I slept for a few good hours, but I was nervous that if I slept too long my schedule would be too jumbled. Sleep was important, especially with this new stress, and I didn't think I would be much help as the irritable mess I would be if my sleep schedule took a hard hit. I forced myself out of bed around six in the afternoon, desperate for caffine, and a bit exhausted with everything around me. While you took a spot on our bed, I played a few games of chess with Jandi, then settled him in to the guest bedroom upstairs.

Your meds had worn off, and as a result you were two steps from miserable. You were comforting yourself with crime reports on our bedroom telly and inhaling carton after carton of sherbet that Mrs. Hudson had brought for you. But, unluckily, sherbet doesn't cure pain. Your skin had gotten a bit pale by the time I had made it into bed.

"Oh, Sherlock, you look horrible." I set my laptop down and crossed over to where you laid. Your eyes followed me, but your head didn't.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." You quipped.

I put my hand against your forehead. "Well, at least you don't have a fever."

"I'll be fine," You said.

"Is it just the pain? Are you sure you don't want medication?"

"No drugs."

"I have a prescription from your doctor that should be safe. It's softer than morphine, but it can take the edge off."

"No drugs."

I frowned, but I realized that if you were so adamant about your refusal, it was probably for a good reason. I didn't blame you for being nervous, or cautious, whatever the reason. I leaned forward, brushing your hair back, and gently kissed your hairline before returning to my side of the bed.

While you drowned yourself in your crime show, I opened up my laptop and started typing. The only way I had to contact Major Sholto was through e-mail: his mobile phone had been disconnected, and all landlines I'd tried came up dry. I didn't even have an address for paper mail. He and I had exchanged a few e-mails before, when he was first deported, but since then hadn't kept up much. He was a very private man, and I wanted to honor his comfort. I just hoped that he hadn't changed his e-mail account.

You glanced over my shoulder a few times to see what I was working on, but couldn't move too much. "Are you sending that to the major?" You asked.

"Yes."

You nodded, turning your attention back to the telly.

A story had just finished about a recent string of double-murders that had kept you plenty captivated. As I typed, I half-mindedly caught a few details that I would have rather left unheard, about the extent of their wounds or the pre-death sexual abuse. I glanced up to shoot you a look, but you barely noticed. You were still trying to decide whether it was the mailman or the electrician who had done the brutal stabbings. But as that particular story ended (it was the mailman, after all), the next began playing some preview clips, and I glanced up to see it.

The station chose particular clips of a young woman walking through a dark university. She was a pretty girl, but she looked scared. Her heels clicked along the hall where she walked. Shadows moved along behind her, but just as they were about to reach her, a university professor walked out to meet her. She seemed relieved, but then it cut to slides of a mutilated body. "Krissy Wiles, age twenty-two, was held captive for twelve days by her English professor. During that time, she was raped numerous times, in various ways with various items, which caused massive rectal and vaginal bleeding, along with intense internal-"

"Okay, Sherlock, turn that off." I interrupted, nudging you with my foot. "I've heard enough for tonight."

You glanced at me, huffed a bit, then clicked the telly off. The bloody woman faded to black, and you decided it was a good idea to face the night and work yourself into a sitting position.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"I'm changing out of these clothes," You hissed, grinding your teeth as you gently inclined.

You paused, taking a breath, and then reached to undo the buttons of your shirt. I watched you at first, then set my computer down and went over to help you. Your bandages were packed heavy and tight over your stomach, and although at first I considered re-wrapping them, I chose to leave them rather than put you in more pain. They were still fairly clean, sleeping in them wouldn't be a problem.

"Jandi told me a bit about him," You said, studying me. "Your former commander."

"Former?" I repeated.

"Ex," You corrected.

"You asked him about it?" I didn't know whether to sigh or chuckle.

"I was curious. And it didn't seem like you were interested in sharing."

"So you asked someone else?"

"Logically."

I shook my head and straightened, fetching a nightshirt from your dresser. "What did he say about it?"

"He told me that the two of you were friends."

"Did he?"

"Good friends."

I glanced at you. Your eyes were narrow, lips upturned.

"Is that all he said?"

