here we see a few insights into John's world. And a shout out to my RL Clara, you were strong for your partner for so long, this is my tribute to you WT!

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Seeing Clara had been nice, John had to admit she had always been a lot more tolerable than his sister herself, as well as Harry being nicer when Clara was in her life! With a snort he realises that they talked for several hours and really he shouldn't have been shocked when Sherlock came striding into the room, as though talking about him conjured him out of the aether.

Clara's eyes went comically wide and John could see she was just as taken with his flatmate as Adler had been. Sherlock glared down at him, no doubt assuming John was trying to get a leg over, or something of the sort.

"Who is this?" not waiting for John to respond, "Take your meds your..." looks at the tray Mrs. Hudson left them, "two hours over due in taking them, if that tea tray is anything to go by." Settling into lecture mode now Sherlock shucks his scarf and jacket throwing them over the chair behind the door and struts off to his room.

John, who is laughing at Clara's face, almost chokes when she blinks a few times and then spits out, "Oh I see why your too busy for little old me! Wow he's something isn't he?"

"Hush Clara! He has an overblown opinion of himself as it is, please don't help it along, yeah?"

Clara, looking 16 again, pulls her feet up under herself on the settee and perches her chin onto her knees, giggling, "Yeah, well he would, wouldn't he, with that arse!"

John, blushing hotly buries his head in his hands, "For the love of god Clara, your supposed to be a lesbian!" comes out high-pitched and a bit plaintive.

Clara for her part doesn't take the reprimand the way John meant it at all! "I know! He's pretty enough to BE a woman." turning a bit and grabbing John's arm, her ginger hair swirling about her shoulders. "John, John, John... can we dress him in drag and take him 'round town? Please, please, please?!"

At this Sherlock comes swanning back out of the kitchen, and Clara gestures at him as if to say 'See, he even moves like a woman, you can't blame me!'

Sherlock for his part glares at her, "I will not be your little dress-up dolly, nor will I let you parade me around town for laughs. You are also missing that this idea clearly mortifies John, a person you seem to respect." Thumping a glass and John's meds down on the table in front of him, "What kind of friend are you?"

Clara smirks back at him and waits for what John said would happen. She is not disappointed, "Oh, how novel, your THAT Clara. You work as a suicide hotline therapist, have two cats, are completely estranged from your family, partially due to coming out when you were 17, partially due to the fact that your marriage, in their eyes, has failed. You think there is no way back together for you and John's sister, but you still hope. When the big fight happened - years ago now - that saw Harry packing her bags and leaving, it only happened because you refused to grovel and convince her to 'see that you could fix it together'. Instead, when she railed at how 'you constantly try to change her', that 'you knew what you were marrying into', and that 'she should just go because you'd be better off', you stayed silent..." Sherlock's quick gaze flits to John, as if to wonder if he was still telling Clara's story, or describing how their friendship would one day end.

Clearing his throat and making sure he's still on track he continues, "You are the one that ended it, even if Harry thinks she walked out," He watches carefully as Clara tilts her chin upright as if waiting for one more blow, "and you think that if she figures that out you two might have a chance." Looking at John to make sure he's not gone too far he sees a thread of disapproval in the crease over the bridge of John's nose. 'Bit not good then' "Your right of course, in your initial stance on the topic, which looked the opposite, but also in your thought that if she unties her own guilt over the whole thing she might be able to understand what actually happened, thus allowing her to move forward, possibly with you."

Silence hangs in the room for a long time, John has slid his hands down his face so only his mouth is covered as his eyes stare at his sister-in-law waiting for her to start yelling, but to his astonishment she is nodding slightly. Then she stands up and hugs Sherlock, who looks at John in alarm, "What is it about the people in your family not responding to my deductions in the accepted manner of telling me off?!"

John chuckles and leans back relaxing again, while Clara lets go and insistently puts herself into Sherlock's field of vision, "Sherlock, thank you for telling me all that, you were right about most of it and you've made me feel much better about what I did to Harry." With a quick gesture of the hand, pushing the air away as if to signal a stop, "I know it wasn't my fault, and Harry is in charge of her own illness, but I was the one who set the last bit in motion and I have often worried that I shouldn't have." The hand comes back to pat Sherlock's shoulder instead of another hug, "Thank you."

