Sorry for tripping up on the update schedule. I think I'm going to start updating Monday to Friday and taking Saturday and Sunday off so that I can avoid hiccups like that. It might take me a little bit longer to finish but I don't want to get burned out too fast. Just bear with me.

Note I literally suck at in-text character introductions and I just realized it in writing this chapter. That's why it took me this long. So if you have any advice on how to improve this chapter it would be hugely appreciated.

Thank-you, and enjoy.

The tube station was bustling with people, pressing in on all sides, but I was too excited to worry about them. My heart felt tight and heavy, beating painfully against my ribs while my eyes searched through the crowd. Sholto was due at any moment now from Heathrow, and I wasn't sure how he would be after travelling. I had been worried about how he would react if someone were to recognize him, but I had to keep reminding myself that he was a big kid, and if he didn't think he could handle it, he wouldn't have come. He would be fine. I would be fine.

You stood with me, with your coat pulled tight around you and your head held high. Although you had never seen Sholto before, I was sure you would recognize him when you saw him. (Scars, I told you. Look for scars.) In complete contrast to me, you stood still and focused, while I jittered around and fussed with my jacket to keep my hands busy.

"It's just a visit," You stated, flatly. "You don't have to get so worked up."

I ignored you. "I hope he's alright. I hope he came in fine. I'm not sure how he is about planes. Or the tube."

You glanced down at me. I tried to calm myself down so that you wouldn't get suspicious, but when I stopped fidgeting the shaking in my hands got pretty obvious, and that was even more embarrassing. You tsked, taking a hand out of your coat pocket and running it along the back of my shoulders.

"Something bothering you?" You asked, barely above the noise.

"Not sure."

"Do you need to sit down?"

"No, my leg is fine."

"You're shaking."

"I've noticed." I laughed, shuffling my feet and staring at the floor. "Damn, I'm such a mess. You'd think I'd be more collected than this, behave like an actual adult, but no, of course not. I'm going to tremble and jump around because I'm a three year old girl apparently and there's no better way I can contain myself."

"Is is the crowd?"

"Of course it's the fucking crowd. Yes. Crowd. Oh, fuck."

I teetered on my feet, and you turned to steady me. My lungs had started to buckle, and I immediately put my head against your shoulder, taking a deep breath of your cologne and struggling to steady myself. You pulled me toward the benches and sat me down, kneeling in front of me and keeping my head up. Your thumb ran gently against my cheek.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whispered, setting my hands against your chest. People were starting to gawk at us, which made me feel even stupider. I let my head hang, blocking out the people and imagining that you and I were alone, in a quiet room, safe and sound. I started to feel less dizzy.

"We should've waited at the flat," You murmured.

"No." I bit my cheek. "I'll be fine. I'm a grown man."

"John."

I took a deep breath, willing my lungs to keep working and my head to stay clear. Your eyes were inches from mine, sparkling brightly with worry, but I was afraid that if I met them you would see right through me. I reached out and grasped your hand, letting my eyes slide open to watch as the tube carriages pulled into the station, its passengers milling in and out, oblivious of us.

"I don't want him to see me like this," I said, sadly. "What a humiliating way to meet. 'Hi, John, how long's it been, six, seven years? Haven't changed much, have you?' "

You smiled, and I smiled back, my chest relaxing a little. I leaned forward to press my forehead against yours, taking a few more breaths through my nose. I was going to be fine. I wasn't going to freak out. I focused on you, the texture of your skin. You would be with me the whole time. There was nothing to be afraid of.

And, really, there wasn't. I wasn't sure why I was so damn scared. I was usually fine with crowds, fine with people. What was the problem with me today? Was it Sholto? I was nervous, yes, but this nervous? Was I nervous about how you would treat him? Or about how he would treat you? Or was it just a bad day? I had no idea, and it was frustrating. I hated being unable to control my own body. I hated feeling vulnerable and small.

You straightened up, standing by my side with your hand on my back. "We'll wait here until he comes."

"Fine," I grunted.

There on the bench, it was impossible to see more than a few yards in any direction, but I think that being off my feet with your hand on my shoulder helped bottle the butterflies a bit. You kept watching the carriages, on the look-out for scars. Scars. Scars. You found him within five minutes, identifying him as soon as he stepped off the tube.

"1.91 meters, pale skin, scarring over the left side of the face, further down the arm, as I can tell." You said, your neck stretching for a better look. "Leg, too. Approximately forty years. Square jaw, straight chin, small eyes."

