CHAPTER 16. WHAT SIBLINGS WILL DO

"Johnny I gave you a phone for a reason. Well, I'll leave another message you can call me when you get this, or don't. I still think you should move in with me. There's plenty of room in the flat especially since that whore Clara moved out. Listen John, I am serious here. I've been clean almost six months. If you're worried about the drinking-well. Listen. I think you need friends right now and I'm the only family you have. Even if we aren't ever going to be friends. Do me a favor and call me. I'm worried about you Johnny."

John hit delete on the voice mail, that was the fourth call this week and it was only three days into the week. Harriett knew that his time at the invalid facility was drawing to an end. But John wanted to stay in London, to find something affordable, he couldn't bare to leave the movement of the big city, movement and excitement, the air of freedom here. He could easily get lost among the throngs of people, everyone had somewhere to go somewhere to be. He wasn't apart of this, but he would settle for watching, he could settle being a stone in the river of London. People rushing around him, unaware of his own sadness, but just being apart of this world even as an observer made him feel a little better.

The battlefield had made him suspicious of silence, his instincts were to take cover in the silence to find somewhere to hide. London was never silent, besides he had some of the best memories here. These thoughts swirling in his head leaning on the loathed cane. Why couldn't he just part with it, why? He was a damned Doctor he knew it wasn't real(his limp), but the pain felt so tangible, it felt so real. And frustration made his hands shake worse, so he took to holding a fisted hand in his pocket.

He avoided his reflection in the glass windows of the shops and cafés. John didn't care to see the shell of a man he'd become. He'd lost weight too much according to his therapist, but what did she know, how could he think of food when his whole life had been taken from him. He'd known a couple months ago what he was doing every hour of the day, where he would be going, when he would eat, sleep and work. But now it was all so unknown and unpredictable. This is what frightened him and instead of telling her all this he replied stoically. "Food is dull."

This expression always brought a slight grin to his clean-shaven face. Followed slowly by a sharp pang in his chest, realizing all the things he'd lost. Again his thoughts wondered towards his old friend, they'd been mates at Uni. The times they had. The exhausting arguments and the pranks-Sherlock had been good with pranks. They were so close that John had given up trying to convince their classmates that they weren't a couple.

And then the drugs started to take over. How terrifying those times had been for the med student. He'd known his friend had mood swings and bouts of boredom, but he'd never guessed at how far Sherlock would go to relieve this. He pulled away once more, no sense on reminiscing on the past, John found himself wondering through a park close to St. Barts.

~0~

John felt exhausted he'd spent the last 24 hours patching up the wounded all to be air lifted out, and in the middle of a massive firefight. He'd just returned to base washing his hands had proven difficult the amount of blood that stained them and clung to his short nails. He'd wanted to change to get out of these dirty clothes, they reeked of the dieing and the dead, of piss and rotting flesh, sweat and grit. He didn't think he'd ever be free of it.

"Watson!" the CO had called him to his tent, "You have orders to report back to Kandahar."

"Sir?" John stiffened remaining at attention his CO looked up from the communications reports.

"Is there something you didn't understand Lt Watson?"

"Sir, I m needed here. I don't understand have I done something-" The CO looked over the younger man, he was smaller than most but stocky and solid and damn he was going to miss the man.

Lt. Watson had saved so many and all while being shot at, not to mention he was willing to fight tooth and nail whether it be with a scalpel and sutures or a rifle, he fought to keep his patients alive. He needed more men like that, men with heart, fearless, loyal and no nonsense. Someone cool under fire and that was John Watson he was like a stone, and his example inspired others.

The CO had fought against the orders had sent communications back and forth over the last week trying to delay this relocation. He'd offered up another Doctor, but he'd lost. Finally receiving not only a very angry email but a stern phone call from his own superiors, superior. For some reason the British Government wanted Doctor John H Watson far from the front lines. A damn shame to lose the boy, could see him climbing the ranks to captain in another couple of months.

