Mycroft sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I did it for your own good, Sherlock. What use is worrying about him when you can't do anything?"
"Can't /you/ do something?!" he insisted, voice reverting back to almost a beg, "Please, Mycroft? Can't you get the troops brought home, or something?"
Mycroft sighed deeply. "No, I cannot, Sherlock. I am not the Minister of Defence. And it was John's choice, not mine." He cleared his throat and typed in the overruling password. "I cannot help you, Sherlock. I'm sorry."
"Well then, I cannot help you either, Mycroft. Expect to pay government intelligence to investigate any suspicious affairs for you, from now on." With that, he hung up again, pacing the floor and chewing on his nails. Was it always going to be like this? Why didn't John understand that he was needed here in London?!
Mycroft stared at the phone, the dull tone sounding from it mocking him. "Right," he mumbled, putting it away from him so he could continue his other tasks.
The detective-to-be sat down on his sofa, roughly upsetting his already messy hair. It wasn't fair! Didn't John see how he felt? They'd been friends for longer than either could remember. What had been the point of all the food fights, the bike rides through the country, the hours sat close while Sherlock read aloud and John listened until they both fell asleep, if all that was to become of it was pain and misery?
In Afghanistan, John surveyed the wounded in his small hospital. The fight was over, but so, so many had been hurt, or killed. He shivered and took some time to take a deep breath, before getting to work on helping his comrades as well as he could.
It was well past midnight when he fell down on his bunkbed, staring at his laptop. Sherlock might be online... He opened the lid of the laptop and checked for connection, sighing in relief when he had two bars. Not enough for a video chat, but enough for a normal chat.
'Hey Sherlock.'
"John! I was so worried. Are you alright? Please tell me that you are!" His voice was strained, like he had not done anything but worry in ages, and sleeping was out of the question.
John sighed soflty and said, "Yes, Sherlock, I'm fine. There was no need to wo-"
"Dammit!" Sherlock snarled, hitting the table in frustration. That needed to stop happening! He would happily /pay/ for a new line of internet out near John's camp, had it been allowed.
John rubbed his eyes and wished he could sleep. But he also knew that Sherlock would be worried even more, so he tried to get the connection back, though he resorted to typing now, that would put less strain on the connection.
Sorry about that, John typed, Keeps happening. But I am fine, if exhausted. How are you? J
I'm alright, John. You should get some rest. When is your next fortnight of leave? - SH
I will, soon. My leave will be soon, I hope, it has been three months since. I'll ask my senior officer, I'll let you know. Depends on the situation, of course. J
That's what you always say. Make it soon. I…miss you. - SH
I'll do my best, Lockie. Try not to worry too much about me, okay? I'm fine. J
Just keep safe, John, whatever you do. I'm always going to worry, you know that. - SH
Yes, I know you will. I just wish you wouldn't. J
I had a nightmare last night. I don't know why I'm telling you this, though. - SH
John nervously licked his lips and then ran a hand over his face. He really wanted to go to sleep, but he couldn't cut this off.
Tell me? J
Maybe later. You need rest – I just realised what the time must be there. Go to sleep, John. - SH
You're probably right, yes. Will you tell me later? Or you can email me, perhaps? I'll read it as soon as I can. J
Sure. I'll email you. Sleep well. - SH
Good night, Sherlock. J
With a soft sigh, John waited for the reply that didn't come anymore, so he closed Skype and turned his laptop off. Time to sleep.
When Sherlock was sure that John was asleep, the twenty-three year-old started typing up his email.
It was an odd nightmare. But they're all odd, aren't they? It was a dream about the two of us, having a sleepover like we used to during high school. When I woke up at dawn, you weren't there, so I went looking for you – I was running down every single corridor in my house, and I could hear your voice sometimes, but I could never see you. Then I heard a gunshot…and it was night again, and I couldn't hear you anymore. That's when I woke up. It was scary. SH
When John woke up the next morning, he tried to make connection to the internet, but constantly failed. It was a week later - a week with many deaths on the road, several trips to villages to patch local people up, and failing internet - that John was finally able to get internet again, and reading Sherlock's email was the first thing he did.
It was dark again, and cold, when John made connection to Skype. He had had emails from his mother and Harry and some other friends to reply, and was now eager to talk to Sherlock. All he had to do was for Sherlock to accept the call.
"John," Sherlock answered after a bit, voice a little tired. He was happy, yes, that John was alright, but he was worried all the same. He had been stressing out this whole week, and he knew that a few calls a month would do very little to quell the constant fear inside of him. Uni wasn't helping, and the better his marks, the worse the bullying. It was as if they were still in high school. Sherlock had fixed that by smoking, but John had forced him to stop, and now the brunette was tempted to return to his old ways. Who was there to stop him, anyway?
