I actually got this done hell yeah I'm so happy

Enjoy!

The first time I met Sholto was in my first year in Afghanistan, when the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers were still stationed in Camp Bastion. It had been a long day in the infirmary; we had gotten some battalions in from the front lines that were beaten up pretty badly. There had been at least three amputations, two deaths, and endless lacerations needing stitches, sometimes even several on the same man. Macie Lowdry and I had been working non-stop since four A.M., and there were still plenty to work through.

Most of the cadets waiting in the halls were hunched over, groaning, complaining, laying down, fighting over turns, praying, or something in-between all those, but there was one man who sat on the floor with his hand clutched closely to his stomach. He had been in the hall for several hours now, always giving his turns up to other cadets and never making a fuss about it. Whenever I would come for my next man I would spot him, and once or twice I would ask him if he needed attention, but he never wanted me to help. I figured him one of those hero-types and left him alone.

By ten there were only three men left in the hall. Two of them had already been examined and now were only waiting for Mace to give them their stitches. The third was the obstinate cadet. I stripped off my last pair of gloves while I approached him.

"I can take you now, sir, there's no one else for you to wait for," I told him.

"You can give Jim his stitches." He replied. "I can stay a few more minutes."

"The other nurse can give him his stitches. I can take you now."

The cadet looked up at me. "I'm alright. You can take Jim."

"I've already been seen, sir," Another cadet (presumably Jim) put in. "Let the doctor see you."

"There are still more." He leaned his head back.

"Please, sir." Insisted the cadet. "Everyone else's been seen."

I squatted down to be at eye-level with the man and gave him a look-over. He was a bit pale, his eyes focused on the wall behind me, but when I pulled out my flashlight he looked at me. His eyes responded, but they responded a little too slowly for my taste.

"Follow the light," I said, moving the flashlight back and forth.

He sighed, but obeyed.

"Is there a reason you're refusing to be seen, sir?" I asked.

"There's other boys who have it worse than I do. I've just got a scratch. They should be seen first." He answered.

"In all respect, you should let us decide who needs to be seen first. You don't need to worry about anyone else."

He looked at me for a long moment. His eyes were sharp. "They're my men."

I stopped, letting my flashlight fall to my knee. He and I held a gaze, and Jim cleared his throat. "He's our captain, sir."

"I apologize, Captain. But, I have to ask, where is your uniform?"

He ran his tongue across his lips. "I gave it to another officer. He'd lost a lot of blood."

"Lieutenant Farmer?" I asked.

His face lit up. "Have you seen him?"

"Yes, I worked on him."

"How is he?"

I bit my cheek. "We couldn't save him, sir. Seven o' nine."

He went cold. "Oh."

I stood up, allowing him a few moments to process, then put my flashlight in my pocket and looking down at him. "Well, sir, you've done all you can for these two. Will you please come back with me now?"

The captain glanced at the two cadets, who were now watching him, and then put his good hand out. "Help me up."

We walked back into the nursing room, where one heavily-burned man was asleep on a cot. The captain glanced at him as he eased himself onto the second bed, his hand still plastered over his stomach. I was half-nervous about what I would find. He had been sitting in the hall for hours with who-knows-how-bad a wound, and I could only imagine all the dried blood in his shirt and his sleeve.

I had him lay on his back, then I gently began working his arm from his stomach. He closed his eyes tightly and complied, though I noticed his breath catch as I pulled it away. Dry blood was caked in layers on the abdomen of his sweat-stained shirt. I began unbuttoning it, starting from the collar and working down, being careful not to move the fabric too much. But the shirt was sticking to the wound and, thanks to the pressure from his arm, it had gotten twisted deep into the wound. I knew I would have to cut it out, and I also knew that it would not be a particularly good experience for the young captain.

"You really should have seen me earlier," I told him. "At least to bandage it. A dirty shirt is not a bandage."

"It's alright," He said, gritting his teeth.

As I worked I noticed that he was very muscular and quite a bit larger than me; I had seen the height difference between us when he first stood, but even while he was laying down I felt slightly measely compared to him. My scissors snipped easily through his shirt, letting his dirty pale skin get some exposure. His chest was a shade lighter than the rest of him, but that's how it was with all of us by now. I cut around the wound, careful not to upset it more than I had to, and pulled the pieces away separately. His hands were starting to bunch the sheets underneath him.

"Do you need me to get you some pain-relief, captain?"

"No, I'm fine." He hissed.

"Are you sure? It wouldn't be a problem."

"I'm fine."

I pursed my lips, but didn't bother continuing to argue with him. I rolled up a cloth and ran it under the warm water at the tap, then placing it over the wound to try to coax some of the cloth out of the wound without having to rip it out. The captain furrowed his eyebrows, but didn't make a sound, and neither did I.

I left him to gather more supplies, but watched him out of the corner of my eye. He looked two steps from miserable, staring up at the ceiling with a vacant express, obviously distraught with the news of the fate of his cadet. I felt sorry for him, and as I moved back to him I said, "You really care about your men, don't you?"

"I do."

"That's honorable of you."

"Thank you."

I nodded, but didn't feel quite satisfied with that. "It's best not to blame yourself about Farmer."

