John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, is rather surprised when he bumps into one Michael Stamford, an old acquaintance from med school.

Within half an hour, however, he is even further surprised: by the man Mike introduces to him in the lab at St. Bart's, the one who appears to know everything about John from the minute he looks at him.

And before he knows it, he's moved into a flat with Sherlock Holmes.

He doesn't even know what exactly it is the man does for a living. "Consulting detective" isn't exactly specific, but within forty-eight hours of meeting the man – even less, in fact – John knows that this is the kind of life he wants to lead: chasing London's criminals, dashing through the streets at night, taking the most ridiculous risks.

John is immensely glad – no, overjoyed, ecstatic – that he's met Sherlock. It takes his mind off missing Afghanistan, and, even more importantly, it helps him both remember and forget the One Big Thing.

o-=

"You're up early" is all that Sherlock says when he comes into the kitchen at two in the morning, John sitting in the next room, wide awake.

Last night had been atrociously calm after the adrenaline-infused night two days before, at the pool.

John had thought that, after war, he wouldn't have been able to be frightened by something like two nights ago. But it had shaken John, because he'd seen in Moriarty something he hadn't thought possible, not now.

He hadn't been truly afraid, not when he'd turned around too late and had a chloroformed rag pressed to his face, not when he'd woken up behind the colorful curtain, the faint smell of chlorine coming from outside the little room. Not even when he'd taken in the explosives – semtex, he'd thought – strapped to his body under the large parka he was wearing.

But when he'd heard the voice, and seen the face, the man Moriarty, it brought back memories of the One Big Thing that Henry Watson had taught him about, warned him about.

=-o

Listen, John, listen very carefully to what I'm about to tell you.

John's father, Henry, was a soldier, a part of a resistance that still existed, in its own way, today, though its members did not.

Today, however, almost nobody remembers his war.

In the nineteen-fifties, the Cold War era, a group of very ambitious scientists began experimentation in manipulating the human genome, in order to improve the human race and, perhaps, to bring about a time of peace and harmony on Earth.

When John was twenty-two, his father visited him, for the first time since their quarrel years ago, and told him about the conflict known today among a few select as the Eugenics Wars.

The genetically engineered individuals were almost everything that the scientists had dreamed of: brilliant, unnaturally strong, able to live for far longer than the average human. What they hadn't realized, John, was that superior ability, in most cases, breeds superior ambition, and the ambition of the Augments far surpassed anything the scientists could have expected.

By the time the issue was spotted, it was too late, and most of the civilized world was under the control of Augment tyrants.

The Augments were defeated just under five years after they'd taken power, and the project calling itself Operation Tabula Rasa had begun erasing the evidence of everything from genetic experimentation to extrasystem space travel and, most importantly, the events of the Eugenics Wars.

The thing that almost nobody knows, even among we who remember the Wars, is that some of the Augments went missing and were never executed, including the most notorious of them all: Khan Noonien Singh.

Henry Watson died two years later, in the year 2002, in an apparent accident.

John suspects otherwise: His father, one of the two remaining Eugenics rebels known, had always suspected that some of the missing Augments had remained on Earth, and John agreed, especially after his father's death.

His father is the reason why John became a soldier himself.

Remember what I've told you, John. Never forget.

o-=

John sighs and rubs his eyes. "Could say the same of you, you know."

Sherlock moves to the other room and stands in front of John, looks him up and down just once.

"Bad dream," he states quietly.

John nods.

"What was it about?" Sherlock asks, his voice surprisingly tender, and John is a little shocked that he's even bothered asking.

"Moriarty," John says truthfully. He trusts Sherlock implicitly, but there are some things that he isn't sure he's ready to tell anyone, not yet.

He wonders if Mycroft knows about the Wars. If there's one other person John knows who understands the truth about the Augments, it's Mycroft. So if Mycroft is in the know, is Sherlock?

The problem with keeping secrets, while not knowing who else knows, is that one cannot ask another if they know or not. It's a conundrum for John.

