Author's Note:
It's time for another cliffhanger chapter. Things are about to get intense again. Thank you to everyone who continues to review this story! It means a lot to me!
Sherlock frowned a moment as he looked to John intently. "When I said 'her' I meant Sarah. Not your daughter. I don't think I'll hate your little girl. She's apart of you. A little, mini you running around all over the place. I'll admit, when I first found out my reaction was a little less than thrilled but I've moved past it." Okay, so that was understatement but he couldn't bring himself to tell John about the visceral reaction he had in the car. His older brother always told him he had flair for the dramatic. Mycroft…he had punched him in the face because their father hadn't been there. He supposed he owed his brother an apology. That wasn't something he was looking forward to.
"At least be civil toward Sarah," John stated softly as he took in the rest of Sherlock's statement. The way Sherlock described his daughter made him smile and laugh. "I've never thought about it like that, really. God, does the world really need another Watson like me running around?" That was a scary thought indeed. "I've got something to take the edge off," he whispered as he searched the pockets of his body armor. It was difficult to do in the dark but he managed to wrap his hand around his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. "Here." He slipped one into Sherlock's hand and popped a second in his mouth, lighting it and inhaling eagerly as he passed off the lighter.
"She'll wear pink and run around terrorizing neighborhood boys by pulling their hair." He smirked a bit at that thought and then blinked in surprise. Sherlock looked down at the cigarette John had just given him. "Since when did you smoke?" He lit up as well, but didn't inhale as deeply. He wasn't craving a cigarette but he would never turn down a quick nicotine fix. "You can no longer yell at me if I smoke again." He smirked again, shifting off of his fiancé so the ash wouldn't get on John or worse accidentally burned the army doctor. He laid next to the other man, shoulder to shoulder.
"Since I fucking get shot every day," John replied with a smirk, blowing the smoke slowly between his lips. "I pick up smoking every time I'm deployed. Always drop it back when in back home." He took another long drag and exhaled with a sound of satisfaction. "Pink?" The question was late but it finally struck him that Sherlock had said that. "You want to dress her in pink?"
"You are also prone to fucking swearing more." Sherlock said, matching the smirk. "Isn't pink the color associated with little girls?" He thought for a moment and then he realized why John had questioned. "Ah. Well, pink is what started it all for us didn't it?" He gave a slight shrug, as he exhaled a plume of smoke. "I wonder how Hamish will react well to the baby." He wondered idly, not realizing he had voiced his thoughts out loud until he had finished speaking.
John rolled to his side, coughing as he burst out laughing. "Jesus, Sherlock." He forced himself to sit up, continuing to laugh. "That was bloody hilarious. Fuck yes I swear more!" After another inhale from his cigarette he looked at Sherlock over his shoulder. "I was just thinking... I don't know. Pink is nice but not all pink. Some gender neutral." He flicked the cigarette away from him and moved to snuggle against Sherlock's side. "Shit, I forgot about your cat. I'm sure he'll be alright. Maybe he's mad all the time because you gave him a bloody horrible name."
Sherlock arched a brow as John laughed. He hadn't thought it was that particularly hilarious but he was glad the army doctor got a kick out of it. Oh. Gender neutral. Right. If he knew a bloody thing about kids or raising them he probably would have figured that out. "No, he was like that before I named him." He replied automatically. He wasn't finished smoking yet, so he switched the cigarette to his other hand so it could wrap around John as he nuzzled into him. "Besides, Hamish isn't that terrible of a name." Another thought occurred to him. "John…when people get married it's usually customary to take someone else's last name. How do you want to do it? Really, I can't imagine either of us changing our names."
Last names. That was something John hadn't really thought about. Typically the woman in the relationship changed her name and, clearly, this wasn't one of those relationships. John Watson was a name he particularly liked and Sherlock Holmes was probably the best name any consulting detective could have. "Would it offend you at all if we kept our names the same? I mean, getting married isn't about changing our names. It is more about just being together for the rest of our live." He winced when he lifted his head, realizing instantly that the mark Sherlock had left there was bigger than he was used to. Might as well return the favor. John smiled into the dark, barely making out the shape of Sherlock's face, before his lips latched on to Sherlock's jaw, sucking gently as his tongue worked circles on the skin.
