Offerings To The Temple Of Mendacity

Howlynn

Chapter 13/36: Like a Soldier

Summary: John and Sherrinford bicker about past and present.

Chapter 13

Like a soldier

First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,

For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts -

Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts -

An' it's bad for the young British soldier.

Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .

When the cholera comes - as it will past a doubt -

Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,

For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,

An' it crumples the young British soldier.

Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . .

-The Young British Soldier by Rudyard Kipling

The words jolted John as if they had been said at the end of a whip. He braced himself on the doorframe and sagged. He stood silently except for his breath moving in and out in fury. He was trembling with bitterness by the time he could reply. "You are right. You always are. I don't remember. And it doesn't matter. It didn't matter then did it?" John turned and his eyes accused as his hands began unbuttoning his shirt.

Sherrinford watched, trying to figure out what John was doing now, lamenting his words already. "It does matter," he said low and cautious.

"Nope. I was dead then. I'm dead now." John dropped his trousers and his pants, stepping out and pulling off his socks. He stood naked; the scars on his body nothing to the scars in his eyes.

"You aren't dead. Why are you undressed?"

" You have demanded for years. So, why not? No reason to faff around about it. You want me? It's nothing. Couldn't respect a no." John spread his arms in a belligerent come- and-get-me fashion.

Sherrinford dropped his eyes to the floor and sighed heavily, "Not. Not like this, John."

John snickered and turned slightly in annoyed laughter, looking up at the ceiling, as if for guidance. " It was you. You even told me. Oh, now you're silent, is it? Didn't think I'd put it together, did you?" John grinned at him and shook his head. It was a painful expression and conveyed far more sorrow than if the man had broken down and wept. It was a smile of the ultimate betrayal and loss of will to fight.

Rat took a very deep breath analyzing his friend's seeming defeat and attempting to make some connection to his unfathomable actions. His voice was low and soft now, a whispered grumble acknowledging that he knew he was treading on very delicate ice, "What do you mean?"

John took one step forward and pointed at Ford. "I mean, I don't remember a damned thing about that night. But I do remember the next morning. So, you saved me, but it wasn't good enough for you to stick around…after. I'm a…no…I used to be a doctor. I learned a few things from your son. He seems to take after you a lot. So, take anything you want, my friend. I'm a worthless, dead hunk of rubbish to both of you." John flopped down on the bed and laced his fingers behind his head. He spoke to the ceiling, quiet, calm and without emotion. "Anything you want. And then you can send me off to kill my brother to save your son, because you can't do it, can you?"

"John, no. Please, stop. Let me explain…"

"Nothing to explain, Commander. Just do me a solid, if I don't die trying to fix this little mess, when you finish with me this round, at least treat me with the same kindness they offered. Make sure I'm all the way dead this time. Because if you don't, I'll find someone who will and I'd rather it be you."

Sherrinford sat on the bed next to John. He reached out to touch John, sprawled before him so full of beauty in his righteous anger. His hand hovered for a second then he thought better of it and rested it primly on his knee. "You're right. I don't think I can do it. I can't kill Tiger. I'm afraid, John. I don't even know my son. What if, I falter? What if I look into Seb's eyes and hesitate and it costs me my son? You were supposed to be dead right now. Do you realize that? I don't think he could do it. I think Seb failed, or at least has hesitated for an exceptional amount of time. Sherlock screwed up. Seb knows he survived. He has had opportunity, John. Hell, when you were in that park, you were wide open. He didn't have to do it himself, you see, he is no longer required to dirty his own hands if he chooses not to. Sherlock was acting with a desperation I have never seen, yet he has now changed tactics entirely. When we faked your suicide, I knew Sherlock's plan. It was not brilliant or survivable. But it probably would have worked. To protect you at least. But, I could never face my wife if I let it happen. I certainly couldn't stop him. I thought that if you did go with him, it would change his mind. But, the second he left that room alone, and I saw you standing in the rain, looking forever broken, I knew that I had to step in." He glanced at John, unsure how much John was putting together in his head.

