John's P.O.V.

I sat there, staring blankly at the Tv. It was a really good thing I hadn't gone. There was no way in hell I could've gotten out of there in time. In fact I'm not sure Sherlock got out of there.

"So far into the search of the central trading tower, they have found no survivors. Sixty-eight people lay dead from the explosion path. Only two people survived, both practically non-injured. The two are Detective Inspeter Lestrade and semi famous Sherlock Holmes. Both are being taken in to be checked for radiation poison and mental trama. We also hope to question them for information on the fire ball. Between our London's emergency force and our military force, the Americans are sending over 200 troups to help mo..." the reporter announced.

I cut her off mid sentence, not really caring if the Americans were about to go and start World War III. Sherlock was okay and that's all that mattered. Leaning back, I frowned and the words Sherlock had told me earlier. I still hadn't figured it out.

"Your life isn't your own so keep your hands off it." I muttered the words he had told me.

How was my life not my own? It didn't make sense. I sighed, a sense of realization coming over me. He wasn't saying that it wasn't my own life, but that I wouldn't be the one affected by my death. I'd be dead. That's all that would happen. But others, the ones who cared about me, would have to deal with so much.

I turned the television back on just in time to see Lestrade being questioned. Behind him stood Sherlock, who looked extremely uncomfortable with how many cameras were pointing at him. Lestrade wasn't much better though. His body was stiff, and both men were in rough shape, clothes slightly burned and cuts where flying metal and debri had been thrown at them from the explosion.

"Detective Inspector, what exactly happened back there at the tunnel?" a man with a small, yet shaggy, mustache asked.

"Well there was an explosion from the..." he started to say when a woman interrupted him.

The woman had dark, shoulder length, brown hair. She held herself sharply, and was very disturbing. One eye a deep blue and the other was steel grey. It gave her a nerve pinching look. Someone you wouldn't readily want to mess with.

"Yes, yes," she scoffed, "we know that. But what else happened there? What caused us the explosion? Why was it a ball of rolling fire? Why were you there in the first place? Please don't waste our time on piddle paddle."

Sherlock's eyes lit up with fury and I shrank back in my seat, glad I wasn't there. If Sherlock was scary through a telie, I'd hate to see what he was like in real life.

"Mam, we have narrowly escaped with our lives only a mere 45 minutes ago. We are both slightly in shock and have no want or use for your attitude. So I ask you to kindly back off or leave," Sherlock's words rolled off his tounge like they were venomous. "Now. We are not answering anymore questions about the fireball. If there is anything else please speak up now."

The man with beard spoke again. "Yes. What were you doing there? Out of pure curiosity," the man asked, clearly no desire of harm or hatred in his voice.

Sherlock regarded him closely. "Trying to catch a terrorist cell. That's the last question and we're done here."

Lestrade opened his mouth, looked at the consulting detective, and closed it again. Both walked out of the room and the main reporter popped back up.

"Now, with some footage of the explosion," she said calmly.

I started to shake as soon as I watched the short twenty second video. I was suddenly terrified. Closing my eyes, I was back in Afghanistan, bombs exploding all around me. I heard an RPG go off and turned my head towards the landing place. I looked back towards the low bunker, where everyone was hiding. I heard the low sound of a rifle. A sniper rifle. I felt the bullet go through my shoulder, and slowly I hit the ground...

Sherlock's P.O.V.

I was enraged when that woman inturupted Lestrade. She wasn't only rude, but unsettling too. Something about her was suspicious. I didn't like it one bit.

We were released from the hospital as soon as the reports for radiation poisoning came back clear. Lestrade had a bandage around his head, and I had one on my right forearm. Our clothes were singed and smelled of smoke, but other than that, we were in excellent condition. We shook hands and he headed off towards the police department. I headed back to my flat to get some fresh clothing and then headed back to John's.

I ran up the front steps, and used the key I had snatched a while back to open the locked door. John was sitting in his wheelchair, twitching. The Tv was on a channel explaining the explosion. I quickly switched it off, and turned to John, who still sat twitching violently and soft tears on his cheeks. Touching his shoulder, his eyes tore open and he bolted. Well he tried to bolt. He merely fell out of the chair and I barely caught him. Tears were still falling and I wiped them away softly.

"John? John can you hear me? Is everything okay?" I questioned softly.

"It hurts," was all he said. "Just make the pain go away Coburn. Just make it all go away."

Coburn. That had been the man who had died in battle for John when he was shot. He must've seen the explosion and had a relaspe. Now he thought he was still in the war, bombs exploding, guns firing, men shouting.

I had no clue what to do. When he had nightmares of the war I knew ice often helped, along with raw rice. But a relapse was different. What would help him here?

My phone rang and I rolled my eyes at the caller I.D. Mycroft. Flipping it open, I answered annoyed.

"What?" I hissed.

The person on the other end was anyone, but my brother.

Hey everyone! I feel really bad for not updating. It's been a week. I've just been busy with life and math. Mostly math. Well thank you all for your support and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review!

Also, I finally finished season four, and for the sake of not wanting to re-write the entire story, will not be changing any of it.

Best Regards,

PFT221B