock was gone from me again. I knew this time would be different though because he would be able to contact me at least for a little while.

That night was difficult. I had a nightmare the likes of which I haven't experienced since that dreadful day at the hospital. I woke up needing Sherlock more than ever, and of course he wasn't there. I buried my face in his pillow, breathing in his scent between my quiet sobs. I hated being reduced to this and I craved the long, warm arms of my detective. I pulled my phone out of the drawer in the bedside table and switched it on, beginning a message to Sherlock as soon as I could. I was interrupted right in the middle of the message by a text that had just been sent to me from him.

I figured you would be having difficulties tonight. I left my scarf in the wardrobe for you.

I thought you might need it for…sentimental reasons. Be back soon.

-SH

I vaulted off the bed, my eyes still streaming tears, and yanked open the drawer in our wardrobe that was reserved for Sherlock's under garments. I roughly pulled out his favorite blue and grey scarf and held it to my face like I used to when Sherlock was "dead". I didn't think I could stand to return to our bed so I limped into the sitting room to sink down in my chair. Sherlock's violin sat haphazardly in his chair across from me. I closed my eyes and brought my legs up to my chest with a bit of difficulty. I imagined Sherlock standing in front of me, violin still positioned under his chin, as he looked at me with that mildly confused look on his face at my sentimentality. I imagined him coming over and sitting behind me on the back of my chair and begin playing his newest composition for me softly. I fell asleep that way, with his scarf cradled against my face, his scent surrounding me and making my imaginings seem almost real.

When Mrs. Hudson found me in my chair the next morning, my muscles were stiff and Sherlock's scarf was in a small pile in my lap. I had a quick moment of relief when I realized I had worn an undershirt in addition to my boxers to bed last night; no need to shock poor Mrs. Hudson again. After I was dressed I went to the kitchen and sat down at the table, running my hands over my face. Mrs. Hudson sat a cup of tea in front of me, and then sat down on the other side of the table. I think she knew what was going on, but only Sherlock had ever really been able to help me with things like this. My phone started ringing just as I took the first sip of my tea. I walked into the sitting room, hoping but not believing Sherlock was calling me. I felt a surge of disappointment when I saw it was Lestrade.

"Lestrade I don't want to do any cases until Sherlock is back." I didn't even bother with a greeting.

"That's what I need to talk to you about, John. Sherlock's back," he said but I picked up on the worried tone to his voice. I was glad he was back but I wondered why he didn't just come home. There were too many things wrong with this whole situation.

"Greg, he shouldn't be back yet, he would have come straight home, and he would have called me himself if he couldn't come to the flat right now. What's going on?" My voice must have alarmed Mrs. Hudson because she leaned around the door frame to look at me.

"He….John he got injured. Badly. He's at Saint Bart's and he'll only say your name. Can you come?" I was already running down the stairs when he said 'injured'.

I didn't even bother explaining to Mrs. Hudson before I was out the door onto the sidewalk, hailing a cab. Lestrade could call her later; there was no way I would stay in the flat a moment longer while Sherlock was lying somewhere in pain.

The taxi couldn't move fast enough and I drummed my fingers impatiently on my knee.

When the cab pulled up in front of the hospital, I vaulted out of the car, throwing my money into the open window before running inside, frantic with worry. Lestrade was standing in the waiting room and led me to Sherlock's room without asking me any questions or talking unnecessarily. He opened the door for me when we reached Sherlock's room, closing it behind himself to give me and Sherlock privacy for a minute or two. I approached the bed where he was sleeping very carefully, afraid of what I would see.

It was amazing he had been able to say anything at all. His face… God I haven't seen anything like this since my service. His battered and bloody lips were parted slightly as he struggled to breathe and his eyes were moving quickly behind his lacerated eyelids. There was an alarming dip in the middle of his forehead that indicated a fractured skull.

I pulled the thin white sheet off of his body to see what other damage had been done. His chest was covered in burns and lacerations. I found a few ribs that had all been broken in several places which was most likely why he was having difficulty breathing.

I could attempt to piece together what had caused so many severe injuries in this pattern; I had seen injuries almost exactly like this on men and women who had been targets for bomb raids. He must have been so close to the bomb to receive the burns. The lacerations were most likely from shrapnel that would have been unavoidable at that distance. He would have been blasted before he'd even realized it. The force of the blow would have broken his ribs since the other injuries didn't exactly create a pattern indicative of him hitting the ground, making me think he was close to the bomb.

I ran into the hall outside of his room and flashed my rank as a military doctor to a passing nurse. I didn't enjoy pulling my rank this time. I barked orders at the poor woman as if she were one of my nurses in the field, ordering her to bring me all the medical supplies I would need to treat Sherlock. My list was long but the poor girl seemed to understand exactly what I needed. My heart thumped loudly as I walked back into the room and saw Sherlock's fingers grip the sheets beneath him as a wave of pain hit. Suddenly his back was arching off of the bed as his eyes flew open and he screamed in pain. I ran across the room to his bedside, desperate to do anything that would help him. I didn't even see a safe place to put my hands to push him back to the bed.

