I know this story seems to be going pretty slowly right now but I don't think you guys realize how much I love writing for Sholto and John. Like at this point I'm looking forward to writing them every day. I adore Sholto and John, and this is my favorite period of a relationship to write. Ugh I'm enjoying this way too much. Hopefully you guys are too.

You were in the shower, just freshening up before you heading over to Scotland Yard. Sholto was in the other room helping Mrs. Hudson tidy things up in the wreck that was our sitting room, but for some reason I just couldn't bring myself to face them for more than a few minutes. I had folded myself onto our mattress, one hand clasped around my stomach and the other cushioning my head as my thoughts wandered, eyes frozen on the blinking blue alarm clock.

I was exhausted, but I was wide awake. I felt like I had let Jandi slip through my fingers, as if fate had given me the responsibility to protect him from whatever Macie had gotten herself into and that I had failed. He was gone now, out of my reach. Sholto was trying to help, but it wasn't his fault that he was limited. Of course, now he would consider it his fault, because his illness may or may not have caused some memories to be buried away. But really, it was still my fault, because I was the one who wasn't competant enough to protect him from it.

My heart faltered. I had to stop thinking like that, I'd drive myself into a panic.

The shower switched off, and not a few minutes later you appeared through the door, your trousers fastened and a towel hanging around your shoulders. You hadn't been expecting to see me laying there. You turned to sit beside me. "Chose to lay down after all?"

I didn't reply, and you touched my shoulder.

"John?"

Slowly I shifted toward you, letting my arm fall back to my side, brushing gently against your thigh. "Sorry. Tired."

"I can tell." You smoothed my fingers with yours. "Lestrade said I should only be needed for an hour or so."

"Alright."

I let out a little breath, letting my eyes wander off onto the wall behind you. I really was exhausted. I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and my mind getting cloudier. But your fingers on my palm kept that nagging guilt in the pit of my stomach. I looked back at you.

"Do you think I made a mistake, Sherlock?" I asked, quietly.

You paused, studying me. "You did what you thought was best."

I stirred. "But I pulled him right into her path. I was supposed to protect him."

"No one asked you to."

"But it was my responsibility."

"He's an adult, he can take care of himself."

"Can he?" I whispered.

"He's very much able to think and act for himself. You did what you could."

"I still feel like a twit about it."

"You shouldn't." You reached up to brush my forehead. "He came here of his own free will, you didn't force him to do anything he didn't want to."

"I know." I twisted my neck, glancing toward the door, my breath still a bit scarce. "I'm just afraid for him. If anything happens, it'll be my fault, and there isn't anything I'm going to be able to do for him if something does go wrong. I just... I wanted things to get better, but it doesn't look like they're going to. I shouldn't have involved him in the first place."

"Macie was the one to involve Jandi, not you." You countered. "He was involved plenty of time before you had any say about it."

"Jandi?" I turned to you.

You were puzzled. "What?"

We froze there, staring at each other, until I pulled myself away from your hand and folded up again. You didn't let me sulk for long, though, and laid over me with your shoulder gently resting against mine.

"Why would you consider yourself responsible for Sholto?" You asked.

"Not Sholto himself, more like his well-being..." I trailed off.

"Why?"

"He's been through a lot, Sherlock, and I don't want to have to put him through anything else."

"You use that excuse a lot."

"It's not an excuse, it's the truth."

"Is it?"

Exasperated, I pressed my face into one of our pillows, hoping to end the conversation there. But I heard you tsk; soon your lips were gently pressing against my ear, trailing down toward my jawline. I rotated my shoulder to try and get you off, but you placed your hand firmly on my stomach and held it there, kissing the top of my neck.

"Come on, John, don't pout." You cooed, moving yourself completely onto the bed.

I straightened myself to try and bat you away, not quite angry but still a bit aggrivated. I pushed at your chest and shoulders, careful to avoid your belly area for fear of loosening the stitches, but even so you pushed my hands away easily. Finally I gave a little grunt and gave in, leaning my head back and letting your lips graze where they wanted, trying my best to swallow the bead of irritation that had formed in my throat.

But you grabbed at my hips a little rougher than you should have, and when I started to complain, you kissed me a little rougher than you should have. I struggled and squirmed, realizing that you were still trying to play, but feeling my anger build. My heart started racing, and my lungs couldn't keep up. I wheezed and grunted to get you off, but you put your hand against my lips, and that was all it took.

You stopped as soon as I started crying. I couldn't even catch it, it came over me so fast, and I was swept along with it. I was gasping for breath, sobbing into my pillow and shaking against your hands, your mouth whispering into my ear. The convulsions seized me and rattled me. You didn't wait long before grabbing the Xanax out of my bed-side drawer, helping me get it down with a little sip out of the emergency water-bottle. You then rubbed my back until I came down.

