AN: YAY! I'm back *cue applause* which I am exceptionally happy about because I spent the last three days apparently trying to provide first aid on The Somme (also known as the average british festival) up to my knees in mud. I don't think my uniform will ever be the same again. Thanks to the SEVEN reviewers for last chapter *big grin*

So anyway, this chapter has no prompts, not because I don't have any, but because I was working with a really awesome doctor this weekend and he gave me some ideas for this chapter, because he's an army doctor. So this chapter is dedicated to Dr Matt in recognition of all the great work he does and all the help he gave me this weekend and generally.

Yeah, so a little background. I have put John in st John Ambulance for this chapter. Because a lot of people in the services are in st John when they come out.

Lily

I dragged myself to the top of the stairs and rested my head against the cool wood of the door. It had been a long weekend and it wasn't even over yet. I honestly could not believe what people were willing to do to each other... the sound of erratic scraping on Sherlock's tortured violin floated annoyingly through the, previously comforting, wood of the door. Wearily I opened it.

'Good evening John.' Came the serene voice from the middle of the living room 'Boots off and that flattering high-vis on the peg please.' I smiled mirthlessly

'Mrs Hudson been at you again?'

'Hmm.' He said vaguely 'I believe she is holding the kettle hostage until we clean this place up.' I disappointedly wandered out of the kitchen, where I had been hoping to find a hot cup of tea. No such luck, apparently. I flopped down into my armchair and dropped my head into my hands. Good god, I could not believe...

For the first time Sherlock looked up at me 'Good Lord John, what are you wearing?' he asked looking down at my brand new and much envied SRU. Also known as The Asda Uniform.

I smiled tightly and said 'It's just the new uniform Sherlock. It's supposed to make us look more like proper ambulance men.'

He snorted, seemingly oblivious to my depression 'Well you don't John. You look like a tit in a green shirt, which is what you are.'

My head snapped back as if I'd been slapped, Sherlock had never been one for meaningless insults. And, in any case, I could really have done without it tonight. Feeling the unwelcome prick of exhausted tears against my eyes, I stood up and announced I was going to bed. Sherlock looked baffled but made no objection as I slowly and painfully made my way up the stairs.

When I reached my room I quietly shut the door and lay painfully down on my bed, sniffing hard. I had been so stupid. Confidence and bravado and an overwhelming arrogance at my own abilities. It was all my own fault...

The cycle of self pity was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. I made an incoherent noise which was followed by a creak as my door was tentatively opened.

'John?' came Sherlock's uncertain voice from the doorway. He carefully stepped into my room looking worried. I blinked rapidly, trying to rid myself of the tears and sniffed.

'What is it Sherlock?'

'I...I wondered what was wrong.' He said, shifting uncomfortably.

I sniffed again and scrubbed at my face 'I'm just... sad.'

'Why?' he asked sounding genuinely concerned.

'I...I just...Look, Sherlock. I think you have to stay away from me.' I wiped my eyes and tried to push past him down the stairs. But Sherlock grabbed my wrist as I went past and said

'I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong. What on earth are you talking about? I don't want to stay away from you.'

I tugged against his grip and tried desperately to look anywhere but at him. I heard him sigh before he said quietly

'You've got blood on your shirt John.'

'Yes I have.' I said hoarsely. 'And it's not mine.'

'No.' He replied, suddenly crisp and businesslike 'And it's not a casualty's either. The height on your shoulder and the spatter pattern would indicate that someone was hit with something heavy.' I felt his hand run over the rough material on my shoulder. 'What happened John?'

I shut my eyes. I had been afraid of this question. 'An assault.'

'Ah.' Said Sherlock behind me. He pushed me slightly on the small of my back and I stumbled into the living room.

Sherlock settled into his chair and crossed his legs 'Go on.' He said gravely

I collapsed again into my armchair and ran a hand through my hair. 'We had a call come in about quarter to ten from security. Apparently a woman had come running up to the stewards shouting 'My son's having the shit kicked out of him'. I was asked to lead a snatch squad to go and get him, in case he needed any major emergency aid when we got there. We had to make up a squad quickly and I took two cadets, they made me get out there in under five minutes I had no choice!' I almost shrieked the panic returning as I thought about the sixteen year old girls I had lead into the field. Sherlock appeared behind me, which was strangely comforting and squeezed my shoulder as he passed I shifted in my chair and went on slightly calmer.

'I was told to approach with caution, but when I got there, there was just this kid, lying on the floor and I couldn't see anyone. So we took the trolley and... went in.' I noticed my hand was shaking again, so I gripped the arm of my chair desperately. I glanced up at Sherlock in the opposite chair, he nodded at me to go on with his eyes closed. I took a deep breath and went on 'There were no police there yet, but the boy was in a bad way, and I wanted to get down to it, so I asked the cadets to get the trolley ready... and the patients friends turned back up.' My voice hard started to wobble and I was going to start crying again, Sherlock opened his eyes.

The pity in his eyes was too much to bear. I dropped my head into my lap and sobbed openly. I sat there for a little while before I felt slender, awkward arms around me. I sniffed and buried my head in Sherlock's neck. He rubbed my back awkwardly before saying 'What happened?' very quietly. I hiccupped slightly before drawing back and wiping my eyes.

'They half killed one of the cadets.' I whispered 'The argument was about drugs. They thought she was police, so they began to beat up anyone in a uniform. She was only sixteen!' I wailed, dropping my head back into my lap. Almost immediately, I felt hands on either side of my face

'John, listen to me. It wasn't your fault! You didn't...'

'I always end up hurting everyone I'm supposed to take care of...' I muttered.

I felt Sherlock's arms go around me again 'John, this was not your fault.' He said urgently 'Neither was the stuff in Afghanistan, you have to believe me.'

'I know.' I sniffed 'But it was a situation I could have prevented.'

He hugged me harder 'I promise no will have blamed you.'

'Thank you Sherlock.' I whispered. And suddenly, it just seemed... alright. And I leant forward and pressed my lips to his.

It lasted about five seconds. But just that made me smile like a schoolboy.

I looked up and he was sat back staring at me. My stomach lurched, until a smile spread across his face. I stood up to hide my own, slightly sad, smile. 'Thank you, Sherlock' I repeated. And quickly left, to go back to my bedroom. As I opened my door I heard

'Piece of cake.' In a quiet voice.

AN: AAAAAAAHHHHH! That was... not that great. But tell me what you thought. Literally, after three days of straight shifts, I will take practically anything. No, honestly.