To anyone who's been following the story already, you'll notice that the letters portion of this chapter is the same one as the original Chapter 2. This is because I've merged what were originally Chapters 1 and 2 into a much larger chapter one in order to compensate for the fact that this Chapter will be so much longer.

I know this sounds super confusing, and I'm so so so sorry! I know an author should have the story planned out, but I'm still getting used to the whole multi-chaptered fic thing. I'm going to try to write longer chapters from now on, and hopefully you guys enjoy them!

TLDR: Other than the letter portion this chapter is entirely new content!

Attempted Letters by Sherlock Holmes (From Various Locations)

Dear John,

It's not that I didn't trust you. I regularly trust you with my life on cases, which would be extremely reckless if I didn't have such high regard for your personal judgment,..

Dear John,

If Moran had even guessed that you knew that I was alive, everything that happened would have been for naught…

Dear John,

You must understand that it was absolutely necessary….

Dear John,

I wish I could have told you….

Dear John,

I'm sorry.

Sincerely,

Sherlock Holmes

xxxxxxxx

To John, the twenty minute ride to town took no more than the blink of an eye.

Sherlock. I just saw Sherlock again.

Should he tell his superiors? Hand in his uniform and resign? He should at least feel a little worried. When people saw their dead best mates walking around alive and well, it was usually a pretty clear sign that there was something wrong.

But instead he felt…fine. Better than fine, really. His body felt stronger, as if he were tapping into some hidden reserve he hadn't even known existed. His vision was sharper, allowing him to see the desert in much clearer detail than he ever had before. His heart beat faster in his chest, making him excited and dizzy and restless all at once.

Altogether John felt better than he had in ages.

His stomach churned suddenly as the helicopter began its descent, forcing him to grab onto the side of the vehicle and close his eyes until they landed (thirteen years, and his body had never adjusted to chopper flights). He took advantage of the moment to mentally prepare.

You have a job to do, John, he reminded himself. No more thinking about Sherlock until it's done.

The vision that greeted him when he opened his eyes was even worse than he had expected.

There was fire everywhere. John could spot flames on the roof of nearly every building, and those that weren't currently alight released thick plumes of black smoke. Women and children cried openly in the streets, screaming the names of lost loved ones. The air reeked of bodies and exhaust fumes.

His fists clenched involuntarily. John understood the nature of war well enough, but what was the point of fighting for freedom if all they did was cause more pain?

Swallowing down his anger, John followed his fellow soldiers to an outcroppinig a distance away from the school where the survivors of the bombing lay huddled.

"What have we got?" his superior (whose name was apparently Julius) asked one of the men on the scene.

"Building's gonna fall any second, sir," the man answered. "It's too dangerous to go in there."

John couldn't help but agree – frankly, he was surprised the school was still standing at all. Both sides of the building had collapsed inward, leaving a teepee shaped structure supported by only a few narrow beams. The air smelled of a gas leak, leading him to guess that the building was seconds away from igniting as well.

As both a soldier and a doctor he was torn: his instincts told him to help the people trapped inside, no matter the cost, but his gut told him such a heroic attempt would only put his own men at risk.

"You have time, John," a voice said in his ear.

John turned to see Sherlock standing behind him. He was surprised to note that his imagination had actually dressed him according to the occasion. Instead of his usual peacoat and scarf ensemble, Sherlock wore loose-fitting grey trousers and a simply embroidered blue tunic that made his eyes stand out against his pale skin. The clothing choices only made the situation more unsettling – it added to the realism of the illusion.

John turned around and pointedly ignored him.

"You're not here," he muttered to himself. "You're not here. You're not here. And the second I turn around, you'll be gone again."

He turned.

"Are you even listening to me? There are lives at stake!"

John couldn't help but smile. His imaginary Sherlock was turning out to be just as obnoxious as the real version had been.

Well at least no one can say I put him on a pedestal – hopefully they put that on my tombstone after I die alone in the psych ward.

"Fine, take a piss on your Hippocratic oath," Sherlock whined, crossing his arms. "It's not like I care."

John sighed. He had never been good at ignoring him before either.

"You heard him," he said, speaking from the corner of his mouth in hopes that no one would notice him talking to thin air. "The building's going to collapse. There's nothing I can do."

"Judging from the external loads placed on the building's frame you have at least ten minutes before the roof gives way."

It was more than enough time to evacuate some of the survivors. Provided the building didn't explode before they could get out.

"What if the gas line catches?" John challenged.

"Let's just hope that it doesn't," Sherlock replied darkly.

John considered for a moment. "Fine," he acquiesced. Sherlock smirked in approval.