"It wouldn't offend me at all. I thought it best as well but wanted to hear your thoughts on it." Sherlock was about to finish off his cigarette when John began kissing his neck. It was quickly forgotten, the burning butt slipping from his fingers into the sand below. He tilted his head upward to allow his fiancé more access. The hand wrapped around John's waist, gently tugged the man toward his lanky body, so that the other man could come to rest on top of him. He brought up his other hand to trail through John's military short hair.
John followed the pull of Sherlock's arm without argument, settling easily between Sherlock's legs without pulling his lips from the man's neck. The current that rushed through his body made his mouth work harder against Sherlock's neck. "Mine," he whispered, nudging Sherlock's jaw with his nose. If he didn't come back alive, if his urn was resting on Sherlock's fireplace, he wanted the man beneath him to know that he was John's. Period. This was their last night until he was back in London, he figured. With his first child on the way it would probably become Sherlock's to stay with Sarah and help as much as possible. His hands clinched in the dirt on either side of Sherlock's head and he picked a new spot on his neck.
Sherlock couldn't help but squirm under John as the other man marked his neck. God, it felt so good. It always did but he wasn't ready for another round. Too soon for that. That didn't mean he couldn't enjoy what was happening though. The hand on John's back slid up his shirt and he began to scratch lightly. His other hand dropping from his fiancé's scalp to his ass, and gave it a firm squeeze.
Sherlock's hand was colder than the air outside and the moment he felt it on his bare skin he exhaled loudly against Sherlock's neck. He smirked against the skin when he realized that both of their pants were still securely around their ankles. There was no way he was ready to have sex again, probably wouldn't be before it was time for Sherlock to leave, but laying on top of him and being close enough to inhale the scent of his skin was enough. It was perfect. "I love you. You are wonderful and brilliant and I don't know what I would ever do without you," he whispered as one hand tangled in Sherlock's hair. His mouth trailed across Sherlock's neck until he found his Adam's apple, eagerly sucking on it.
Sherlock was going to speak but John sucking on his Adam's apple promptly put a stop to that. It caused a combination of pleasure and pain. The sucking felt nice but the location was a pressure point on the male anatomy. After a moment, breathing became a bit difficult and not because he was aroused. He tried to say their safety word but all that came was a strangled cough. If John continued then he could end up collapsing Sherlock's larynx, which would effectively suffocate the consulting detective to death. As he fought for air, he brought his hands forward and shoved desperately at John's chest hoping to get the other man's attention.
The pressure on John's chest caused him to pull away with a gasp, looking down at Sherlock's hands before searching in the dark for Sherlock's eyes. "What? What's wrong?" After several women had discovered that part of his body John had learned quite quickly that it was extremely sensitive. He figured Sherlock might have liked it. His eyebrows lowered in confusion. One moment Sherlock had been enjoying it and the next he was practically pushing John off of his body. "Are you alright?"
Hurt to breath. Chest on fire. Sherlock struggled for breath and was completely incapable of answering any of John's questions at the moment. Eventually air flow came back and he began to cough violently, his hands dropping to the sand below him for support so his body would shake a little less. He had forgotten he'd dropped a still burning cigarette next to him and he would have sworn in pain from the burn now on the palm his of hand but he was still coughing and he couldn't seem to stop.
John jumped into action, moving off of Sherlock and pulling him to sit up. He situated himself to sit behind his fiancé, Sherlock's back against his chest with his own legs spread so Sherlock could relax between them. After making sure Sherlock was sitting up he moved Sherlock's arms and laced his fingers together on top of his head. "Calm. Try and take some deep breaths," he whispered soothingly in Sherlock's ear, his hands holding Sherlock's sides.
Eventually the coughing died down and Sherlock swallowed air in greedy gulps a few times before settling for deep, long breaths. He brought his burned hand around to inspect the wound. It was hard to tell in the night sky but it looked to be only a second degree burn. It was red but not blistering. It still hurt though, causing his entire palm to throb in pain. After sitting awhile longer his breathing returned to normal. He wasn't sure how much, if any damage his larynx had taken but he decided it would best to try and not to speak for a little while longer.