He glanced at me. "And why is that?"

"There couldn't have been much you could have done."

I bent over him, beginning to wriggle the cloth from the wound, but paused when he groaned. Only a corner of it was coming out, but it was bringing with it a chunk of dried blood, which was definitely painful for him. I continued to pull, disregarding his murmured swearing, and with the help of the water and the fresh blood, got everything except a few threads out from the cut. The long gash was now fully exposed, crusted with old blood and beginning to fill with new.

"Is it bad?" He asked, his teeth gritted together.

"It's not horrible." I took my tweezers and began pulling for the threads. "Do you know how you got this?"

"Gunshot grazed me," He answered.

"You were lucky it missed."

His eyes were sad. "I guess I was."

I looked at him, setting my tweezers to the side. "What's your name?"

"James Sholto." He looked back at me. "Yours?"

"John Watson. I would shake your hand, but I think I'll save that for later."

"I'd appreciate it."

I chuckled and finished cleaning out the dried blood from the wound. It was now clean and bright red with fresh blood, and although it was a little jagged on the edge from where the cloth had pulled it open, it looked like it wouldn't be too much to worry about. I reached for my needle and stitching thread. "I'll just stitch this and bandage it. You'll have to come back tomorrow morning and get it checked. There's no getting out of it this time, either. Come in by nine o'clock or I'll come find you myself, alright?"

"Alright."

I paused to glance at him. "You should cheer up a little, captain."

To that he responded with anger. His brow curved defensively. "Why in the world should I? I've lost a man. Seven more are in the infirmary. Explain to me exactly why I should 'cheer up'. Why I have the right to 'cheer up'."

"You sat out there for hours, letting men with cuts and bruises take your turns when you've got a gunshot wound across your stomach. I know you're upset, and it's alright for people to be upset. You're not just a captain, you're a man who geniunely cares about your cadets. But grieve for the dead, but not for the living."

"I've lost a man, doctor."

"Yes, and you saved eleven more. If that isn't a right to be glad, there is no right at all."

He went quiet, but it wasn't out of conviction. I tried to stitch up the wound as quickly as I could and put a few layers over it, carefully helping him to sit upright. His jaw was clenched to try to hide the pain, but it wasn't hard for me to see. I kept my eyes away to give him a little privacy, wrapping the gauze tightly around his torso, and the both of us were left sort of awkwardly avoiding each other's eyes for a few minutes. The buzzing tension between us faded a little by the time I was finished, and so when I left him to start on the med report, he cleared his throat to speak.

"Thank you, Dr. Watson."

I looked up at him. His eyes were soft now; not resistant, not frustrated. He looked broken and appreciative, and I gave him a sympathetic smile.

"You're welcome, Captain Sholto."

By the morning, you were feeling much better. The medicine had made it easier for you to sleep and by the time you had your morning dose and eaten a yogurt you were feeling up to walking around. Sholto and Jandi were up early, as I expected, and you made coffee for the three of you while I caught a little more sleep. I had woken up in a panic again, and so I tried to relax in bed as long as I could without feeling rude, to pay myself a little favor. Sholto and I were supposed to go out today to talk about the case, and I didn't want to make him wait too much longer.

You had been wanting to go with us, but around ten Greg called you and asked if you could come in. He had struck a rich vein in their drug-bust case and wanted you to come in and help him glean. At first I argued against it, but you were feeling much better, it would only be a few hours, and you explicitly expressed that you wouldn't be leaving New Scotland Yard, so I complied with Greg's wishes. You dashed out without so much of a good-bye to Sholto or Jandi, but I (ruefully) explained that you were usually brash like that.

Sholto seemed slightly more comfortable that morning, as well. A good night's sleep probably did him well, and he was much more alert. Having him in the flat still made me feel a little awkward, though, and I'm sure I made a fool out of myself running into tables and dropping dishes, but he didn't look like he minded much. Jandi, on the other hand, had fun laughing at me, and I guess it helped to lighten the mood.

We decided to go out for brunch at eleven-thirty, leaning toward one of the smaller cafés off of Hyde Park. We gave Jandi the option to go with us, but he declined it; after what had happened last time, he wasn't exactly jumping at the opportunity. But while Sholto went upstairs to get his jacket, I pulled Jandi to the side to talk to him.

"Please don't leave the flat again, alright?" I said. "I know I can't tell you what to do, but it's not safe out there, not right now. You need to either stay with us or stay here."

"Alright, Dr. Watson." He nodded.

I gave him a firm pat on the shoulder and headed toward the door.

Outside, it was drizzling just a little. I glanced up at the sky, examining the rolling clouds with squinted eyes and stuffing my hands into my pockets. "Well, I thought we would walk, but maybe it would be best to cab..." I turned to Sholto, still standing in the doorway and looking out at the rain. "Which would you prefer?"

"Walking would be nice," He said. "A little rain won't hurt anyone."

I nodded and fetched our umbrellas.

We walked toward Hyde, staying near each other but far enough so that the tips of our umbrellas didn't brush. There weren't too many people out because of the rain, and for that I was glad, although I was still a bit nervous about the passing cars and cabs, which were known to spray water in all directions as they came.