The happiness of being able to talk to Sherlock was quashed when he heard Sherlock's voice. Sure, his heart jumped a bit when he heard that wonderful baritone, but the sadness and exhaustion that fell out of that one word made John wonder - not for the first time, mind - if he had made the right decision. Sure, he loved his job, but the strain it placed on his best friend wasn't worth all this. "Hey," John said, shifting a bit to get more comfortable. "How are you?"
"I'm very well, thank you," Sherlock answered, lifting his tone to forcibly sound happier. "And how are you? I expect you couldn't call because of the internet. That's alright, though. I sent you a couple of books via post – I found your location by hacking into Mycroft's system. They should arrive tomorrow morning, and you'll be sure it's mine, because I drew a little smiley under my initials," the young man said, laughing a little at himself.
John laughed too, grateful to have a friend like Sherlock. "That's great, Lockie, thank you. I'm looking forward to it already." He kept smiling, imagining how Sherlock would look like right now. "And yes, it was that blasted internet. They tried to fix it, but we only have power for one evening a week. I'm sorry." He closed his eyes and pictured his friend, all long pale limbs and black curls.
"Not your fault," Sherlock said softly in response. "Mike said to say hi by the way. It's the flu season back here, so he's working overtime and didn't get to write." John's laugh was like a precious commodity to Sherlock, half way across the world, and he treasured the sound.
"Oh, the poor sod," John said, still smiling. "I really don't envy him. But what are you up to these days?"
"Not much," Sherlock answered quickly, "just working on assignments. But I'm assisting the Yard more often now – the new DI actually appears to be agreeable. I've closed about eight cases in this fortnight alone, so I think he's starting to admit that I could be of some use."
John hummed softly, "Well, of course he does, that's what I keep saying. You are brilliant." He fell silent a bit, staring at the little picture of Sherlock on his screen. "So, you keep busy, then?"
"I'm getting by. That's all that matters, isn't it?" he responded softly, changing the subject. "Anyway, do you know what your next mission is, yet?" Sherlock asked with a smile, "Town to conquer, base to capture?"
John began to grin. "Actually, now that you mention it, yes, I do know what my next mission is going to be."
"Really?" Sherlock said, "What is it? Hopefully I can keep tabs on you."
"Well, my sergeant said that I had to go on a plane, fly to London, and give my best friend a bone crushing hug." He waited in silence for the penny to drop.
For a whole minute, Sherlock just sat there, stunned into silence. Finally, a small, disbelieving voice murmured, "You're joking…John?! Really?" The tone changed from one of shocked meekness to one of uncontrolled excitement. "No way! Where? When? What time?"
John laughed happily at Sherlock's excitement. That's how he knew him. "Erm, I don't know the exact time, but it will probably be three days from now, landing at Heathrow." He just kept grinning all the way through, though he was also wondering why he was so extremely happy to see Sherlock again. "It'd be for two weeks, as usual, but I don't have exact details yet."
"Doesn't matter! Three days from now, you said? Gosh, there's so much to do – I need to clean up the flat, and go pick up those jam doughnutty-things you like…and…there's so little time!" The clinks and shuffling of paper and other objects could already be heard as an ecstatic, elated Sherlock Holmes began sorting and cleaning excitedly around the flat.
John actually giggled. "You're an idiot, Sherlock," he told him, though his voice was fond. "You really are. One would think your girlfriend would be coming over. It's just me, 'member?"
Sherlock made a disgusted noise at the mention of the word girlfriend. "I can assure you that if I had one – which I do not – and if she were to come over – which I would not allow – I would not be as overjoyed as I am today. You're my best friend, John!"
John bit his lip. His heart shouldn't flip over at that as it did. "And you're mine, Lockie, I can't wait to be back and see everyone again. When I know more, I'll let you know somehow. And if not, just ask Mycr-"
"A simple password should do it," the brunette muttered, interrupting before his insufferable brother's name could be mentioned. "I'll consult his system. If not, I don't mind waiting at the airport all day. You're worth it."
John's cheeks heated up and he had to clear his throat to be able to reply properly. "Thank you, Sherlock, I'm... flattered that you think so." He sighed softly and rubbed his eyes and his aching head. "I'd better go to sleep now, then. Sorry, but today was…exhausting to say the least."
"Alright, Johnny. Sleep well, and I'll see you soon! Really see you!" Sherlock added in a slightly more excited pitch. Realise how childish he sounded, he chuckled and apologised. "Sorry. I'm just really happy that you're coming home. Sweet dreams, and goodnight."
John laughed softly, said it was fine - because it was - and ended the call. He'd be in London in three days. And he'd see Sherlock again. And it was that last thought that made him fall asleep with a grin on his face.