Okay, after a *major* wobble of confidence yesterday, I decided to go with what I had already. I hope you like it. Please be gentle. This is proving to be quite an odyssey!

He had been watching John sleep for a long time, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, the barely perceptible flare of his nostrils, the tender shiver of those long eyelashes. So beautiful. But his heart was breaking. And as soon as John opened his eyes, blinking away sleep, he saw it in Sherlock's face.

John stared up at him for what seemed like forever, while Sherlock wondered what he was going to say, what excuses he would make, how he would account for the lie.

'You know,' he murmured eventually.

Sherlock nodded.

'I wondered how long it would take you to work it out.'

Sherlock just stared down at him, his cheeks burning. He felt sick. He realised he was waiting for something more.

'I'm sorry.'

'Yes.' And then Sherlock went on, 'You should have told me.'

'I gave my word.'

Of course. Sherlock should have known. It was an army thing. He sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, turned his back to the man who had become the centre of his universe. He was shaking. Oh, the green eyed monster, he thought with an inward groan.

'You could have told me.'

'I promised, Sherlock. What happens in country, stays in country.'

'I wouldn't have told anybody.'

'That's not the point.' He laid a hand on Sherlock's arm, so tenderly that the detective could barely stop himself from screaming. He shot to his feet, paced about, then finally came to a rest by the door, his back to John, unable to look at him. He rested his head against the cool of the wall, trying to think rationally.

'Of course,' he managed, starting to feel vicious. 'I should have realised. How could you be so good otherwise? Basra, was it? How many times? How many where there? One? A dozen? The whole bloody battalion?'

'Sherlock, for God's sake!'

'You lied to me, John!'

'No, I never lied. You never asked. You assumed. You assumed that just because it was the first time with a man for you, it was the first time for me too!'

Sherlock stifled a sob.

'Look, it was just one affair, and it didn't mean anything. You don't know what it's like. Your body does things when you are under fire, things you could never imagine doing otherwise. We were three days and nights being shelled continuously – you can't imagine what that does to a man, Sherlock. The terror. The fever, the roaring desire to live. It's like a wildfire, there's nothing you can do to stop it! You cling to whoever is nearest, but what you're really doing is clinging onto life. Life, Sherlock!'

Sherlock pressed his head to the wall so hard he could feel it bruising.

'I need-' The room was spinning. Then his memory threw him a lifeline. Words his flatmate always used when they argued, when Sherlock knew he was being insufferable. It was cruel to turn them back on John, but he didn't know how else to escape. He scrabbled up his clothes. 'I need some air.'