While they were waiting for Molly to return with the news of their cab, John continued to hold Sherlock in his embrace and rock him back and forth to calm his friend's pained cries as his head pounded every other minute. John couldn't imagine what he was going through, sure he could feel a headache, but he couldn't feel the pain of trying to remember and what that causes in Sherlock's mind. Anytime he tried, he tried to put together the puzzle that would come to show a memory from events past, he would be met with the harsh denial of his head and would succumb to his awful migraines. John couldn't do anything except watch. It was just as painful.

"Sherlock, please...calm down..."

"Why did she say that?"

"Say what?"

"I'm sad..."

John was starting to become puzzled.

"Sherlock, who is "she"? Do you mean Molly?"

Sherlock clearly wasn't in the right state of mind for John to be playing Therapist and Patient again, he wasn't even sure if Sherlock could hear him over the sound of his own agony. John's hand ran up and down his back, careful not to agitate him anymore than he already was. Sherlock would whimper and then give a tiny shout whenever he got a pain. This went on for some time before John heard him whisper, "I want to go home, John...I don't want to be here anymore..."

John buried his face in Sherlock's soft curls and fought everything in his body to try and get a whiff of the heavenly aroma. He was trying everything he could to comfort him, but nothing was working. The only way John could even begin to help aid his friend's convalescence is by taking him to a familiar place because this clearly didn't go the way John hoped, it only added to the stress.

"Okay, we're heading home, I'll give you some Advil when we get back...please calm down..."

Sherlock sniffled and nodded so carefully that you would think his head was close to falling off if he moved it any faster. John closed his eyes and placed a light kiss on top of the massive, dark curls and prayed that Sherlock was too hysterical to notice that he even did such a thing. Maybe something deep down in him wanted this, but not like this, never like this.

"Okay, John..." The long fingers only a clutch from pulling the fabric from John's plaid shirt right off of his skin. John never let his hand that was rubbing the soft shirt stopping to rest no matter how tired and achy it was. Come on Molly, hurry up!

Almost immediately, she came running in the room again with her phone in her hand and waving it around frantically as she forced every power in her being to get her panicked words out.

"The cab...the cab is downstairs! Like, right now!"

John quickly removed his mouth from the depths of Sherlock's hair and gave a curt nod to let Molly know that he acknowledged her anxiety and he immediately removed his hand from Sherlock's back, sending the distressed man into even more pain at the brief separation. John could hear his breathing quicken and he was holding John even tighter if you could believe it. John's hand immediately found its way to Sherlock's desperate one and he calmly whispered, "Relax, Sherlock, I'm going to walk you to the taxi now so we can go back to Baker street."

Sherlock agreed with this plan because he rose to his feet, albeit with a bit of staggering from the pain and John supported the detective as they made their way to their ride, slow and steady. Molly followed after them just to make sure Sherlock wouldn't have to end up in one of the hospital's cots. Lucky for the detective, that wasn't the case, they made it to the cab just fine. John carefully set Sherlock in cab and then closed the door with enough force to make sure that it was shut and that wouldn't bother Sherlock. Molly saw John stand outside the car for a moment and sigh before turning to face her.

"Molly, I'm so sorry, this wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to help him-."

She interrupted him. "John, it's okay, there's no need to apologize, just go and make sure he's okay,

"John, it's okay, there's no need to apologize, just go and make sure he's okay, doctor." ohn's face straightened at being called by his profession and got the message.

"Right. I'll text you later."

He spun on his heel and hopped in besides Sherlock and Molly watched as the cab pulled away with the two men in tow.

"Easy, Sherlock, we're here." John was supporting Sherlock's back and waist up the stairs so he wouldn't fall and made sure to reassure him each step of the way. He threw up when they got out of the cab, thankfully too, John didn't have enough cash to pay the driver for the mess in the car. Mrs. Hudson came out of her flat when she heard John and Sherlock's loud, clumsy feet ring through the building's staircase. She placed a hand to her mouth as she saw her poor Sherlock suffering from the one thing that held dear. She knew better than to say anything because John had his hands full already. John flashed her a look that signaled that he would tell her soon, just not at the moment. John escorted Sherlock to his room and gently and hastily placed him on his bed and removed his coat, his jacket, and his shoes so he wouldn't feel so suffocated and constricted.

"Help me Captain!"

"Hold on, corporal, we're almost there, the tent is just up ahead."

"Oh God, please end this pain!"

The injured solider let out a blood-curdling scream as they made their way to the infirmary tent that was already filled to the brim with the dying and already dead soldiers that went there to be healed but didn't make it their fast enough. John was moving as fast as he could, supporting the corporal that had a gaping hole in his leg; too close to the grenade the enemies threw. Shrapnel came flying at them and he got it worse. It was blazing out there, and John was pouring sweat, he had to save this life, he was a doctor, this is what his job is about. But you can't save everybody, right?

They make it inside the cooler environment that has the scents of antiseptic, blood, sweat, heat, and fear lingering in the air. He set the man down on an empty, blood-stained cot and started to inspect the wound.

"Stay with me, don't you die on me..."

But it was too late, they took too long getting there. The soldier was taking his last breaths, and the very last one was, "I want to go home...Captain...I don't want to be here anymore..." His body went limp and

His body went limp and paled almost automatically. John could do nothing. He stared at the life he couldn't save and muttered, "I was supposed to help you..."

He snapped out of his brief flashback, he had to focus on the task at hand. He had to focus on Sherlock. Speaking of, he looked absolutely green and John rushed to the bathroom and retrieved the pail and darted back into the room and set it down on the floor right as Sherlock rolled over and threw up what little food he ate. John rubbed his back and soothing circles and tried to calm him down as all of this wasn't helping at the moment. John stood back up as Sherlock started to vomit again and retrieved pills, this time they were pills to make him drowsy whilst it cured his headache, Sherlock needed sleep. John needed sleep too. He gave Sherlock the pills and was motioning to the door so that he could leave, but he heard Sherlock's desperate plea, "Please don't leave, John..."

John wanted to keep walking, leave Sherlock alone. But he sounded so weak and so helpless and so tormented. John had to turn back around and keep him company, it was the least he could do. He removed his jacket and shoes and laid down on the surprisingly soft bed,

"Come here, Sherlock."

The younger man curled up into John's open embrace, which tightened when the other placed their body there. Sherlock's head was resting on John's chest, and his hand rested on John's admittedly pudgy stomach, and his legs intertwined with the shorter ones. John had his hand resting on Sherlock's back, but it sometimes made its way up to Sherlock's hair and gave a few comforting rubs. Pretty soon, both of them were comfortable and tired enough to fall asleep. John was only graced with a few minutes of sleep when his phone went off. With one eye opened, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered it.

"M'yello?"

"John."

"Greg?"