"God, I hate you," John whispered.

"Yes, well, that's because you never quite seem to understand me."

"Would help if you didn't lie to me. Hard to understand someone who would save me in an alley and effectively take the same route and leave without a word. I knew I'd been with someone. That wasn't the only time it had occurred since he…after I thought he'd died because of me. Mycroft, intervened too, once…well his men did. Both of you knew Sherlock was alive. Both of you saw, where his death put me. But not one person had a second's pity."

"Don't be stupid. Of course I pitied you. How can you not know, after everything, how much I…regard you? It took me six weeks and two very good young men to track down the man who shot you. I watched you fall in love, twice, and I still came for you." Rat's brows were furrowed and his mouth pulled down in misery.

"And fucked me and left me to die again. Just like you always do. I always knew you couldn't love me, but I did think you and your bloody regard would have at least stopped you from…that." John blinked and coughed away tears.

"Oh, for God's sake, I didn't exactly rape you, John."

"Really? If that were true, you wouldn't have acted like a thief in the night. You would have been downstairs showing off on that damned violin of Sherlock's or nosing through my things and glowing with triumph and hoping for more. You would have stuck around and whispered that Sherlock isn't dead and I was not crazy and offered to help me track him down. But no. You got what you always wanted, then lost interest and I hated myself a little more. Funny, I thought of you and how I had said no and thought of Sherlock and how I had never had the nerve to tell him and then I had let some unknown faceless jerk…and I didn't even remember. I've always been a slut to you…this just clarifies your precious regard." John made a gesture like he was waiting and to get on with it.

"No. John. You have always pushed me away. You are an addictive little bastard and I would get so wrapped up in you…then some skirt would catch your appreciation and you made sure I knew that in your eyes, we were nothing. You killed me every time and when I couldn't stand it another second and I left, you played the wounded puppy. But I always came back."

"I never left. Maybe if I had known you felt that way…" John popped off with venom.

Sherrinford can't help the way his voice goes low and dangerous, but John can push his buttons like no other. "If? Oh, yes because 'no strings' was my rule, was it? I wasn't even on your list of emergency contacts. You had been on mine for years. You still are, in fact. You nearly died in that desert and again in hospital of infection and do you know how I found out? I came back and you were not where you were supposed to be. I had to hear it from Mathison. Our dearest Bat-shit-crazy member and he said you acted like a damned recruit with a death wish out there that day. What possessed you to volunteer to be a medic for those Rangers…bloody American wankers…walk into an ambush like that and then play hero. I don't know what the hell you were thinking to this day."

John finally looked over at Sherrinford. He swallowed, "I was thinking…I was thinking that no matter what I ever did…one day you would never come back you damned idiot. You were two months overdue. I was sure you were never coming back…and I'd never know. You'd done this to me for so long and I didn't act one bit different out there. I was happy and it was just … a stray lucky shot. They were scared kids, old women and sick people … it all just went wrong. We went to help and it just… we set up and within ten minutes we were under fire. I tried to get to cover, but she couldn't run. I got hit carrying her…she had lost most of her foot and I couldn't just…when I fell, her grandmother screamed. The girl …I saw her crawl away from me. I hoped it was my blood she was covered in but I won't ever know and the next thing I knew, I was on a respirator. "

"Yeah? This was his revelation. ' Welcome home, Commander. Rhino? Might be dead. I think he's dead. I don't remember when, been a month or so. Shot four inches from his heart and last I heard he was cooking with fever. Yeah, I think he died. There should be a memo somewhere around here…' Bat couldn't even remember where they shipped you. That was a really good day." He looked at his naked friend, widening his eyes for emphasis.

"Bat always was about half-cocked. Must not have been too bad, you never showed your face." John closed his eyes for a second to control his emotions.

