John had argued for the floor, but in the end he had taken the bed, yet when he had gone to sleep, he was sure that he had been alone in it. "Phoebe?" John said and the woman smiled at him. She rose to her feet. She was wearing a short pink night gown.

"I know. I told you that I'd sleep in the other room, but when I came in to get my eye mask, you were rolled up on the side of the bed. I didn't think you'd mind if I just slept here for a bit. Your wife has you well trained. You didn't steal the covers or anything."

"I'm sorry, I..."

"No, let me apologize. I know that you're married. I don't mean to get in the way of that. No, not at all. I'm just, grateful."

"There's no need, I mean you don't have to pay me back for saving your life."

"You don't understand. It isn't me trying to trade a favor for favor. I was being totally selfish. You see, I sometimes have trouble sleeping. After my old boyfriend, can you blame me? But when I saw that there was plenty of space, I decided, 'Why not?' I've never slept so peacefully in my life. I knew that nothing could hurt me with my savior here."

John sat up in the bed. Phoebe put on her robe. "Do you want some breakfast? I'm not that great of a cook, but there is a place down the street which makes the best English Breakfast you've ever had."

"Sounds good. Maybe later, but now could you point me to the loo?"

"It's just around the corner, come, I'll show you."

John rose to his feet. He was in his boxers. He contemplated putting on his trousers but he looked decent enough, and she had already seen him in his underwear, so he followed her out of the bedroom. Her flat was small and crowded, full of soft things in pinks, purples, and oranges.

Harry's head rose up from an orange throw pillow, and her eyes widened as she watched them exiting the bedroom together. "Good Morning, Harry," John said hoping to convey with his voice that it would be best if she refrained from scathing remarks at least until they were alone. She rolled her eyes and dropped back on the couch her fingers folding together in what they used to call the sign of the rose. Their signal that this was 'subrosa' and not to be discussed outside of family. John sighed thinking of what he'd have to say to convince Harry that nothing had happened. He went back to the bedroom to get dressed. Luckily Harry was ready to leave by the time that he had found his watch and placed his rolled suit in his bag.

Phoebe was right about the breakfast shop. It was quite good, and the locals knew it, crowding into the restaurant so that there was hardly a table unfilled. Harry eyed the two of them suspiciously, but thankfully, she kept her mouth shut. John supposed that she had gained a bit of discretion after dozens of awkward morning-afters. He was thankful for that, but he still found it hard to keep her gaze. He turned away, and that's when he saw the men in uniform. He wasn't sure, but he thought that he recognized one from a case that had involved a group of servicemen on leave in London, Collin was it? Yes. He rose to his feet and walked over to talk to the man. Collin greeted him warmly.

"We just stopped for a bite. Before going back"

"Who's in charge there now? McMurphy?"

"Yeah, but he's up at headquarters now, so the commander is Colonel Heart."

"Joseph Heart? He made colonel? Oh, I would so love to see him."

"We've plenty of room in the truck, if you want to come back with us."

"I'd love to, but you're on duty. I wouldn't want to violate any regs."

"We're not really on duty until we get back. Besides, I can't see the Colonel getting upset when we are bringing an old friend to visit."

"Well, if you're sure. Would it be alright if my sister tagged along?"

"As long as she doesn't mind being couped up in a cab with some smelly old soldiers."

"Hey! I'm the only one here that has a right to be called an old soldier."

"Well you know what they say. There are old soldiers, and bold soldiers, but there are no old bold soldiers."

They laughed at the joke as if they hadn't heard it a dozen times, then after a much briefer kiss goodbye from Phoebe, they were off to Marine headquarters to meet John's old friend.

They let Harry out in town before they drove up. John promised to call, but she waved him off, saying that she planned to act a proper tourist and look around. John jumped off of the truck at the gate and let it pass. He walked into the front door and showed his credentials. It wasn't long before a deep voice bellowed out his name. "Watson! It's been a long time since you were in these parts."

"Heart!" John said turning to clasp the hand of the tall dark-skinned officer, "Colonel is it now? That's a step up."

"Well, they say the cream rises to the top."

"As does the scum."

They both laughed heartily before he showed him into his office. A neat room with green walls, red curtains, and a pale wooden desk with pictures of a black woman and two young girls.