"Be careful of the street, or you might find yourself drenched," I cautioned.

Sholto looked down at me, his view partially obstructed by the umbrella. "Alright, I will."

I gave him a little smile, and he paused.

"You know, it isn't raining too hard. Are two umbrellas really necessary? Mine is wide enough for the two of us. We could just share."

"That would probably be smarter." I closed up my umbrella and let it hang from my arm, stepping slightly closer to Sholto. "Thank-you."

"No problem. Does it often rain like this here?"

"Eh, not really. The spring is normally fairly tame, we just seem to be getting one of those nasty spring storms. What about you?"

"It's been raining like hell the last month or so where I am. I thought I would be getting away from it, but it seems like it's following me now."

I chuckled. "It does seem like it."

He nodded.

"I remember asking earlier where you were living, but I don't think you answered me."

"No, I didn't. I prefer not to give out my address in a group setting - or at all, necessarily." He explained. "But, of course, I know I can trust you to be smart. I own a house in Lancashire, just outside Clitheroe."

"Oh, alright. I know where Lancashire is."

"It's a beautiful country out there. Good for walking and driving."

"That sounds lovely."

Sholto sighed through his nose. The rain was beginning to wet the fabric of his jacket, but he didn't seem to mind. We crossed the street quickly, stepping around puddles and other pedestrians. I purposefully slowed myself down to remain at Sholto's pace. Not that he was being sluggish, but he was just a bit slower than I was, and I didn't want to make him uncomfortable about it. For a split second I considered that this was exactly what you had to do for me, and I laughed a little. Luckily, I wasn't having a bad leg day, and although I had my cane I wasn't relying on it too heavily and it wasn't too burdensome. Sholto didn't even mention it.

"Well, it seems like you're going a lot better."

He looked down at me. "I would say I am."

"I'm glad."

"You look well, yourself. It seems that civilian life suits you well."

I shrugged. "I still need a taste of excitement every now-and-then. But in this line of work, that's not difficult."

Sholto nodded.

"And since I mentioned work, do you want to start discussing things now or wait until we've reached the café?"

"Starting now would be appropriate." He said. "What do you want to know."

"Well, everything I can, really. But let's start with Macie. How much do you know about where she went and what she did?"

"I know a bit." He fussed with the handle of the umbrella. "Since the two of you were under my authority, I made sure to keep tabs on her visits, whenever she went in or out, and made it clear that she was required to let me know if anything occurred out there that could cause harm to our security or her security. She was pretty good about letting me know about stuff that had happened. Her main trips were just into Khales, the closest town, but she was smart and she was gentle. I think that part of it was the fact she was a woman, too. If it had been you, you might have not had the success she had with the villagers. But they were open to her."

"All of them?"

"Not all, of course, but most. There were some, mostly men, who were hostile to her, and some who wanted to either convert her or throw her out. Thankfully, none of those situations turned into anything too serious." Sholto thought a moment, his eyes studying the ground. "Once, there was a man who bit her on the arm and broke the skin, left her all bruised up above the wrist. That was right after you were deported, I think. It wasn't too big a deal at the time, but I remember her telling me about how hard it was to write with a bruised wrist."

"Oh, did she write down the things that she saw?"

"Yes, she did. That was part of the deal, too - she would write down everything she could into those little journals, and if ever I needed them, I had the authority between the two of us to take them and to read through them. She promied me that she wouldn't hide anything from me. It was easy to trust her."

"Of course."

"I know that she brought Jandi along with her on plenty of her trips, as a translator. Did you get anything from him?"

"He told us about her latest trip." I answered. "She works with the Red Cross now, and goes into Afghanistan pretty often, but he said that this time she met someone she recognized. I think his name was Tamim."

"I don't remember hearing about a Tamim," He admitted.

"Jandi didn't either. But Macie told him that his father was involved with the underground. She was pretty scared of him."

"If the father was involved, it's not a far stretch to assume the son was involved, as well."

"That's what I thought." I pulled my jacket. "But I'm hoping that we can just avoid that path. I don't want to get involved with any drug cartels or Taliban shootings. I think we've had enough of dealing with those already."

"I agree."

As we approached Portman Square, a car coming from the right began pulling into the cross, its driver clearly not paying enough attention. An oncoming car swerved, blaring its horn forcefully, and the oblivious car responded with a shrill beep back. I jumped a little, startled by the noise, but Sholto reflexively grabbed me and pulled me away from the road with more force than I thought was necessary. If he weren't gripping so tightly to my arm, I might've been knocked off my feet.

"Jesus Christ," I remarked, laughing a little. "That scared me."

Sholto didn't answer at first, and I realized that he was coming out of fight-or-flight much slower than normal. I let him get his bearings, standing with his eyes glued onto the roadway and the passing cars until his muscles relaxed again and his brain was able to re-establish contact. He glanced at me apologetically, and I tried not to look too dispirited. PTSD was an uphill battle, after all, and I should know that better than most. But as he began walking again, trying his best to cover up his withered confidence, my own began to wilt.

Something's telling me to leave but I won't, 'cause I'm damned if I do ya, reviewed if I don't.

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