THE THINGS WE DON'T DELETE

by marylouleach

AU fic. I know it's been done before but i wanted to try it out. Here's a look at Sherlock and John's relationship if they had met as kids and the trials they faced on the way to becoming the men they are today. After a falling out Sherlock pushed John out of his life but now John would need him more than ever. Sherlock hopes it's just not too late. Sorry no slash.

3. Chapter 3 BULLETS and REGRETS

CHAPTER 3. BULLETS and REGRETS

Sherlock hurried down the hall towards the basement ignoring Mrs. Hudson's offer of coffee, the elderly landlady flinched at the loud bang from the slamming of her tenet's door. "That boy. I'll never understand him."

Sherlock opened his laptop, impatiently awaiting the chimes signalling start up and he exhaled, moving his hands over the keyboard. Why hadn't he deleted those emails? He'd saved them, and couldn't ever understand the reasoning behind this odd behavior. Sherlock looked over the dates received. He last received an email from John three years ago. Three years ago, it was the last email John had written him and no more letters followed either. Sherlock recalled the curiosity he had that year when he realized John hadn't sent him anything.

It had been routine for Sherlock to check his inbox weekly and find an email from John, Sherlock wouldn't delete it he only moved it over to a folder he labeled JW. But it had been a month and still no new email, curiosity hit him then. He wasn't lying when he told Mycroft that he hadn't spoken to John in five years, he hadn't. But this last email sent from his ex friend, Sherlock had opened as he was doing now. Recalling the horror on discovering his friend-no ex friend's new career choice.

Sherlock,

My father used to tell me; BULLETS are like regrets they tear through you, and if you're lucky enough they'll leave just a scar. A painful reminder of what to do or not do next time. Maybe even kill you quick. But if you're unlucky they kill you slow. Goodbye Sherlock. I'm sorry, sorry that I made you regret your choice in becoming my friend. –John H. Watson

Sherlock read over the words over and over again, this email had been sent three years ago. Sherlock had gone straight to Mycroft three years ago once he noticed just where the email had been sent from. The ip address was from a military base, it didn't take a genius to deduce what John was doing on a medical training base.

Sherlock pushed the memory of that encounter down, odd this feeling in his stomach, as if he'd swallowed a rock and it weighed him down heavily. He carefully saved the email once again and decided to read through the unopened ones, the first dated two years before the last one.

Sherlock,

I can guess you're still not talking to me. Well I am not giving up, I only hope this email address is still current. I just wanted to drop a line. I'll be leaving for boot camp in the morning. I can't really sleep and Harry refuses to speak to me. After Dad's funeral she went on another bender, by the time I found her it was nearly time for me to leave. She thinks I'll go away and come back like our father. Never mind that this will help me pay for school and when I'm done here I'll be a doctor. My father was only a soldier and when he was injured he came home with a tremor and a drinking problem. He didn't have a career just a dead wife and two kids. I think I'll be alright, seeing how I wont be just defined as army, but a Doctor as well. Well I better get some sleep. Hope you aren't giving the rehab staff too much difficulty.-Your friend John Watson.

Sherlock,

So I made it through the first couple of weeks of boot camp. I thought I was in good shape, but oh how I was mistaken. The first night every muscle I had was sore even my hair hurt. It's short now, I can get used to it, it's not much shorter than I already kept it. Some of the other guys had a hard time making that change. It's not so bad, lots of new mates to joke around with. RAMC isn't so tough. Lots of tests and the instructors are very strict but it's never a dull moment. I hear London is rainy, when will you get privileges for phone calls? Or emails? Well it's lights out soon.-Your friend John Watson

With surprisingly steady hands Sherlock randomly chose another email of a later date.

Sherlock,

It's morning here and I can see the desert from my tent. Sometimes while on patrol when they have us crouched down in a ditch waiting for the ok to push on, I'll examine the sand and think of you. The sand isn't like the soft sand of the beaches back home, it's grainy, heavy and a deep orange almost red. I bet you would love a sample for an experiment. Remember that one summer your mum took us to Porthchapel Beach in Cornwall. You spent the day collecting shells. You told everyone it was for an experiment on molluscs, but we both know it was so you could use them as buried treasure. The sand remember it being so warm on our bare feet, the ocean rolling in and out calmly, peppered with surfers and swimmers. Well anyway, I hope you are staying sober and you're remembering to eat. Well it's lights out. I'll write again soon.- Your friend John.

Sherlock,

Its been a few weeks, it'll be Christmas soon wont it. So I don't forget Merry Christmas. I still haven't heard from Harry. I think Clara has left her. I thought for sure this time she was done with the drinking. I do miss the decorative lights around London this time of year. Yesterday was a bit of a challenge but Bill is pretty good to have around. We fixed this kid up in the middle of a gunfight. I hadn't even realized we were being shot at till after. On days like this, where the wounded keep coming in and the medical transports are delayed by enemy fire, when you are trying to buy the young soldier with the leg wound time, just a little longer five minutes an hour, till the transport can air lift them to the hospital. I think of home, and remind myself it's still there. Sometimes the medical transports or the supplies don't show up for days. I'm back from patrol. And days like this I miss London more than ever, the cool air, the sounds of cabs and traffic, the bustle of people headed to or from work, street performers playing music on the corners. It's just desert and death sometimes, and this place is so hot that the sand soaks up the blood, maybe that's why the sand is so red. I have to be off, they wont tell me where we are going next but it can't be worse than the last place. Give Mycroft hell for me.- Your friend John Watson