"Sorry," John whispered against the back of Sherlock's neck. His arms wrapped protectively around Sherlock's stomach. That had not been the intended outcome at all. Honestly, John had no idea about what had actually happened. Maybe he had gotten a bit more excited than he thought. "Just wanted to make you happy." His lips pressed against Sherlock's hairline gently. Even though the circumstances that led to their position were less than desirable, John felt this was the intimacy he had desperately wanted.
"It's fine." Sherlock's voice was a little rougher than usual but at least he could form words. He leaned into John, eyes closing in contentment from the close proximity of the their bodies. His burnt hand hung at his side, but he brought his other hand to rest upon his fiancé's, his fingers brushing lightly upon the back of the other man's hands.
John rested his forehead against the back of Sherlock's neck with a sigh, placing soft kisses against the skin he could reach. When he felt only one of Sherlock's hands lifted he craned his neck to glance over Sherlock's shoulder. "What's wrong with your other hand?" He didn't wait for an answer and pulled one hand away to grab Sherlock's injured hand, bringing it close to his face and inspecting it him the best he could. "What happened? I can barely see."
Sherlock opened his eyes when John took his hand to look at. "Burned it on the cigarette. Think it's only a second degree burn. It'll be fine." As he spoke, he dropped his good hand and flicked the cigarette butt away from them and then resituated his hand back into place over John's.
"I'll take care of it when we're back in the camp," John whispered against his skin. His free hand moved lightly down Sherlock's stomach as his mouth started to suck on the side of his neck. After a moment of hesitation John wrapped his hand around Sherlock's penis, just holding it. He knew Sherlock wouldn't be ready to go again but he didn't care. "I wish you could stay."
Once more Sherlock's eyes closed, a shiver running up and down his spine from kissing and light touches. He whimpered quietly and couldn't help but buck into John's hand on his cock. "I wish I could stay too." He leaned into his fiancé a bit more, enjoying and savoring the closeness of their bodies. Six more months. Just six more months to wait. He hoped with all these things going on, it would go by quickly for him. This would mean doing ordinary and boring things, but if it kept his mind preoccupied for even a second then he would trudge through it.
"Y'know, for being a virgin before our relationship you are really damn sexual," John whispered against Sherlock's neck with a smirk. It shouldn't surprise him at all. He figured that most of the time they shagged Sherlock was taking it all in, cataloging everything for future reference and memorizing how everything felt. Sex was probably more of a science experiment for Sherlock than anything else. The hand on Sherlock's cock tightened for a quick moment while his other hand pressed against Sherlock's stomach. "Promise me something?" He knew asking the question in this situation was a bit unfair but he didn't care.
Sherlock smirked at John's comment even though the other man couldn't see it. His brows furrowed at the request, and he shifted so they could finally look at each other. "What?" He would do anything for John but the tone of voice made him a little concerned. He wasn't sure what his fiancé might request from him.
"That if I don't come back you'll take care of Sarah and my daughter." John held Sherlock's gaze steadily, his eyes showing the emotion his face wasn't. "And that you'll move on." The sentence ended with a soft kiss, his hand moving from Sherlock's penis to rest against his stomach. He tightened his embrace on his fiancé and let a small smile quirk his lips. "That's all I want."
It was like being in the car with his brother all over again. At least, the feeling was the same. Sherlock was quiet awhile. At least he didn't have the urge to throw up this time. Finally he nodded once and quietly said, "I promise." The thought of John not coming back was hard to handle. He supposed though, it was something he had to mentally prepare himself for. It was always a possibility for every day John was over here in Afghanistan.
John let his head fall away from Sherlock's skin to look up at the sky. "Beautiful, isn't it?" His fingers curled against Sherlock's stomach to gently scratch at his skin. "You never see this in London. Too many lights and all that. Out here, though, you can see it all." His voice was low as he moved his head to press his lips against Sherlock's ear. "Did you think when we first met that this is where we'd be? Getting married?"
Scenery really wasn't Sherlock's thing, but he glanced up at the sky anyway. He supposed it was pretty and certainly not a view accessible in London. He looked over to John when the second question was asked. "Well, no. I sized you up right away and new you would be a perfect flatmate for me though."