"So, Watson, what brings you out here? I thought that you were some kind of hot shot detective in London now. Is there a case?"

"No, no case. I'm just on vacation and I decided to look up an old friend."

"Well, I'm glad to see you. Last time I saw you was before the attack. Bad bit of business that. I heard that you were injured. All in order now?"

"Pretty much, pretty much. I'm doing well. And you? How did you get back here. I thought you be the last person to take a home assignment."

"Well, greater men than I decided that we were pulling out, so ...here I am."

"Well, my condolences."

Heart smiled. "My wife has been over the moon to have me back home so much, and it's been great fun seeing my girls, but I can't help missing it."

"Yeah, it sort of gets under your skin after a while. I even miss the bloody sun."

"And the sand."

"That's one thing I don't miss. I was home six months before I got the last of the sand out of my socks. So how is it going down there these days?"

Heart glanced at the door to make sure that it was closed, and then lowed his voice a bit, "This pullout has been a bit of a disaster if you ask me. There was a bit of stability when we were holding the place. Now, since the pull out began, there have been killings everywhere. People are taking the opportunity to get revenge for every slight up to twenty generations back. You'd think that those upper-crust prats who run things would have taken a class in history. An art school drop out would do a better job than most of the generals they have running us these days, and I don't mean any disrespects to art school students when I say that."

John laughed and sat back in his chair. "So what are they planning to do now?"

Heart leaned forward in his chair, "Now don't tell anyone I told you, but the rumor is that we'll be going back soon, and in larger forces. Problem is, no one understands the situation has changed. They aren't the same people who were there before. Most of those who could got out long ago. Pardon me for saying it, but those fools in charge don't know what the hell they're doing. They think they can take a town or a city and the local people will run out in the streets throwing flowers thanking us for liberating them like it's the second world war! More likely they'll come out throwing bombs."

"So you really think their will be a redeployment. Will you go?"

"Of course, that is once they make up their minds. They are sending in advisors in now. I've seen more than thirty go down in the last six months."

"Advisors? Do you think it will do any good?"

"Not if the ones that I've seen are any indication. Green blokes straight from university with no field experience."

"They need more men who've been there. Who know what it's like," John said.

"That's exactly what I've been saying all along. But really John, have you ever considered re-enlisting?"

"You know I'm too old."

"Too old to go in as a soldier, yes, but advisors have different requirements and we're desperately in need of experienced men, especially doctors."

John's eyes brightened for a moment as he considered it. "No, I don't think so. I'm not the young man I was."

"We don't need more young men. We've plenty of them. We need people with wisdom and experience. People who can keep their heads in tense situations. I probably shouldn't be mentioning this, and this shouldn't leave this room, but morale on the front lines is awful. In places like Marjah, sanity is at an all time low."

"Marjah? do we even have people stationed there?"

"Officially no, but there are quite a lot of us still there nonetheless. The mental hospitals in Kabul are bursting with people, so we keep some of the soldiers at their stations rather than bring them back here. It's beginning to be a crisis. We need people who understand what it's like in battle. You could do a lot of good there."

"Me? I'm not a psychiatrist. Hell, I'm not even fully over my own PTSD!"

"But that's exactly what we need! If there is one thing that this war is missing, it's empathy. We don't empathize with the Afghanis. They don't empathize with us, and the God knows what the Americans are thinking. The war is just 'an eye for an eye for an eye' with no end in sight, and if we don't have a few sane people out there, more than one country will end up suffering."

"Well, I'll consider it," John said rising to his feet.

"Make sure you do. And if you decide that you're interested, you know how to reach me."

John nodded. "And if you ever want to reach me..."

"I'll keep an eye on the newspapers."

John smiled, "And if that doesn't work for you, my email is on the blog. I must be going. It's been really good seeing you, Heart."

"Watson."

John stuck out a hand and Heart shook it, then John saluted, and he saluted back. John then turned heel sharply and left the office. He eventually found Harry flirting with a young woman behind the counter at a camera shop.

"Come on, Harry. We've got a train to catch."

"To where?"

"I want to visit Mum."

Harry stopped leaning on the counter and after saying a quick goodbye to the woman they left.