"Apologies. I was upset. I won't lie about how cross I was at the time. I had a bit of explaining to do after six weeks AWOL and then during my period of reprimand, I spent that time tracking down the human rubbish that dared to take one of my babies. Ask Leopard or the Elephant, they went with me."

"Yeah, lovely gesture. Hunting down some shop-keeper with a lucky shot and making fashion accessories out of him. You ever think how much seeing you would have meant, instead? I thought you probably didn't even notice I was gone. You know who did try to see me? Tiger. Nurse said he made quite a scene, in fact, and he was on the lamb at the time. He came, anyway. And now, I am going to try to shoot him to save your son, who I love, and have never touched even once, because he, like his father, is a selfish thoughtless git."

"I have never been thoughtless."

John's eyes narrowed as he looked at Sherrinford as if he were possibly senile. "You let a French veterinarian cut on me and would have let him muck around in my brain … that somehow reminds me of your son, who poisoned me with an experimental drug from Baskerville that was known to cause frontal lobe damage. Just so he could observe if I too, would see a monster."

Sherrinford sighed and rolled his eyes, "I'm sure you are exaggerating. And as for the horse doctor, it's his cover. He's a spook. Ever heard of the doctor we call Resurrection La Gaule? You have no idea what I went through to get you there. I didn't think you survived the journey and I had no way of checking. We opened that crate of garlic and I…"his eyes wondered off distantly and his jaw worked as he held his breath for several seconds. "I was violently ill…I have seen men torn apart. I have eaten human flesh, and you know of my small collection. Nothing gets to me. Nothing. But one dead John Hamish Watson and my carefully manicured façade is shattered for all time. You were barely alive, John. My fault and we pried that lid up, and…I thought…no, I was certain that I had …left you to die alone in the dark …put you in a coffin still breathing. I didn't ever mean for this to all go so pair shaped."

Rat looks down at John and his eyes dance with emotion. John doesn't know how to react. He watches Ford's eyes return to elsewhere as if he's no longer in the room. John's jaw clenches less as he waits out the silence.

Ford continues and his voice is nearly a whisper, "I knew how very drunk you were that night and I had noble intentions. I cannot justify my actions, but I know they were not as cruel as you imagine. I couldn't get the picture out of my head that it might have been weeks before I knew that you had been murdered…like that, if I had not happened to have followed a lark and intervened. Told myself it was fate. I got you home and cleaned up. You were very forward, John. You were so happy to see me. You cried about Sherlock. I said no. You…begged. I told you we would talk about it in the morning. You told me. You told me that after everything, if I said no, then there would never be another chance. I told you again that we would talk in the morning. I thought you had passed out and I did go tune Sherlock's violin. I meant to play it. But I was curious and I looked through my son's room. I found your bag and your note. I heard something and went up the stairs to check on you."

"I black out, but I never really pass out," John says quietly.

"Yes, obviously. You were on the floor and when you looked up, you took the gun out of your mouth and stated that I wasn't really there and pointed the gun at me and pulled the trigger. I reacted just in time and crawled to you as you laughed and said 'That proves it. I never miss.' And pointed it, still smoking just behind and below your left ear and closed your eyes. You said you were sorry and I screamed to you that Sherlock Holmes was alive. You smiled and it gave me just enough time to leap and in your state, it was still a struggle to disarm you. I was sitting on you and again you began to weep. Not really my area, but I kissed you. You know, even drunk and weepy, I find you most charming. The things you said to me. John, I am sorry, I know it is the excuse of a cad. Yet, I allowed it to continue. It was lust and it was selfish. I had planned to stay in truth, but a car pulled up outside at half-eleven and I did not dare allow Mycroft to glimpse me. Not in that situation. I assume he came due to the fact I had jammed his security cameras. There was no time to wake you and explain, or leave a note. I barely had time to grab my clothing."