His back hit the sheets with a soft thump as the wave passed but there were tears in his eyes and his fingers were still clawing the sheets. He was moving his legs feebly, or at least trying to. I saw one final injury I had missed before; one of his legs was broken. I breathed out slowly through my nose, trying to find the detachment I had maintained in Afghanistan. I almost managed it, but then I took one look at Sherlock's anguished face and I lost it again. I leaned over him and looked into his swimming eyes and I was close enough to hear him whimpering as the pain lashed through his battered body.

"John..AAH John you have to help me! Please!" His words came out as a pained groan but the last word, the one that broke my composure completely, came out as a plaintive whine that was broken off by a sob. The tears started to leak from the corners of his eyes to run across his lacerated cheeks and a tear dropped from my eye as well. His eyes rolled back in his head as he passed out. I sighed a bit in relief; he wouldn't feel anything as long as he was unconscious.

The nurse walked into the room and set down everything I had asked for on a table and put the table near my elbow. I thanked her quietly and began pouring out antiseptic to put on the cuts that covered Sherlock's bloodied face and chest. I pressed a bandage soaked in disinfectant apprehensively to a cut that sliced across his entire chest. He gasped and attempted to sit up quickly as he was suddenly pulled from his stupor from the sting of the antiseptic, crying out as the pain of moving hit him a moment later.

He let out a heart-wrenching scream that turned into a sob as I continued administering the sterilizing bandages as quickly as I could. He grunted low in his throat as he attempted to take a deep breath, stopping when his broken rib stopped the expansion of his lungs. I stared down at him again to attempt to determine where to start with the next part of my treatment. I decided to wrap up his torso in an attempt to immobilize his ribs. I briefly considered having him sit up but then I realized his burns were too severe for any real movement without considerable pain. I took a deep breath to steady myself, trying to ignore the all-too-familiar scent of harsh antiseptic mixed with the smell of burned skin, as I prepared the bandage that would go around his chest. I wasn't quite sure how to go about this, but I tried to lift up just enough of Sherlock's chest to get the bandage under it. He ground his teeth and tried to remain silent but a whine still slipped through when my rough fingers brushed the bright red skin of his stomach. I managed to wrap the bandage tight enough around him to stabilize the broken bones, but I knew the fabric was tortuous against his sensitive burns.

I treated the burns next. I rubbed burn cream into them gently, avoiding the large gashes that ripped across his chest. Sherlock's face, which had been screwed up tightly in pain, began to relax, just slightly, as (I assumed) the pain receded from his chest. I was glad that I had treated his burns before I moved on to the last part of treating the injuries on his upper body; his gashes needed to be sutured. I wanted Sherlock to be relaxed while I was stitching up the wounds on his chest so I focused on his face for the moment. I brushed a mild sterilizing gel over the small cuts on his cheeks and eyelids, gently rubbing away the blood that was coagulating on his face with warm water and a soft bandage. His eyes opened and he grabbed my hand in a weak grip that worried me.

"John. Please John just get it over with already," his face twisted into a grimace for just a second as another wave of pain washed over him. "Just finish so I can sleep."

I studied his face for a moment with my lips pressed together tightly then nodded my head. He closed his eyes and seemed about to bite his lip before he thought better of it. I grabbed the materials I would need for the suturing of his wounds and I warned him that it might take a while as there were several rather large gashes. He didn't respond in any way except by grabbing the sheets in preparation for the next onslaught of pain. I began sewing, trying to work quickly to try to minimize the amount of pain I would have to put him through. His lips trembled but he didn't make any noise as I continued sewing, finishing my first set and moving on to the next laceration within a minute or two.

I was finished within ten minutes, but if they felt like an hour to me I can't imagine how long it seemed to Sherlock. I slid down to examine his leg, where the break wasn't nearly as severe as it could be. I knew as I looked at it though that it would impede his movement for a month or more as he had somehow managed to break his femur, which would take a long time to heal completely. I splinted it as best as I could – he would never consent to being put in a cast and I knew it – so I immobilized it as best as I could. Then, mercifully, I was finished. I rested my palm on his cheek, careful to avoid the deeper cuts. He opened his tear-filled eyes to look at me, and we just sat there like that, looking at each other's faces, until Lestrade knocked on the door. I kissed Sherlock once on the forehead before going to open the door and step into the hall with the Detective Inspector.

"He'll survive. Don't let anyone in here, Greg. Please. He would never accept being seen like this by anyone else," I said before Lestrade could ask me how he was doing. He studied my tired face for a moment then nodded. I walked back into the room and climbed carefully into the bed to lie with Sherlock and hold him as much as I could. He sighed once and finally drifted into a deep sleep and I watched his eyes flicker restlessly under his eyelids.

I finally drifted off to sleep after making sure Sherlock wouldn't be disturbed by dreams or other people. Lestrade's back filled the small window in the door to Sherlock's room and I was sure he wouldn't let anyone bother us.