"I remember." John chuckled from low in his chest. The arms around Sherlock's torso tightened. "You knew everything about me the moment I walked into the lab at St. Barts and I was sure you were a bloody mad man." He pressed the tip of his nose against Sherlock's and smiled happily. This moment, although small and in quite the odd spot, was nearly perfect. Until he heard the knowing crack of a gunshot and the sound of a bullet against dirt a few meters from them. John's head shot up and he ripped away from Sherlock. "Up. Dressed. Put this on." He threw the extra body armor at Sherlock and put his own helmet on top of it. "Base. Now." His body armor was on quickly and he picked up his assault rifle from the ground.
Sherlock stood up immediately when he heard the gun go off. In his haste, he tripped over the pants around his ankles. His chin hit the sand and he bit his lip as he grunted from pain. The metallic taste of blood trickled into his mouth. He licked it away, but more continued to drizzle through. He muttered a curse, as he picked himself up more carefully this time. He redid his pants in a timely fashion, but the body armor took him some time to get on. Another shot sounded and missed his foot by a mere fraction. He threw the helmet back to John. "You are going to be father. You're the one who needs to make it back home alive." The base… It occurred to Sherlock he had absolutely no idea which way they had come from. He probably should have paid attention to that but when he had left, he had been too pissed to notice which direction he had taken. Lost in the middle of a desert and getting shot at. Bloody fantastic. Another bullet came at him, hitting the body armor he wore and causing him to stumble back but he still managed to stay standing. However, he crouched down low to make himself a smaller target to hit.
"I don't fucking care, Sherlock!" John caught the helmet as he whipped around when he saw his fiancé stumble back. "Here, take it." He tossed Sherlock his torch and a compass. "Straight east, Sherlock. Go." He slipped the helmet on to his head and instantly spoke into it. "Captain Watson. Ten minutes due east of Bastion. Shots fired. Two miss, one hit. Civilian. Body armor. Still standing, should be fine." He slung his gun over his shoulders to finish pulling his pants up, yanking on the belt hastily. When he looked up and realized Sherlock hadn't moved he shoved him roughly in the chest. "Now, Sherlock! Get the fuck out of here!" Another shot ran out and John whipped around, assault rifle raised as he fired several shots in the direction of the sound.
"No! I'm not leaving you here by yourself!" There were several reasons Sherlock had never joined the military. He would never have followed the chain of command. He didn't react well to orders being shouted at him, no matter who was issuing them. The other reasons had a lot to do with his father. It was completely irrational that he should stay. He didn't have anything to protect either of them. However, he couldn't just leave John out here alone.
"I swear I will fucking kill you," John ground out between clinched teeth, letting his assault rifle drop for a moment. "I've got people on their way, people who are trained. I'll be fine, alright?" The sound of footsteps and shouts were getting closer, clear in the desert night. "Go, Sherlock, I promise I'll be fine." He approached his fiancé and gently met his lips, ignoring the blood that he felt getting smeared on his own. "Just... go." The next bullet was too close to Sherlock for John's comfort and he shoved him back by his shoulders, holding eye contact until his group arrived, turning with them and jogging into the dark.
Sherlock wasn't meant for a war zone. He watched as John and his men jogged away, hating the thought of staying behind. But really, if he had chased after his fiancé he just would have been a liability and an unnecessary distraction to his dear army doctor. He sighed heavily, kicked at the sand below him angrily with a loud growl of frustration. Instead of using the compass, he used the stars to find west and he began walking back toward the base. He flicked on the torch, just to make sure he didn't trip again.
The sound of an engine and tires crunching under the sand met his ears, and Sherlock paused to look around. He turned off his light instinctively. The tires weren't coming from the direction the base. So, it wasn't John's people coming to pick him up. The enemy who had been shooting at them earlier maybe? He slapped his hand into his face. How could he have been so stupid? Divide and conqueror. He was easy pickings now. The only thing he could do was run, and so he began sprinting. He dropped the torch at some point, but he didn't have time to pick it up.
It didn't take long for the jeep that was tracking him to catch up and pull in front of Sherlock. He skidded to a halt as four men with automatic weapons came out and pointed their weapons at him. He lifted his hands in surrender immediately. It would be suicide to try and take them or run away. Sherlock got shoved to the ground roughly, his hands tied behind his back and then hit in the head with the butt of a gun that spiraled him into unconsciousness.