"Oh very good then," trying to weather the emotions being thrown at him Sherlock fixates on a point he can understand, "but what did I get wrong?"

Clara laughs, "I never came out officially, Harry and I were best friends for years before she slid her hand up my skirt, so to speak," she says, her eyes twinkling mischievously, "and my parents always thought we were lesbians. It was getting 'married', which they will always see, as sullying a religious covenant between man, woman, and God, that bothered them." With a soft slap on his arm she turns and flops down beside John again. "Then as you said I had the gall to further despoil the sanctity of said marriage by failing at it."

John smiles up at Sherlock, who is rolling his eyes and muttering 'always something,' under his breath. Clara looks at the two of them and truly sees in this moment that she is the only one who has all the facts. That she, as an outsider, sees what both of them have been blind to. Coming to a decision she inhales sharply to attract attention, "Well, John, you be a good boy and take your meds, Sherlock and I will pop off and get us something to eat, yeah?"

Sherlock recoils a bit, wondering 'why does she want time alone with ME?!' before his upbringing manages to assert a bit of power on him and his manners kick in... slightly, "I'm not much for food, but why don't we order delivery? We have some menus in the kitchen if you'd like to look at those."

John eyes the two of them suspiciously, "I'd prefer Thai tonight anyways and that's quite the walk to collect. Just Pad Thai for me please, but Sherlock you need to order something. I haven't been able to force you to eat this last week and you already look skinnier."

Clara stifles a chuckle in her hand and smoothly stands up, "Well where is the menu for the Thai place then?"

"This way." Sherlock murmurs as he leads her into the other room, knowing full well that with only the right half of the sliding doors open, and where the drawer they keep the menus in is will put them well out of John's field of vision. He pulls out the Thai menu and waits for her to start talking.

"I think your waiting for me to say something, aren't you."

A bit acerbically, "Well of course you are going to say something, otherwise you wouldn't have manufactured us to be alone."

Clara smiles, "I just want you to understand that John is not what he seems. I know he's a great person and all that, but he does have a hidden aspect of himself. As far as I know, only five or six people are aware of it and no matter how you find out you MUST be careful." She shakes a finger under the tall detective's nose, "You can NOT react poorly, you must be open and accommodating. Because if you find out by accident John will be mortified and if he tells you, he'll be opening up to you. Something I know he has NEVER willingly done!" The brandished finger starts stabbing him in the chest, "And if you hurt him over this I will haunt you forever, covering you in sappy kisses every minute of every day!"

Sherlock looks at the woman, only slightly shorter than him and takes a slow measured breath. What she describes sounds exactly like hell to him, but he's loath to admit it. Instead he steps back a bit, raises his head a fraction, regally, "Miss, you will find that I have the best of intentions toward my best friend and I think you will find I have ALREADY gone to great lengths to keep him from harm."

Clara ignores the frosty response, waiving it away, as if faking his death and disappearing for two years was no effort at all, "This is much harder to do Sherlock, because this is not an outside source. You," again with the stabbing fingers, "have to protect John from YOU. Do it or I'll have your hide."

Sherlock is about to make a sarcastic response when he looks at her all over again and is shocked silent by what he sees. She is afraid that Sherlock will turn on John, she is really afraid. And given this woman dealt with Harriet Watson's emotional abuse for over twenty years Sherlock finds it unsettling that she'd be afraid of anything, let alone him hurting his best friend John.

She watches as the information seems to sink into Sherlock, then, "I'll have a green curry." and passes the menu back before exiting back to sit beside John on the settee again. Sherlock calls the order in and then stands there staring at the breakfast nook accessing his mind palace in order to figure out what on earth the woman was talking about.

Flashback 2008:

John was on his third tour in Afghanistan and he was feeling pretty good about himself. When he started his periods just before his 13th birthday (good god, 25 years ago!) he was fairly certain he'd never feel this good, this in control of himself. But he survived the teen years, got contraception to mask his cycles (the last two decades he's had either an implant or an IUD) and so he has been able to pretend there is nothing unusual about him at all.

