Today was the day. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Sherlock stood in the doorway, John just outside. The army doctor looked like just that, in full uniform, posture instinctively straight.
Looking directly into Sherlock's eyes- Though Sherlock almost never made eye contact with anyone- John couldn't help but hesitate before he responded. "To be honest? No. I mean, I just got you back. Just when everything was starting to be normal again..." He shook his head. "If I could change my mind now..."
Then, something odd. Sherlock placed his hand on John's shoulder. "You're doing what's right. Going off to save lives, not once but twice. Takes more courage than most men show in their whole life. Certainly more than I could manage." It took everything he had to keep himself from breaking. This must have been what a parent felt like before seeing their child off. Or their spouse. "Just promise me," How could he word this? "Promise you'll return home safely."
"Sherlock, it's unpredictable over there. You know I can't-"
"Please." On very few occasions did the great Sherlock Holmes beg. Sometimes for his drugs. Sometimes before he had to disappear into the shadows for years on end. And now a third time. Before his best friend went off to war.
John Watson going off to war. The idea, though certainly not implausible, did seem unreal. Sherlock had been counting down the days, dreading having to sleep, as it took more time away. So he'd remained awake for days on end, staring out the window, or plucking the strings of his violin. It was always so silent. And it would continue to be silent from this moment on.
The request, in all its desperation, caught John off guard. For a second or two, he had to make sure that Sherlock was being serious. But it hardly took a moment for him to know. He wouldn't joke about this sort of thing. "I... I promise."
A nod in response. Very somber, very official. After a moment of simply taking in the man before him, Sherlock gave a salute, which John returned with a strained, near heartbroken smile on his face. He departed from that front step then, got into the car which had been waiting for him. Sherlock was out on the pavement as he watched it go, ignoring the wind which bit through the thin fabric of his shirt. John was looking out the back window, trying to fit in every last second before he lost sight of the man he quite possibly could never see again.
Days turned into weeks, weeks slowly turning to months. Just over two months. Sixty-eight days. 1,632 hours. 97,920 minutes. 5,875,200 seconds. It had been 5,875,200 seconds of hell. Sherlock understood now what John had been going through. And this was only a small portion of the time he'd endured. He hadn't heard anything, not since the day he left. No word from John, saying he was all right. His eyes were closed when he heard the knock at the door. Not Mrs Hudson, she entered after knocking, without invitation. Client? Probably not. He hadn't been able to bring himself to work on any cases, and his mind had paid the price. It was always working overtime now.
He considered not getting up. What was the point? But he forced himself to, not caring about the fact that he hadn't changed clothes in three days. His hair was a wreck, black curls falling in front of his eyes. And he'd been prepared to shout at the man- Definitely a man- who would be there. But he stopped. This man... No. No, it couldn't be. God, no. Please no... "Sherlock Holmes?"
He nearly broke down as he heard his name. But Sherlock kept that strong, confident facade. "He's dead, isn't he?" Dammit, his voice trembled. But honestly, he didn't care. It didn't matter.
But then, something he hadn't expected. "Not yet." And those two words gave him a hope he hadn't felt in so long. But it would soon be torn down again. "He's been taken prisoner by enemy forces." The man looked Sherlock over for a moment, took in his thin frame.
"Where is he?" The detective was demanding answers, that deadly look in his eyes. The one he got when he was confronting Moriarty, the one he got whenever John was in danger. "Tell me where he is!" Shouting, probably worrying Mrs Hudson.
The man wasn't phased. "You're not going there, Mr Holmes." Sherlock was about to protest. Like hell he wasn't going there! John was being held captive in some damn desert, he wasn't going to just sit there! But he was cut off before he could. "Not yet."
Not yet? "What do you mean, not yet?" Sherlock furrowed his brow, studying this man who seemed to know something, who asked if he could come in.
Sherlock stepped aside, gesturing to the sofa. Not John's armchair. That was off limits. "My name is Dr Arik Soong." He took a seat, Sherlock pulling his chair up in front of the stranger. "Now, Dr Watson, as I'm sure you've gathered, is in incredible danger. And I also don't doubt that you want nothing more than to make sure that he comes home safely." A hesitation, noticing the look of suspicion on Sherlock's face. "It's too dangerous for you to go now. But, with my help, I feel I can make it so you can."
Sherlock flew to his feet. He could save him. He could save John. "How? Tell me. Anything it takes."
Dr Soong was doing a better job at keeping calm than he was. "I've been working on a new procedure. Genetic engineering. The previous subjects have proven to be huge successes. Near superhuman."
"What, like- like Captain America?" No, this man was mental. But if there was a chance... "What would I have to do?" He barely whispered this.
Leaning forward slightly, Dr Soong pulled out his mobile, showing Sherlock various diagrams on the screen. "It's simple, really. We could have you ready to go within the week."
It seemed... completely logical. The graphs, the data, it all made perfect sense. And, as he handed the phone back, he spoke once more with confidence. "When can we start?"