Some semblance of a routine developed from there, with neither of them overtly stating their interest, nor denying it. John in particular found comfort in this, in that he didn't have to keep confronting the new aspects of himself that were semi-continuously hovering on the fringes.

After a lifetime of hiding what he was, he was having difficulty going through with acting upon this new desire. Big surprise.

xxxxxxx

Sherlock for his part was also hesitant to act upon what seemed, somewhat, readily on offer from his flatmate. Yes he did have a few more spectacular moments of sexual revelation, reviewing his exact mental calculations that placed John's hands in his mind palace, but Sherlock felt he needed to help his friend to begin to move on from the wounds of his past, before they could try to become something more.

To do this he had to do the absolute worst thing imaginable. He had to ask for help. From Mycroft. There was nothing more on this earth, he could do to prove, to himself, or anyone else, the importance of his blogger.

After an excruciating conversation, Mycroft demanded they have face to face, which, of course, he felt he couldn't tell John. So Sherlock used a cover-story that he was at St. Barts instead. After a long silent conversation consisting of, a few eyebrow raises, and a ruddy stain alternatingly on both their cheekbones, Sherlock is reluctantly given the security clearance he needs and twenty minutes alone on Anthea's machine.

He is lead to (unfortunately) a flawless military record that ends in KIA. Frustrated he wonders how he can summon up a dead woman to extinguish the hold she has on John's psyche. Stalled for a milli second he realises that sentiment may have saved him this time and he sets about recording the contact info for anyone who would have known John on that night of all fateful nights. With his fistful of information he sets out to assuage John the only way he can, proof.

Settling into Speedy's with a coffee he types out the same form message to all of the people on the list:

To whom it may concern,

I am writing you on the behalf of John Hamish Watson MD, who is a good friend. The good doctor has been going through a rough patch lately (what with the recent nuptial fiasco) and I hope to extend a hand to those who surrounded him, the last time life gave him such trials, to gain wisdom in how to aid him once again.

Thankfully yours,

Sherlock Holmes

PS-Please do not (if you are regular contact with John) talk to him about this, I know he would not agree with me airing his woes so, but I'm certain one of you will know something that'll help.

xxxxxx

And he did not have to wait long! He was scaling the steps to his flat when his email alert dinged and it went again before he even got his coat off.

"Well your a popular fellow today, aren't you?" John says with a smirk from behind his paper. Shifting a bit he flicks one corner down with his forefinger and smiles up at the detective, "Did you have fun at Bart's?"

Realising he should play his obvious irritation, with the mobile, off a bit; Sherlock flounces over to the sofa and collapses in a heap, "No! I wasn't there for more than five minutes when a supervisor for the hospital came by and started to fuss about. I ignored her till she started yelling at Molly for all the missing bits and random strangers in the lab. Which I realised was a backhanded way of yelling at me, so I took HER to task." His eyes glazing over as he imagines what he would have said if he had run into Molly's boss, "Yes... I suppose that bit was fun, if time consuming!" His focus coming suddenly back onto John, "What about you? Get up to anything other than stumping about?"

John looks briefly heavenward, as if to implore God Himself, for patients with his irritating flatmate. "Nope, I didn't do much, just had some tea and read the paper." With that he flicks the corner of said paper back up and turns to a new page.

Sherlock smiles, confidant that John would be ignoring him now; pulls out his mobile, quickly sets it to silent and opens his email. There are already three messages waiting for him from the list the first two from Bill Murray and Major Sholto. The third Sherlock scans and deletes outright as a form of extreme sentiment that merely wishes John well in an insipid manner one expects from an elderly relation, not a brother in arms.

From Major Sholto:

Assisting Capitain Watson

I'm not sure I can be of much help Mr. Holmes, Captain John Watson and I had a professional relationship and I'm fairly sure you would know better how to help him.

Though in the past I have seen the strictures of military life comfort those who are temporarily rudderless. And John responds well to these things, which I saw when I visited him in hospital at Camp Bastion. He was extreamly distraught after our ill-fated rescue EVAC from FOB Gibraltar, but even just the arrival of his C.O. seemed to bring him back to us a bit.