Eventually, however, Sherlock will be the first person John tells. It's only a matter of when, but regardless of the amount of time they've lived together, if John were to be honest with himself, he doesn't really know that much about his flatmate.

"Mm," Sherlock says. John can tell that he knows that there's more, but for once Sherlock doesn't push for more information.

Half an hour later, after sitting in the quiet and dark with Sherlock in the other chair, John drifts back to sleep.

=-o

Shortly after, Sherlock and John get called to Buckingham Palace, Sherlock views photos of a Woman, and 221B Baker Street gains a new, very fine ashtray.

o-=

John is unable to tell Sherlock that Irene is dead, so he goes with Mycroft's lie.

It makes him nearly furious at himself, that he's jealous of a dead woman, but he couldn't stand to see Sherlock the way he was, the first time he'd thought Irene was dead, and he isn't about to cause him any more pain.

After Irene, life in 221B goes on, and Sherlock doesn't show any sign of trying to find her, which, embarrassingly, relieves John.

=-o

Sherlock's always been a distant character, outwardly unemotional, brilliant but detached. But Sherlock at Baskerville surprises John, in more ways than he can count.

o-=

"I don't have friends," Sherlock says vehemently, and John is so entirely taken aback that all he says is, "Nah. I wonder why."

He leaves the pub, walks around outside. The flashing lights on the hill are back tonight, and this time John goes to investigate, alone.

When he arrives, however, he finds that he's made an awkward mistake and, embarrassed, turns his torch away from the couple in the car.

=-o

Later, Sherlock spots John in the village graveyard and he is unable to escape from his sight. Sherlock dogs him as he walks away, attempting to start up a conversation, but John's still irked by the night before.

"John, wait. What happened last night, something happened to me, something I've not really experienced before…" His voice actually catches. John doesn't turn around.

"Yes, you said. Sherlock Holmes got scared," John isn't ready to forgive his flatmate this easily, but Sherlock's hand grabs his arm and though John tries to twist away, he can't.

Facing Sherlock, he finds that he can actually see some remorse in that face, usually cut glass or stone.

"It was more than that, John. It was doubt. I felt doubt. I've always been able to trust my senses, until last night-"

"You can't actually believe that you saw some kind of monster," John says skeptically.

"No, no I can't, but I did see it, so the question is, how?"

John starts to walk away again. "Right, good. So you've got something to go on, then? Good luck with that."

He can practically feel waves coming off of Sherlock, and when he calls out again, John isn't surprised.

"Listen, what I said before, John, I meant it."

Something in the tone of his voice makes John turn around slightly.

"I don't have friends," Sherlock says.

John is ready to leave at this point, but Sherlock isn't done. Biting his lip, almost anxiously, he says, "I've just got one."

The statement shocks John, but it fills him with a sudden feeling of warmth that makes him look away self-consciously before glancing back at Sherlock. He nods once, says, "Right."

Reconciliation isn't difficult, and John can't stand not talking to Sherlock any longer.

o-=

After they've solved the case, however, Sherlock admits to something that startles John again, who's had far too many surprises from his flatmate recently.

"I had to. It was an experiment."

John starts shaking in anger. After all they've been through, now this? "An experiment? I was terrified, Sherlock. I was scared to death."

"I thought that the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee," Sherlock admits, "then I arranged everything with Major Barrymore," he pauses when John sighs, "It was all totally scientific, laboratory conditions."

John flashes back to his experience in the lab. He remembers how certain he was that he was going to die, the utter panic that had taken him over.

"Well, I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one," Sherlock concludes.

John gapes at him.

"You know what I mean."

"But it wasn't in the sugar," John realizes.

"No…" Sherlock says slowly.

He almost wants to laugh, even now. "So you were wrong. You got it wrong."

It's Sherlock's turn to sigh. "A bit. It won't happen again."

And after a while, John manages to forgive this, too.