The sun was less than an hour from setting when they arrived at the churchyard. The sky was stunning blue with wispy cirrus clouds passing overhead, and the grass was green despite the season. Harry breathed in the cold, crisp air relaxing fully for the first time since the trip had begun. John on the other hand was stiffer. He marched ahead of her with a military gait as he headed toward a tall oak tree. Beside the tree was a gravestone that read Emily Watson, Loving Mother.

Harry bent down and put the flowers on the grave. "Hello Mum," she said. "I came by to see you again. Look, John's here too. Finally got off his bum and came to visit."

"Don't use that kind of language. We're in a graveyard!"

"You talk to Mum the way you want, and I'll talk the way I want. Honestly John, can't we even stop arguing at mum's grave?"

"If we did stop arguing, she wouldn't recognize us." John said and then he cracked a smile. Harry smiled too.

"I hate graveyards," John said. "I have too many friends here."

Harry looked up at her brother. "What happened to the stone?"

"What stone?"

"The tombstone, for Sherlock Holmes. Is it still there?"

John looked down at her. "I don't know. I never went back ...after..."

"Where do you want to be buried, John?"

"What?" John said, "Where did this come from?"

"I thought about it when mom died. When I die, I wanted to be buried here, near mom, but I didn't know about you. I didn't know if you wanted to be buried here, or in the veteran's section? Or perhaps near your friend...or something."

"I never really thought of it before," John said. "I suppose that I want to be near those that I love."

That's right. you'll want to be buried with Mary. Will they take your body to Australia? I don't think I'd like that. Too far away."

"Is that why you asked about the stone? To see if I wanted to be buried near Sherlock?"

"Well, do you?"

"I didn't like his grave. It was so lonely. I never thought about it before, but I should have noticed how odd it was to be buried so far from the rest of his family. I'd have thought...Mycroft must have his own spot picked out by now. He seems the type. Probably a place with a monument. But Sherlock wouldn't want a fancy grave, I don't think. And I wouldn't want him to lie alone... without me."

"So ...not the veteran's section?"

"I thought it would be so easy," John said. "I'd serve my term, come home, Marry, have two kids and a dog. Live a long life. Die in bed. I never ever thought that I might want something different for my life. Mycroft Holmes told me that I missed the war. That I loved the excitement, and he was right to an extent, but it isn't war that I crave. War is messy, uncomfortable, and unfair. People who should live die, and people who should die, live. I don't want to go back to that mess. I love my life here too much.

"But it does remind me. During the war, it was never about me. I was always there for my country, or to help the bloke whose legs were blown off to keep from dying. I never had a chance to think about what I wanted. I used to think that was a bad thing, but now I think that's what I've been missing these last few years.

"When I met Sherlock, it took me completely out of myself. The selfish git was always wanting things from me, tea, praise, someone to save his life. It wasn't until he was gone that I thought about what I wanted, what I needed. I thought I knew. But I was just being selfish. I guess I can't escape the Watson curse. None of us have been that good at staying married. I thought that I would be the one that would escape that fate."

"Is it really that bad? Are you and Mary going to break up?"

"I don't know what Mary thinks now. I just walked away, and now I don't know if she'll take me back again."

"Is she alive?"

"Of course she is."

"Then she'll take you back. John, you must know that she is completely in love with you."

John fell to his knees then. He sat in the cold grass looking over at the stone.

"John, you aren't like Dad."

"Aren't I?

"No. Mum and Dad had their own problems that had nothing to do with us."

"Are you honestly saying that their divorce had nothing to do with your starting drinking?"

"I'm not talking about me now, I'm talking about you. You were always the one who held this family together, John. You watched out for us, and when we got too bad, you made sure that we got cleaned up. You took on responsibility at a much younger age than you should have, and instead of helping you, I ran off and got into my own messes that I expected you to save me from. Now, I'm finally able to help you a little, and I tell you that neither Mary nor Sherlock Holmes will ever leave you if you ask them to stay. Go home, John. It's almost Christmas. Go home."

John lifted his head and looked into his sister's eyes. She walked over to him and held out her hand. He took it, and she pulled him to his feet, then they walked slowly back as the last rays of the sun turned the clouds into brilliant orange curlicues.