So this is my advice; make sure he sticks to his daily routine and make sure you don't leave him alone. Servicemen and women are prone to falling into black moods if they dwell on a concern too long. John IS one such man, no matter what you think.

Major James Sholto

The letter from Sholto wasn't very surprising, only a blind fool wouldn't realise that routine was comforting to a lot of people - in all walks of life. But maybe there is a more developed meaning hovering behind the ill concealed sentiment (he went to see John in hospital enough times to realise he was having a positive effect). Looking, out of the corner of his eye, towards John randomly rustling his newspaper, Sherlock analyses his flatmate. John already has very ingrained patterns that rule his everyday life, but they have pretty much all been abandoned since he broke his foot.

John hasn't been able to cook, hasn't been able to tidy, like he likes to, he hasn't even been able to bathe as often as he normally would. No opportunity to even go for a walk or exercise, and given the various runs John endures to counter the food he likes to eat, 'keeping those curves from showing up,' filters though his mind's eye in sudden clarity; there is a lot in John's routine that has fallen away.

Putting that aside for his brain to sort through he moves on to read the mail from Murray:

Helping John

Not sure how much help I can be mate, when John got shot I spent a good amount of my time cursing his arse for trying to retrieve 'just one more' lad from the 'no go' zone.

Then cussing him out more when he flatlined on my in the med vac.

So maybe not my approach ;)

Though what generally gets 3-Continents in a good mood is chasin' skirts. Not sure that' something you can help with, John's never mentioned.

Basics ('cause I've seen your website mate) are to listen to him, find something relatable about the situation and bolster his confidence.

In this case you can start w. a quote from Bill: That blond harpy is mad for leaving you, her loss! I know she'll be grumpier missing out on 'the show'. I know I could hear it most nights in Kandahar, 'cause the walls were canvass Watson, CANVASS! *in a simpering voice* 'Oh, oh, OH Dr. WATSON!'

Cheers Murray

PS - Still worried, shoot me another MSG and I'll invite you both down for a weekend. Then we can sort him out right proper.

His disgust at the manner in which Murray chose to end the missive evident in his sneered lip, Sherlock all but ignores the rest of the content. He certainly won't be taking the eminently unusual personage of John Watson out on the pull! Definitely not, he was above the normal herd they would find in random pubs.

Though Sherlock might take Murray up on the idea of having him invite John for a visit. Getting him out of the busy city and into a house-hold where everyone was already in a relationship would be ideal. Feeling a bit smug on that count Sherlock uncoils from the sofa and strides into the kitchen. Throwing, "Can I get you a tea John?" over his shoulder as he goes.

"Hmm, oh yes," quickly checking his watch Sherlock notes John smiles, "please, I'd love a cupa, and if you'd be so dear as to bring over my meds as well, I've got a bit of a twinge after dragging myself about all day."

His own internal clock making itself known he shakes his head, curls bouncing in his frustration, "You've been skipping doses while I'm out, that is the hight of idiocy, John." Quickly grabbing all the capsules his silly doctor needs he fills the tray with tea things and rounds on his, still smiling, flatmate. Who, having folded up his paper and put it away, is staring into the middle distance, seemingly testing the strength of his foot, "It's fine to do that Sherlock, I have to ween myself off them, and the sooner the better."

Settling into his seat, the tray on the small table beside John he nods, "Just be sure your not cutting it too close, pain will stunt your healing more than a mild addiction to pain killers will!"

With that, John smiles a touch and tosses the pills back with a flick of his wrist and takes up his cup. So they both fall into contemplative silence sipping at their tea, just enjoying being together in their sitting room without bustle or rush.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sorry it has taken me so long to get this chapter up, while I'm not a Luddite, figuring out how to write emails FROM fictional people TO fictional people and have a pic of it I can drop in my story file, was a touch out of my wheel house! Not to mention creating personalities and expressions for each of the contacts Sherlock writes in this chapter and the fact that FF won't LET me drop in images STILL... Oh God. Next chapter will be more letters and discovery so don't be surprised if it too takes a bit. This shit isn't easy. And if you want to see the pics head over to Ao3, same username and check it out ;)