Sherlock,

I know I haven't emailed in a bit. Things are getting a little intense, a couple weeks ago a suicide bomber came on base driving a delivery truck it was carrying food and one minute soldiers are helping unload the next there are body parts everywhere. Our communications were down for a couple days, and they had a blackout on outgoing mail, calls and of course the internet. It only lifted just today. I imagine you are sitting around the science lab dissecting some poor creature like the chemistry teacher or the kid stupid enough to sit next to you in class. I haven't heard from you yet, but I'm not giving up. Life's to short you know. Anyway I lost a few good friends a couple weeks ago. One minute you're laughing and sharing a joke the next you're helping gather their scattered limbs into body bags to be shipped home. What a mess everything is. I'll have leave in a month, and I'm going to track you down because you can't stay mad at me forever. I'll see you laters then. Hope you had a wonderful new year. –Your friend John Watson.

Sherlock froze reading that, and checking the date, around that time he was in rehab, having no access to his email. Surely John could have come to visit? Not that the detoxing addict would have agreed to see the soldier. Did he try? What stopped him? Sherlock thought back, remembering Mycroft around the time had came in to speak to him. And Sherlock had been furious at his brothers demands and ultimatums. The fat bastard had told him he'd seized Sherlock's trust, and would have all control of his money and inheritance. After that meeting Sherlock refused all visitors, not wishing to speak to anyone while he was caged. The faculty probably turned John away.

The dark haired detective winced at the image of a soldier in dress uniform coming to visit and being denied entry. Assuming that Sherlock wanted nothing to do with his ex friend. Sherlock wondered if John had been hurt or just annoyed. He decided to keep reading scanning the emails randomly choosing another date.

Sherlock,

I'm going on patrol again. Last one was a bit extreme, we were held up in some abandoned shell of a building in a near deserted town trading fire with a group of insurgents. Have you been freed yet? Maybe you've managed to get a small flat. Look Sherlock this is ridiculous. Life is to short to hold a grudge this long. I'm sorry for everything. If you would let me explain. This whole mess is just a terrible misunderstanding. I just want you to know that I still consider you my friend. I always will consider you my friend. Nothing changes that Sherlock. It hurts that you would think my character so lacking that I would use your families influence use you for a foot up in the world. Please. I'm sure if you speak to Mycroft he would tell you. If you wont believe me. Well, anyway I hope to hear from you soon. You stubborn bastard.- Your friend John Watson

Sherlock,

Today was just another day in the life of Lt. John Watson. The wounded have been coming in waves. An assortment of wounds and burns. Sometimes there is nothing I can do but hold their hands while they wait for the pain meds to take affect, but even then it hardly takes the edge off. Today one of the RAMC Doctor's came in on a stretcher. Poor sod had a piece of shrapnel about four inches thick protruding from his chest, and blast burns on his side. He came to us too late to help, and the sad thing is he knew it. Looking into his bloodshot eyes you could see he knew it, and he died while I tried to remove the shrapnel, died. They've lost a nurse as well, my mate William Murry, well Bill Murry is a nurse and has put in for a transfer to fill in the holes left by the squad losing a nurse. I think I'm going to request to take the place of their Doctor. They'll need someone who can act on their feet. It's chaos out there and I am under no illusions I know that it's not going to be a walk in the park. But I want to help and I think I could be useful. Harry has refused to talk to me, she thinks I should just stay where I am away from the conflict. I cant stay behind and let others risk their lives in my place. Well I should be going it's lights out. How's school? Have you pulled any new pranks on your brother?- Your friend John.

Sherlock,

I put in for reassignment they gave it to me. I'll be going with the new squad tomorrow. I'm a little nervous to tell you the truth. But I know I can be helpful, I just know it. Hey, remember when we stole Mycroft's controller for that damned model airplane of his. You changed it so when he wanted to go up it would dive down and left would be right. I'm not sorry. I wish I'd have let you superglue his umbrella to his hand. Well I travel with the new squad tomorrow. Bill has already been with them two weeks now. I haven't heard from Harry, when I was on leave she mentioned she was engaged to her girlfriend Clara. Well lights out soon. I don't know when I'll be able to email again. I hope you are well and remembering to eat.- Your friend John.

This was the second to the last of John's emails. What had changed John's mind, what made him send the final one. Who? Had something happened that convinced him to give in? Sherlock's silence couldn't be the only factor. He needed to know what he was missing wanted more data, just to better understand his friend's thoughts. Had he died angered at all those who abandoned him? He couldn't read anymore, it was all too much, too much, he could hear John's voice in each letter, the smooth calm tone, the deep voice with a hint of humor.

His eyes always bright and warm as if he was about to tell you a funny joke, or you'd done something amusing. Patience that was John Watson, patient and easy going, brave and loyal. And Sherlock had only thrown that at him, pushed the man away because he reminded Sherlock of everything he couldn't be, John never said anything about Sherlock's struggle with sobriety he'd only ever tried to help. And Sherlock hated every time relapsing and see that disappointment in those trusting blue eyes.

Movement from the door way just out of the corner of Sherlock's eye brought him out of his tumbling thoughts.

"Don't hover Mycroft, what is it now? Come to gloat?" Sherlock closed the email's file window snapping his laptop shut. He wondered how long Mycroft had been standing there. Sherlock scowled at his older brother, but something in his brother's posture set him on edge, delaying any other bitter remarks.

"He's not dead." Mycroft clutched his expensive black umbrella like a cane.