"Is that all there is?"

"You didn't actually ask him, you bastard."

"But I do want to know."

I sighed, walking back and slipping the shirt on over your head. "We were friends. Good friends, as you so kindly put it. But that was it, just friends. He was a strict, cold sort of man, but was kind to me, and he was open with me; he wasn't open with many people. We bonded quite a bit. I would even say he was my best friend, while we were there."

"Interesting. Have you seen him since you've come back to London?"

"Er, no. I was deported about three years before he was. I tried to see him in the hospital when he first arrived, but I wasn't able to get in because of the press."

"Hospital? Press?"

I nodded. "There was an accident."

"What kind of accident?"

"A bad one. He led a team of new recruits into battle - 'crows', we called them. It was all standard, usual, but something went wrong. Everyone on the team died; Sholto was the only survivor. He sustained some pretty critical injures from grenade fire, as I heard. He was decorated and honored for his service, but not everyone felt he should have been. The press crucified him in the papers and all over the web. He got all kinds of death threats. Since then he's shut himself up, stays out of reach, and doesn't talk to many people."

"And now he's a pivotal part of a kidnapping case. How interesting."

"Please, Sherlock." I set my hand on your shoulder. "Sholto's been through hell. Try to at least be a little respectful."

You looked suspicious, but I watered it down with my own seriousness. I then changed the subject.

"Do you want new trousers or just sleep in your pants?"

You glanced down and gave a hum. "I think pants would be fine. It's not too cold tonight. And, plus, I have you."

I clicked my tongue and bent to unzip your trousers. "Maybe it would be less uncomfortable if you lay down."

There was a dark shimmer in your eye as you moved yourself back onto the pillows. I chuckled at you. At the end of the day, it didn't matter how much pain you were in, you always liked the thought of having my skin against yours. I arranged myself on the bed beside your legs and started on the zipper of your trousers, refusing you the pleasure of meeting your lusty gaze.

"If I hadn't just lost an organ, I would've had so much fun with this," You said.

"It's too bad for you, then, hmm?" I quipped back.

"One of us is still able-bodied," You reached up your hand and brushed it against my temple, fingering a strand of my hair.

"I would help you out, but..." I slid your trousers down from around your hips. "I don't think you've quite earned it."

"Earned it?"

A little grin snaked across my face, and your fingers trailed to my jawline. Careful not to upset the bed too much, I crawled forward and pecked at your lips. I braced myself against your pillows, my lips trailing from your mouth to your nose, then around to the side of your neck, gingerly touching your shoulders and the curly strands of your hair.

Your hands roamed under my shirt, running along my sides and back, pulling me closer and getting me a little excited. I kept kissing you, leaving a little trail of kisses down from your jaw to your neck, petting your shoulders and arms until I could reposition myself. If there was anything I could do to help you, I decided, it was this.

I reached down toward your pants, pushing the waistband just a little lower and your shirt just a little higher, exposing your hips and the bottom of your belly. Gently I laid my lips against it, getting a little grumble from you in response. I let my hands fall to your thighs, rubbing little circles there. My teeth gently scraped against where your bone met the skin, and your hand found my hair. I let my tongue roll along the smooth expanse of skin, letting my thumb slip underneath the fringe of your pants, tugging and kissing.

Both of us jolted as our door swung open and Jandi, completely oblivious, stepped into the room. He started to say something, but upon seeing how close my face was to your pelvis, immediately turned pink and made a shrieking sound. "Oh, spee bachee, I'm so sorry, I didn't-" He stammered, turning his head away and pulling the door shut behind him. "I'm sorry! I'll go!"

We froze, unsure of what to do at first, but as you met my eyes we burst into laughter. I collapsed against your leg, letting myself relax a little, and you groaned with fresh pain in your side, but we laughed it off, shaking our heads and shrugging off our own embarassment.

"I guess we'll have to remember to lock the door next time," I chuckled, getting up and tossing your trousers into the hamper. "I'll go see what he needed."

"Tell him to use the laptop the next time he feels like porn," You said, nursing your side.

"How about you use the laptop the next time you feel like porn." I smiled, and patted you on the ankle before trotting out.