"You have your orders. Now be ready to depart in ten minutes dismissed."

Mycroft stood holding his umbrella he'd taken to sitting and then standing then pacing. He'd read over the many requests to belay the reassignment. Mycroft could see that young Doctor was a well loved a valuable soldier. He didn't understand the feeling of uncertainty as he waited in the office of his old family acquaintance General Robinson.

"Mycroft old friend, never seen you in this part of the country. How is your father? We haven't spoken in years."

" Father is doing well. He sends his regards. I apologize for the short notice. I thought I'd check in on a friend of the family, a surprise visit really."

"Yes well I've had him called up for you. By the way, thank you for that bottle of scotch, we'll have to share a drink, before you depart. As for the young Lieutenant, he should be on his way. I looked over his service record so far, figures he would be one of yours. A career soldier just like myself. You Holmes know how to pick your friends." Mycroft knew the remark was meant as a compliment but nonetheless it caused him to stiffen. " Here is the young prodigy himself."

John saluted the General, feeling a little more than exhausted he'd fallen asleep in the helicopter, his body yearned for more rest. But that hadn't been the case as soon as his feet touched the ground they were ushering him down the white tiled floors, past several offices and cubicles to salute a General, being a military man John waited patiently for new orders and perhaps an explanation.

"Nice to finally meet you Doctor Watson. I had no idea we had mutual friends. Some how I thought you'd be taller." John kept his face expressionless but Mycroft whom hadn't been noticed yet took in the man, he caught the flicker of annoyance in those blue eyes. He was thinner, leaner, more toned, gone was the youthful grin and the dancing eyes devoid of cynicism. This was a different man, one who'd seen violence, stared death in the eye without blinking. Mycroft searched the mask of solemn patience.

"He's all yours Mycroft take as long as you wish." The General smiled kindly on the young man. "At ease." He patted John's shoulder easily and left the young doctor, he hadn't noticed the color drain from the exhausted soldiers tan face or the way the young soldier suddenly stiffened even more than what he had been at attention.

Mycroft was afraid to read the Doctor's face, the two stood looking upon each other and it was john to break the silence.

"What's happened? Is he-" Mycroft realized quickly the train of thought and the doctor had again surprised him. After all this time he still cared.

"John, take a seat. You look a bit worse for wear." John swallowed the lump in his throat. Why was Mycroft here? Had Sherlock not made it through Rehab had he died-John's brain ran through all possible complications accompanying long term drug abuse. He slumped down into the chair that the taller Holmes had offered.

"No John. He's been clean almost 1 year now. He's even managed to find himself a hobby to keep him busy. He's moved into a flat a tiny basement room in London." John shakily let out a sigh grateful his friend was alive. He tried to imagine the wild-eyed Sherlock having his own place.

"What's wrong then Mycroft, why are you here?" John ran his tired hands over an exhausted face. Mycroft could see he hadn't slept much, the front lines weren't pretty having seen the reports and the pictures.

"You had me reassigned didn't you?" realization dawning on him.

"John-I"

"Don't." Mycroft almost hadn't heard it. "Just don't." John cleared his throat. "You made yourself clear two years ago, as did Sherlock." Lt. Watson was standing now, "All I ask now Mycroft Holmes is to be left alone. Please don't try to interfere with my career. I've chosen my life. I don't know what you have to gain by pulling me here. But I wont have it, I had established respect and stability there I was making a difference. I don't care what your reasoning was. I think it's best we leave it at that. I'm sure since you so quickly got me reassigned you could be just as quick with changing the order. Goodbye Mycroft." John nodded sternly turning he left the speechless Government official behind.

Mycroft understood what John was saying the man knew what he wanted and Mycroft would not interfere. Besides hadn't he said John Watson was not blood he was not his bother. If this was true why did he feel as if he'd lost something dear to him. The years had changed John Watson, his boundless forgiveness gone.