And as I did, I was furious. Even past the calming effect of the Xanax, my chest burned with anger. I curled away from you as soon as I regained control over my arms, and sent you away as soon as I could speak.

"Get out, just go," I groaned, holding my head between my trembling hands.

"I can't leave you like this." You replied.

"Please," I pleaded, and descended into another rush of cold panic. You pulled away from me, and I could almost feel your dejection on my back.

"I'm sorry, John." You said. I couldn't respond. You stepped back off the bed, quickly finished dressing, and excused yourself with a quick click of the door.

I saw Sholto fairly often around Camp Bastion after our introduction in the infirmary. His side had healed up fine, no complications, and so he was back on the job pretty quick. Our paths didn't cross much, him being more concerned with the military upper-head and I being more concerned with the medical upper-head, but whenever he came within sight, I recognized him.

He was a handsome man, I had to admit it, even though I profusely confessed to being as un-gay as possible while admitting it. He had sharp, glassy eyes and a strong jaw. If there was someone that looked good the stupid desert gear I hated so much, it was him. I could look past the ugly gear when it was him. He seemed impassive, but a calm sort of impassive, and was a mysterious person to watch. I knew nothing about him; maybe that was why I felt so drawn to him. He was the most exciting thing I'd encountered in months.

I had the pleasure of seeing him again in the infirmary about a month after the first injury, this time (as I had heard) thanks to the mood swings of an army buggy. It wasn't much of a big deal, just a gash over the head that needed to be cleaned up. I saw him sitting on one of the med ward cots and had a contented little smile.

Macie Lowdry was standing there with him, her arms folded neatly over her stomach, mouth curled up in a little smile while Sholto talked. He sounded a bit ruffled, but she was getting a kick out of it. "You think he crashed the buggy on purpose?" He asked.

"I didn't even see the accident," She giggled. "It just seems a little funny that he crashed right after you told him about the promotion."

"It wasn't necessarily right after," He said.

"Seemed like it," She smiled.

Sholto shook his head, then looked toward me. "Hello again, Dr. Watson."

"Hello, Captain." I nodded to him.

"You two have been introduced?" Macie asked, glancing between us.

"Yes, he stitched me up a few months ago." Sholto nodded.

"What's happened here?" I asked, stepping closer.

He pursed his lips. He was currently sporting quite a nice goose-egg bruise over his right eye, crusted with blood and grotesquely swollen. His eye wasn't quite shut, but it wasn't at its full capacity, either. But he still had a certain degree of spunk that he hadn't had the last time I got to speak with him. "Some bloke crashed his buggy right up against the side of the barracks," He reported. "Got himself a nice concussion. I'm not too bad, just an egg."

"I can see the egg." I shone my light into his eyes, setting my finger underneath his chin to pull it up toward me. His eyes were perfectly responsive. "Your memory's fine?"

"I think I've pretty much already checked that for you," Macie said. "He seems fine."

"That's good. I'll just disinfect it, then. Do you want me to wrap it?"

"That's not necessary," He waved me off. "I'll get by."

I nodded, walking back over to the supplies cabinet. "What's this promotion you were talking about?"

Sholto leaned back. "There were three of us in the buggy. The two other guys didn't really get along much. But one of them was trying to make conversation, so the other mentoned his own recent promotion to Lieutenant. It didn't help much for conversation, and the idiot driving crashed not long after."

"Sounds interesting." I murmured. "They in your division?"

"Yeah. The driver was pretty embarassed."

As I was spreading the antiseptic cream over Sholto's forehead, I smiled and glanced down at his eyes. He was looking at me, too, in a sort of way that made me momentarily lose my train of thought. Macie saved my ass by continuing to chatter on, making the whole situation with the buggy into a joke and lifting his spirits a bit. I felt a bit like I was intruding on him, as if seeing him with his guard down was a breach of his privacy, but the glitter in his eyes only made him that much more interesting, and I had a front-row seat.

For a little while I tried to sleep, but my chest felt so restless that I had to at least walk around. It was mid-afternoon, and you had been gone around an hour. I could still hear Mrs. Hudson and Sholto out in the sitting room, chittering and cleaning up the sitting room. Their soft voices helped lure me back into the real world. His voice wasn't quite as deep as yours, but I still felt like there was a twang of resemblance in it. While I listened, I could almost see the color of his eyes.

I decided that I had spent enough time moping and thought that maybe a cup of tea would help my anxiousness. As I came out into the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson glanced up at me with light in her eyes. "Oh, John." She smiled. "Are you feeling better? I hope we didn't wake you."

"No, you didn't wake me." I stepped closer, and Sholto appeared from around the corner, a small load of books on his arm. Our eyes met, and he gave me a nod. "Thank you for doing this, you two. You really didn't have to."