"Sounds like him." I pulled myself up and moved toward the carriage, you following closely behind. I spotted him from several yards away.

It was incredible. A cold sensation swept across me as I recognized him. He was taller than I'd remembered, a little taller than you, with a tough leather jacket and a dark brown beret, both dark with rain. He almost didn't look like the same Sholto because he wasn't in full dress. He still hadn't seen me, but began walking in our direction, pulling with him a dark suitcase as his eyes scanned through the people.

He was too far away to hear, but as he found me, his face went sweet. We moved toward him.

"Sholto," I called, unable to control my smile. As we reached each other, I saluted him, and he released the handle of his case to return it.

"Hello, Watson." His smile was small and thin. "It's good to see you again."

I let my arm fall to my side again as you came to stand beside me. Your shoulders were tight and your expression was guarded. No doubt you were deducing all types of things about Sholto, but I interrupted your train of thought so I could make a formal introduction. "Sholto, this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Major James Sholto."

He extended his hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Same to you, sir." You said.

"Do you need me to take your bag?" I asked, motioning toward Sholto's case.

"Oh, no, I'm alright. I've gotten it this far, I can finish the job." He gripped the handle again. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No, not too long." I assured. "Let's head up to the flat. Jandi's excited to see you."

He nodded, and we turned toward the stairs.

Both you and I noticed the way he moved. His suitcase was held firmly in his right hand, with his left hanging taut close to his side, his left leg seeming to put up a bit of a fight itself as he walked. He didn't look like he was in pain, but his motion was definitely restricted regardless. The scars across his face and neck also caught me a bit off-guard. He had told me that he had been wounded by the grenades, but I hadn't really envisioned it quite to his extent. Half of his left eyebrow had been seared away, along with most of the skin on that side, shriveling his ear and thinning his hair. But his sea-glass eyes still shone bright and clear, bringing back memories of sun-scorched sand and cold nights full of stars.

He made it up the steps to the flat without much trouble, and was greeted at the door by an eager Jahandar. He held the door open for him and brought him in, his eyes blooming with happiness. "Hello, Major," He said, saluting. "It's good to see you, sir."

"And you, too, Jandi." Sholto released a breath and set his case in the sitting room. "John, where should I...?"

"Oh, I can take that upstairs for you." I reached for the case, but you took hold of it first.

"I've got it," You said, and promptly disappeared upstairs.

Sholto didn't seem to mind. He shook Jandi's hand, then took a moment to look around the flat. "You have a very nice home," He told me.

"Thank-you, it's not usually this clean." I fidgeted. "Do you want to sit down?"

"Thank-you." He took a seat on the sofa, joined shortly by Jandi. I took the seat from the desk and turned it to face them, and as I sat, Sholto started to work off his jacket.

"I'm glad you could make the trip," Jandi said, folding his legs under himself. "I've been trying to contact you for some time."

"That's what John told me." He nodded. "I've heard about Macie, too. How have you been faring?"

"I've been alright."

"It looks like you've gotten a little bruise."

Jandi gently touched the part of his eye that was still discolored and nodded. "He was lost on the street yesterday evening, got himself a bit roughed up," I told him. He looked at me, and I tried my best to give him a hint that it hadn't exactly been an easy topic of discussion. I think he got the message, but I realized then how rusty our mental connection had actually gotten.

"I'm glad you're with John now," He said.

"I am, as well. He's been very hospitable to me." Jandi tipped his head.

"Anything for old friends," I smiled. "What about you, Sholto? How have you been in the last year?"

"I've been getting by."

"That's good. Where have you been living?"

"I own an estate, out in the middle of nowhere." He said. "You wouldn't know it."

I nodded, glancing over as you came back down the stairs, moving slower than usual and coming to rest in your armchair. It looked like you had strained yourself a little too much and were now suffering for it. All three of us saw it.

"Are you alright?" Sholto asked.

"Yes, just a stab wound." You answered.

"Stab?" He glanced at Jandi. "They aren't from the same, are they?"

"No, they're not." You said.

"Sherlock does a bit of police work, recently he's gotten himself into some trouble." I explained. "He'll be fine, though."

"Last I heard he was a detective," Sholto said.

"Well, yes. Consulting detective." You paused, then turned to him. "How did you...?"

"I've read John's blog. Yours, too. I thought it was very interesting."

"Oh?" You preened your metaphorical feathers. "I'm glad."