John sank down onto the cot removing his shoes he tried to keep the rush of emotion locked down. Seeing Mycroft, and talking to him telling him to fuck off in a polite indifferent way. It was official Sherlock was fine, and John didn't have anyone anymore. Harry hadn't written in two years. And the letters he'd written to Sherlock the emails-he had hoped something was delaying the correspondence but he knew now by confirmation that Sherlock didn't want to talk to him. Mycroft no doubt had come all this way to tell him as much.

John had thought it would soften this blow if he beat the taller man to the punch, but John had been wrong. It hurt, he clasped his eyes shut and lying back on the stiff cot, he was a fool a sentimental fool. And though John was alone again, he still had purpose, the army supplied him with that. He would hold to the army, that's all he had. This thought he clutched to as he fell into an exhausted sleep.

~0~

It wasn't till the emails stopped that Sherlock gave into temptation and opened the last email sent. His eyes scanned over the first sentence and then flew over the IP address. The young dark haired consulting detective jumped up from his chair, his laptop toppled at his feet. He didn't take notice, he felt as if the room was closing in, he needed to see his brother.

In fact less than 20 minutes later he burst through his brother's office doors.

"Stop this! Bring him back." a demand needing no further explanation, and Mycroft knew the day would come and he'd feared it as well.

"Brother be rational." the older Holmes sat back in his black leather winged back chair.

"You knew didn't? You, you've known! How long?" Mycroft wouldn't lie it never worked with Sherlock.

"A year."

"A year!? He's been in 3 years now. There is a war going on."

"I am aware little brother."

"You did this." Sherlock accused, Mycroft shook his head he knew this was a possibility and this reaction wasn't unexpected.

"I can't."

"Can't or wont?" Sherlock's voice lost it's edge instead he sounded deflated, tired. Sherlock accepted the silence as wont.

"I hope you're happy dear brother you've finally taken everything I've ever loved and thoroughly smashed it. Isolated me."

"You will take responsibility Sherlock. What is this sudden change of heart? You were the one to tell him you didn't have friends. Well we shall leave it at that."

"He'll die. You know how he has that reckless urge to help those around him, that natural instinctive drive to rush forward. He won't stay back he wont stay out of it. He'll want to be on the front lines, he will die." Sherlock felt sick thinking of bullets flying around John, his friend, John. He remembered their last parting words, he read the last email it only ended "Goodbye Sherlock."

"It has been done Sherlock, he is already there. And I will not move to change his assignment, he is nothing of importance to me. Sentiment brother, it's a useless emotion." Mycroft didn't tell his brother he had tried but John wanted nothing to do with either of them. "I forbid any further contact. He has obviously made his feelings known on the subject or you would not be here. So brother I suggest you put it behind you and move on."

"You've finally got what you wanted. You wanted to prove that friendship has no advantages. That sentiment and emotion all of it is useless, you win brother you've finally won. And when he dies, because we both know it's a matter of time-" Mycroft couldn't let the younger man finish, his words were hitting their target so accurately.

"Look at you now little brother. You're actually going to stand there and accuse me? Was I the one who over dosed, who put the needle to your arm? Was I the one to turn his back on the only person willing to put up with my childish tantrums!? I will take part of the blame on this but you have to realize you aren't exactly blameless in this either. And don't be so over dramatic he's a soldier with the RAMC. It's not like he'll be shot tomorrow." Mycroft knew this was a lie, he knew damn well the conditions that the Doctor worked under. Knew he took the dangerous assignments, but there was no need to upset Sherlock further.

The younger Holmes brother felt as if Mycroft had struck him in the stomach, he'd actually have preferred physical pain to what his brother had just hurled at him. Speechless now, he left his brother standing in the office and made his way home in search of something harder than a cigarette to quiet his racing thoughts.

Lestrade was waiting for him when he got home, Mycroft must have anticipated what Sherlock had in mind.