"And leave your flat a disaster? Heavens, no." Mrs. Hudson patted some papers into a line.

"I thought you weren't our housekeeper," I said.

"I'm not, but I know when you sort need a little help," She gave me one of her mischievous smiles. "It's a sixth sense."

I shook my head, pouring myself down into my armchair. I had brought my cane with me. It wasn't as much that my leg was hurting as much as it was that I was just so physically worn out, my limbs felt like lead. My shoulders sank into the soft cushions, and I almost passed out right there.

"Are you tired, John?" She asked, starting up. "I'll make you a cuppa."

"No, that's-" I paused. "Actually, that would be wonderful."

She laughed at me and fiddled a path through the remaining mess toward the kitchen while I settled down further into my chair. Sholto crossed in front of me and started organizing the books on a shelf. I had to say that already the shelves were looking better than they ever did when you organized them. You were a genius, but organization was definitely not your strong suit.

There were evidently no tea packets left, so Mrs. Hudson excused herself to go down to her flat and prepare tea. After she had closed the door behind her, Sholto turned to look down at me, not quite gently but not quite sternly either.

"You look like a corpse."

I blinked at him.

"I'm sorry." He put his hand on the desk and eased himself onto the floor.

"It's alright." I shifted. "I think."

"Sherlock seemed upset when he left." He said.

"We had a bit of a row." I admitted. I didn't know why.

"Hmm." He reached over and started stacking up books, dusting off the covers of some and setting them into piles of similarly-sized volumes. Sholto wasn't a genius, but organization was definitely his strong suit, and watching him rearrange the piles made me calm by itself. It reminded me of when he and I were assigned to organize the filing closet after we got one-too-many notices for being late to barracks. He had gotten irritated with my primitive method of organization and insisted he do it all himself. I realized that he was probably correcting Mrs. Hudson's organization, too.

I laid my cane against the side-table and crawled onto the floor with him, taking hold of some of the piled books and placing them in crude piles for Sholto to sort. He glanced up at me, briefly appreciating the same thing I had just appreciated, but neither of us spoke a word about it.

"If this case is too taxing on you, John, you don't have to involve yourself," Sholto said.

I sighed. "I know."

He watched me, pausing his organizing until I looked up at him, too. "I understand that you feel responsible for Jandi, but in all reality there probably isn't much you can do for him. I can meet with the colonel by myself if necessary. I don't have to stay here, if I'm the one stressing you. You don't have to do anything you can't do."

"Could you hear us?" I asked, leaning forward.

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

I leaned back. "That was sort of what Sherlock and I were rowing about."

I busied myself with the piles while Sholto continued to watch, still as a statue as his eyes made my skin buzz.

"And also, you're not stressing me." I added. "I like having you here."

"Do you?"

"Well-" I coughed. "Yes."

"Alright. But the rest of what I said still stands."

I released a breath through my nose and looked back at him. "I was considering e-mailing Theresa and Eddie."

"The surgeons?"

"Yeah."

"Why? Do you think they know something?"

"I thought they might help jog your memory. And they've e-mailed me several times over the past few years asking for a visit. I've always been so busy, but maybe now is a good time to meet up, just to get some time off. Like you said. Get away for a day or two."

"Alright." He put a stack of books on your chair and pushed himself to his feet. "Do the live near here?"

"They're up in Glasgow, actually. But if we catch a train it should only take us a few hours. Do you ride trains?"

"I do."

"If that's alright with you, then, I'll get in touch with them."

He loaded the books onto one of the shelves beside the others. "I'm alright."

I nodded, then pushed up myself to retrieve my laptop from the kitchen table. Theresa was pretty good about checking her e-mail, so I was pretty confident that I would be recieving a reply not too long after I sent the message, but I still wanted to get things hammered down as soon as I could. Leaving tomorrow morning would probably optimal, if that's what Sholto wanted. I decided that you could come with us if you wanted, but somehow I knew that you would rather stay in London with Greg than meet up with our military friends. It didn't really matter. You needed a break from me, too.

Absentmindedly I glanced toward Sholto, hoping to ask him some sort of question, but he had snuck up on me and was now standing just across the table. My mind went entirely blank. I can't really describe what that look was like, but in a way it was the moment when you realize you've swam out too far, when your ankle catches the current underneath you. You know you're about to go down, but the fear drives all the air out of your lungs, and as your head goes under, the salty cold of the ocean overwhelms everything else until your can feel its heartbeat replacing yours.

"Do you-" I cleared my throat. "We could leave as early as tomorrow morning, if you're packed."

"I'm packed." He nodded. "And the sooner, the better."

I agreed. I agreed profusely.

Check yes Juliet, are you with me? Reviews are falling down on the sidewalk.

Next update Sunday.