"Ok. I do know he woke me up. I was still drunk and he spent most of the afternoon lecturing me between my heaves. There were a lot of his people in and out of my flat. Explains why they came. That whole ordeal was about your little phone trick? But you could have come back when he left. Called me. Texted me. Something." John lay on the bed as hostile as a siren, anger radiating from his skin and his eyes set to the ceiling, swimming with betrayal.

"Yes. Instead, I waited to hear from you. It dawned on me that perhaps that night was indeed…goodbye. I left the country, because I couldn't bear to watch. Lots of work kept me from mourning something I had no way of stopping. The next time I surfaced and made tentative inquiry of your welfare, you had met a young woman and appeared to have ceased this nonsense. Very odd dresser, but she was still quite lovely. Molly, you said her name was?"

"Yes. Molly the liar. My beautiful, sweet, innocent liar. Helped Sherlock. Knew the whole time. Not a bloody word."

"So, she saved Sherlock's life and saved yours with her silence. And for that crime…"Rat turned his head and raised an eyebrow as if he didn't approve. "Or, perhaps she was just a dud shag and this was all a big opportunity for exit?"

"God, no." John smiled wistfully, and cleared his throat, "She's a little wildcat. She just hadn't had a lot of luck with … picking someone who – "

"I don't care. Please explain no further," Ford cut in and glared at John.

"You actually sounded jealous just now. Never noticed it before. It's weird."

Ford snorted through his nose then lifted his chin and coldly asked, "You were with him weren't you? You and Tiger? I never believed the story you told me about the roof. All this time and you were with him too."

John looked up and sighed. He nodded and blushed as he said quietly, "Yeah. Every time you left me. He got me through it. Every time. And now, I have to choose him or Sherlock. Funny thing, when you look at stuff, if I were loyal to the person who was most loyal to me, I might have a very hard time with that."

"If it comes down to that, are you saying you can't or won't? John, we need to be very clear here." Ford said with a cautious smile of blandness that for the first time gave John a Mycroft's-Father-too gateway and chills at that comparison.

John tilted his head and smiled back bitterly. His voice grew hard and slightly amused, " On the other hand if my heart were the only one selecting among the three of you…it would always be Sherlock. No matter what he thinks of me, no matter that he's your son and no matter that he's probably the greatest arsehole to ever exist. I would kill for him, die for him and forgive him anything because I have no choice. I can exist without him, but I have concluded from extensive research that I just don't bloody well want to."

"Thank you. I am sorry I needed to ask, but you have always been rather unpredictable."

" So, there it is. Fuck me. Don't fuck me. I don't care, but I will save him, no matter what and when I'm done with that and the great Consulting Detective blows me off again and Molly hates me and you take off and I have murdered a man who you think maybe couldn't murder me out of loyalty. Don't bother with any souvenirs, though I guess my skull on Sherlock's mantle might give you both a laugh. Just let my sister think all of me remained in the coffin and don't tell her about your ghoulish collection or Sherlock's fridge etiquette. Or hey, already dead, just let me rot where I fall and walk away."

"John, please don't be so maudlin, it doesn't suite you."

"Why aren't you fucking me? Thought it was such a big deal. Not any fun if you have my consent?"

"No. It seems to have lost its magic. The women? Well, that I felt rather foolish about. Tiger? That I missed entirely. Honestly John, I am so thankful I was unaware all these years. Never fear my unwanted passion will again be aimed in you direction. Problem solved."

Sherrinford stood and exited the room without so much as a backwards glance. He paused in the doorway, "Should this endeavor prove fatal for either of us, I do mean for you to know that every moment with you was important to me. My deepest apologies that I failed to understand the sentiment had no reciprocation."

John sighed, defeated, "Ford, look, I am sorry. "

He didn't look, he simply bowed his head and mumbled, "Yes, as am I. Get some rest, Captain Watson."

If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,

Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:

So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,

And wait for supports like a soldier.

Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,

And the women come out to cut up what remains,

Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains

An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.

-The Young British Soldier by Rudyard Kipling

A very rough chapter to pull off. Lot's of baggage and complex issues. Hope you like it.