"I'll talk to my commanding officer."

His smirk stopped dead in its tracks.

"John, time is of the essence in this situation," Sherlock argued, "You need to just go, now!"

John shook his head. "I can't "just go." I can't do anything without orders; I'll get discharged," he said bitterly, his voice rising against his will. "You're lucky I'm listening to you at all, because in case I haven't said it enough: YOU'RE NOT EVEN HERE!"

"Who bloody cares if I'm here?" Sherlock growled back at him. "I'm right!"

"Yeah, you're right," John admitted. "A right git! Even when I make you up, you're still an annoying, insufferable, know-it-all!"

"It doesn't matter if I'm a right git or the Queen of England! All that matters is being correct. All that matters – "

"Is the work!" Sherlock and John both finished in unison.

Both men took a step back, panting hard. John felt his heart hammering in his chest and couldn't remember the last time he'd been this angry.

It was so perfect that it ached.

"God, I've missed you, Sherlock," he said in a quiet voice. "So much that it hurts. Nothing… nothing feels right without you."

Sherlock blinked but said nothing in return. With a rush of embarrassment John realized it was because his subconscious didn't know how Sherlock would react to such an admission.

Well that settles it, John thought bitterly.

He was a fool for hoping in the first place.

He turned away from Sherlock without another word and starting jogging toward his superior.

"John, where are you going?" Sherlock asked.

John had to give his mind some credit. Sherlock sounded almost…heartbroken.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"Sir," John called to Julius as he jogged up beside him. "That building isn't going to collapse for at least ten more minutes! We have time to send a team in, and –"

"And I thought you were a doctor, not an architect," Julius interrupted him.

"But, there could be survivors," John said slowly, unwilling to believe the man would so casually brush him aside when there were lives at stake.

Julius sighed. "Look, Watson. I admire your enthusiasm; I really do. But I can't have any more deaths on my squad right now. Especially for the sake of a few civs."

"Bastard," Sherlock sneered from over Julius shoulder.

"My thoughts exactly," John muttered.

"What did you just say to me?" Julius asked testily.

John looked Julius in the eye and gave him a shit-eating grin.

"I said my thought exactly, sir."

Sherlock began to laugh. It began as a low rumble, a cat's contented purr, and bubbled over until the air was filled with his rich baritone. John watched him throw his head back in delight, looking for all the world like a giddy school boy.

Their eyes caught, and in that instant John knew he was undone.

He sank to his knees and laughed until he couldn't breathe.

Xxxxxx

By the time he'd stopped, John was unaware of how much time had passed. He placed a hand on his now-aching stomach and looked up to see Sherlock watching him worriedly. John couldn't blame him - had had just gone certifiably mad in the past half hour.

"Are you going to listen to me now?" he asked hesitantly.

"Possibly," John replied. "It's not like I have much choice."

"There's not much time left, John, but I can guide you through." He held out his hand. "Do you trust me?"

John was almost ashamed of how easily the answer came to him. He was being asked to willingly put faith in someone he knew was just a figment of his own imagination. To trust in a someone who had lied to him. Who had belittled him. Who had left him behind.

His answer was still the same, even after all this time.

I believe in Sherlock Holmes.

"Yes," John said. His answer would always be yes.

Sherlock smiled dangerously.

"Then we run."

John placed his hand in Sherlock's and quickly walked past the other soldiers at the outcropping. The chatter faded into uneasy silence, and even the commander couldn't help but notice that something was different.

"Watson," Julius growled, "Where do you think you're going?"

John payed him no mind. His steps grew faster as he moved toward the schoolyard.

"Run, John!" Sherlock urged into his ear. "Run!"

His legs began to move of their own accord. They pounded into the ground again and again as he built up speed, moving faster until John could swear he was flying. He turned to see Sherlock matching him stride for stride, and for a brief moment of delirium the only thought in his head was I am alive.

John broke into a dead sprint for the last fifty yards. His lungs ached, but the sound of Sherlock breathing heavily beside him was enough to drive him forward. In the back of his mind John could hear the men's whoops of glee, as well as Julius's shouting that he was disobeying a direct order.

He would probably be discharged for this.

He felt too giddy to care.

For now he was running with his friend. And nothing else mattered.

Bonus dialogue for all the Archer fans out there :P

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Sherlock: John!

John: What?

Sherlock: JOHN!

John: What?

Sherlock: JOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHNNNN!

John: WHAT?

Sherlock: Danger Zone!

John: *facepalm*

Lolz for some reason I could totally see Sherlock doing that right before him and John run through the field.