"All your cases have been very interesting," He said, going back to me. "It's something better than luck that Jandi turned to you for help. You're much more qualified than I am to help him; more experienced, I guess I should say."

I nodded, adjusting myself in my seat with a little chuckle. "You read my blog?"

He studied me. "I thought I told you that."

"You may have mentioned it, I just, I guess I forgot."

"I read it off-and-on. By the way, congratulations on your engagement."

"Oh, thank-you." I smiled.

"Do you live in the country, Major?" You asked.

He nodded, stretching out his leg. "Please, call me Sholto. Or James, if you prefer."

"Sholto." You continued. "Are you interested in crime, at all?"

"It's interesting to read up on," He admitted. "I enjoy things like crime shows and the like. But I could never do what the two of you do. It's very admirable."

You nodded, taking the compliment wholeheartedly. "How long did you serve in Afghanistan?"

"In all, nine years and eight months."

"That's impressive. John said that the two of you were stationed together."

"Yes, for a long while. We were both assigned to the Fifth. John's stitched up plenty of my own wounds in his day."

I chuckled.

"How were the two of you acquainted?" He asked you, changing the subject.

"We met through friends," You answered. "We were each looking for a flatmate."

"That's very nice," James nodded. "I'm glad that worked out for the two of you."

"Thank-you." You said. "Do you live alone?"

I shot you a look, but Sholto let it slide.

"I have a small personal staff, but with the exception of them, yes. I live alone."

"And how do you enjoy that?"

"It's pleasant, I enjoy it very much." He answered. "It's very quiet. Much quieter than the city. I can appreciate it."

I nodded. He turned his head toward me again, letting his eyes waver a moment over mine, glistening with the same soft recognition that I was feeling. It was so strange, being in his presence again, nothing short of electrifying. I felt a little sheepish, finding so much enjoyment with just sitting in the same room as him, but I also felt a small cold sensation in my stomach, almost haunting me. His face reminded me of the desert, and of the memories gunfire and blood which were tangled up with his. In a way, it was bittersweet. I wondered if the sight of me reminded him of the same.

While you went in to rest, I helped Sholto settle in to the bedroom upstairs, showing him how the shower and the alarms worked, then leaving him to his own comfort. He seemed tired and behaved very passively, examining the room with a distant sort of gaze - not disappointed, just closed off. He didn't talk much, only thanked me and wished me good-night. I didn't bother him any further.

Jandi was watching more crap telly when I came back down, chewing on some kind of jerky he had found in the cabinet while you leaned into a kitchen chair. The pain in your side combined with the side-effects of the medicine was making you a little bit nauseous, and so I helped you move into the bedroom and smeared a damp cloth over your forehead.

"I like him," You drawled.

I hesitated, watching you closely. Your eyes were shut and your lips were a bit red, but you peeked at me though one eye.

"You're ridiculous," You said.

"What?" I remarked. "I didn't say anything.

Both your eyes opened, moving from my face to my jaw to my neck, reaching our your hand to brush against my collarbone, your fingers spreading across my chest.

"We'll get along." You said. "Sholto and I. We'll get by."

"I hope so." I sat down beside your waist.

You gently traced my cheek. "We'll finish Jahandar's case quickly. Then you can relax."

I nodded, bending over you until my head was just a few inches above yours. "But you relax, first."

"Yes, doctor." Your fingers gently brushed my lips, and I rested my hand against your heart.

Everything around me was dark. I was submerged, my feet anchored down into the mud, lungs filling slowly with water. I could see the moon sparkling somewhere far above me, sending down streams of white light, illuminating the tall seaweed and the large creatures around me, swimming in circles around me, their fins slipping silently through the water, jaws open and teeth exposed.

Pain ripped through my shoulder, but my cries were muffled by the depth. Blood seeped through my wounds in little funnels of red, seeping through the scars on my shoulders. I pressed my hand against the hole, but the blood escaped through my fingers and floated up toward the surface, driving my assailants mad. They flicked their tails, teeth only growing larger and whiter in the light, closing in their circles and coming ever closer as my lungs began to close.

Cold fear slipped down my spine as I watched them, too terrified to move. Their grey bodies, slippery and slimy, glided across my skin, rubbing against my arms and breathing up the taste of my blood, their eyes changing color as they grew bigger, the color of sea-glass in the fading light of the moon.

Yeah, my mama she told me don't worry about your size, she says boys like a little more reviews to hold at night.

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