Jandi wasn't curled up in the corner like I expected him to be, but his feathers were pretty ruffled, and he was pacing around the kitchen as if he'd just seen a ghost. I smoothed out my jumper and tittered at him, feeling a little less embarassed when I saw just how embarassed he was. "Sorry about that, Jandi, ah... We should've warned you."

"It's alright, I should have warned you." He smiled sheepishly.

I shrugged, stretching my shoulders. "Did you need something?"

"Ah, yes." He glanced toward the door, then back at me. "The bedroom upstairs, er, I'm... not really used to being so far away. Is it alright if I slept on the sofa? I'll be fine on the sofa."

"The sofa?"

He nodded. "I feel too far away."

"Oh. Well, alright, if that's what you want. I'll help you move your things."

"Thank you, Dr. Watson." Jandi fled back up the stairs.

I rubbed my neck, watching him go and taking a moment to reassess. Too far away? Maybe he was just trying to say he was scared of the bedroom. It did look pretty barren up there, and it was separate from this flat. He could have just been homesick, or overthinking things. But whatever the reason, it wasn't a problem for him to occupy the sofa, and I followed him up the stairs to collect the bedstuffs.

It only took us a few minutes to get his bedding down, but by the time I rejoined you, you had lost interest in kissing and groping. Your side was hurting again, and you stated very clearly that you only wanted to sleep. You did, however, invite me to lay with you, which I had to (regrettably) decline in favor of the e-mail I still hadn't finished.

"I need to send this before bed, I want his answer as soon as I can get it." I said, opening my laptop back up. "I sure hope it saved."

"You do that, then. I'm sleeping." You grumbled, laying down farther into the pillows.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," I hummed, unlocking the screen.

It wasn't usual that I felt awkward in front of a keyboard. In fact, all my time spent writing blog posts about you had made the keyboard one of the most comfortable places for me to be. But tonight, it was just difficult. I hadn't spoken to Sholto in months - maybe even years. I had no idea what to say. I wanted to sound urgent, but not rude; direct, but not hasty. Would he take that phrase the wrong way? Would he think what I think if I use that word rather than another? It took me almost half an hour to finish one e-mail, and it wasn't even very long.

Date: April 4, 2014
 Time: 7:49 P.M.
 To: Maj. James Sholto
 From: Dr. John Watson
 Subject: Urgent

Good evening, James. I know it's been a long time since we've spoken. I hope you're doing well.

I'm writing you because this morning I recieved a visitor who I was not in the least expecting. Jahandar Dali, our friend from Camp Ristol, showed up at my doorstep all the way from Wales. He was sweaty and jittery, but he had some shocking news to tell me. He's been living and travelling with Macie Lowdry for the last few years, and just recently she's gone missing. He fears that something may have happened to her.

A little while before Macie disappeared, she told Jandi to contact you in case anything was amiss. He tried to find you, but since you've taken such precautions to keep your location private, it was difficult for him, and he came to me instead. I knew that you had been available via e-mail before, so hopefully you'll be able to help us this way. Do you know what's going on? Jandi is very shaken by the whole situation.

If you know anything, anything at all, please don't hesitate to tell me. My e-mail account is secure, if you're worried about that. No one else will see these messages. And if you've gotten yourself into any sort of trouble, James, let me know. I can help. I want to help.

Please reply as soon as you're able. Thank-you.

JW

I hit send before I could over-think myself, and sat back as the message went through my outbox. There. It was done. The message was sent, and tomorrow there would be a reply. Well, hopefully tomorrow. Knowing Sholto, it might be the next day, or the day after next. But it would be in everyone's good favor if it came soon. I shut down the computer and slid it into the bed-side drawer, letting the drawer click shut before reaching up for the light.

You weren't quite asleep yet, but I decided not to bother you in case you were still in pain. I switched off the lamp and pulled the blankets up around my shoulders, wriggling myself closer to you until I could feel your arm against mine, leaning my forehead against your shoulder. I grasped your hand, and you gave a gentle squeeze, intertwining your fingers with mine.

I'm gonna fly like a review through the night, feel my tears as they dry.

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