He lost his virginity, well half of it, when he was 15 to an older girl who was interested in teaching boys what they aught to be up to in the sexual arena. Under her strong tutelage he learned how to make the fairer sex writhe, all the while with a hidden goal.

When his older girlfriend (Chloe) showed him how simple it was to keep the focus on the woman, her pleasure, and how infrequently a woman finds a lover who will do that; John immediately realised that this would be his method of hiding his body's differences. He would be the ultimate giver in sex, heaping attention on the woman's body so she was far too overwhelmed to even think to explore John's body.

That's not to say he didn't have the occasional blow job, because that was too good to give up, he just waited in the relationships till the woman was interested in his needs and discomforts and just patiently explained to each woman that he didn't like anything more than the blow job, verging on, making him ill when suggestions were made.

To date this has worked and John has had 20 years of a very healthy sexual life. He has even earned the moniker 'Three Continents Watson' and most women in his camp look a little longingly after him once they have had a few bevies in down times.

Tonight 'Three Continents' has a date with a real hellion, a woman many of the platoon think is too much to handle and John wants to know if they are right. Lucky for him (or he wouldn't have a chance) she heard the same about him and is interested in seeing if the world will end or if it will stand still when they hook up!

Courtney was meeting up with him in the common area and they were going to go back to her bunk, which she had to herself, due to her rank, but the American soldier didn't care that John was just a captain. To his surprise she had a quantity of hard liquor in her bunk and she was keen to share.

The night was going swimmingly, Courtney came to four trembling climaxes where her limbs skittered and clutched at John while she restlessly moaned out her bliss. John was now resting on his back, trying to get his breath back and feeling more and more sucked under by the hooch Courtney was doling out.

Next thing he knows she's is on her knees (he may possibly have licked her out while she hung upside down over the edge of the bed last time) sucking him down and to John the feeling is indescribable. His half drunk mind is fully endorsing the ride while the tiny bit of 'sober John' is shouting in the background, 'She doesn't know the rules, you idiot! Stop her!'

Sure enough a tendril of dread snakes through his gut as her fingers begin to fondle the back of his ball sack, a place no fingers but his own have fondled before. "Courtney no," Came out just as her fingers slipped over and caught on the edge of his vagina. John blushes hotly and pulls away from her, sliding all the way up the bed to curl up with his legs covering the offending opening.

Courtney for her part doesn't say much, just crouches there for a few moments, frozen in the process of standing, then turns away. "You'd better be gittin' back to yer bunk Capt'n."

With a shaky, 'Yes sir." John does his army best to dress in record time and bolts to his bunk. He doesn't sleep a wink that night and is strung out on sleep deprivation and anxiety the next morning when her reports for duty. He's sure he's about to be dismissed back to his bunk when the call comes in: Medical EVAC needed, six wounded, four CRIT.

"Well Watson, whoever you were thrilling last night has just guaranteed your gonna relive your residency days." His S.O. claps him on the shoulder and passes him some caffeine pills. "Go stitch up our guys and try not to get so much sand in them this time!"

John groans internally, "Yes sir! I did request they vacuum all battle sites prior to the fire fight, but they still won't listen, sir." Every body is chuckling now, as they ready the MED-VAC kits, passing them off to runners so they are put in the chopper and John tosses back three of the pills and pockets the rest, 'This is turning out to be, not the best week after all.'

The next three and a half hours are filled with choppers, gunshots, shell fire and the screams of dying men and women. John does his best to brush past it as he works, his world highlighted in vivd shades of scarlet and black. John had just finished sewing up a deep thigh wound that he had poured an litre bottle of clean water through to make sure the wound was clean before packing and stitching him up for the trip back to base.

That made five CRITS, as one lass was hit closer to the femoral artery than initially thought. John swipes his forehead with the back of his hand as he hears the sharp crack of a Tabuk sniper rifle and he's thrown away from his last patient, falling heavily to the ground. Confused he tries to sit up, but as soon as he moves his left arm liquid fire grabs him, and his vision swims.

John raises a disturbingly steady right hand (was it even his? was it Bill's hand maybe?) to touch the fire racing through his body and when his hand comes away scarlet with his own blood John is jolted with the thought, 'bloody hell, sweat in my eyes saves my life, figures' and then he's pulled under.

End Flashback