Note: my gift to you, as a thank you for all the follows, favorites and reviews, is to finish posting this story. So you'll have all of it by tonight or tomorrow. If it takes a while it's because I care about the quality of what I write and edit like a maniac, chapter by chapter. There'll be 16 total in this story. I can't believe you guys stayed with me, the last few chapters feel a bit boring by themselves. So thank you and enjoy the rest of the story. Let me know what you think.

By the way, I have no idea of how this TC thing started, but I was too in love with the idea not to write about it. I like the idea that John is quite 'successful' despite looking so unassuming and harmless.

6. John's past in the Army

'Who's Gwen?' Sherlock asked, after twenty minutes of silence on the train.

'What?' John looked up from his book.

He huffed, 'Have you gone deaf?'

'How- Sherlock! Have you been reading my emails?'

'Obviously, how else would I know to ask "who's Gwen"?'

'Sherlock! That's personal! Why don't you ask me things directly instead of reading my - personal - emails?'

'You never mentioned her before and your mates talked incessantly about her to you. You never told me about her, so how would I know to ask a direct question without prior knowledge? So I am asking you now, who's Gwen?'

'We served together.' he spat.

'I gathered that much, but I was hoping for a more elaborate answer.'

John sighed. It was best to answer, otherwise Sherlock would barge his friends and get distorted answers anyway.

'She and I had to partner together for quite a few shifts during training. She's incredibly attractive and guys were always hitting on her. But she always refused dating any of them, she wanted to have a clear track, to have a proper career in the Army. Everybody knows that's what she wanted, so I never even tried. She and I got along well and were always friendly to each other. That's all. We never dated.'

'All your mates don't seem to think so.'

'Ah, they're just taking the piss, really. Deep down they know we're just friends.'

Sherlock paused for a minute. Seeing that the conversation was over, John turned back to his book. Then he heard the next question, equally abrupt. 'Why do they call you TC?'

'Oh Dear God.' John banged his head on the back of his chair, looking up and taking a deep breath.

'It's obvious it has nothing to do with your initials, so why TC?'

'It's just a joke, Sherlock. It stuck. That's all.'

'But what does it stand for?'

John sighed. Another 'it's just best to answer that now than him hearing from the guys later on'.

'Look. It started as a joke. They call me Three Continent Watson. When we were stationed in Gibraltar, Germany, and later in Cyprus I ended up dating women from different countries. So, according to them, like "sailors having girlfriends in every port", I had "girlfriends in three continents". They were just taking the piss really. But it stuck.'

After another minute, Sherlock asked 'How many countries?'

John dropped the book. 'That was a long time ago. It doesn't matter.'

'Well, how many?'

He sighed, annoyed. He looked up, visibly counting. 'Nine.'

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow.

'All right. Germany, Italy, Sweden, Turkey, South Africa, New Zealand, Japan, Argentina, Barbados.'

'That's more than three continents.'

'I know, but when the nickname was coined it was three. Then it had stuck already. They tried to change it, but three was too ingrained by then. Plus, TC sounds better than FC.'

'Why different countries?'

'It just happened that way. I was abroad and met women from different countries.'

'So you prefer foreigners?'

'No, it's not that. I do find the different cultures fascinating, the different accents charming and cute, the exotic looks of each one of them quite attractive. Sometimes it's refreshing to meet people who have no concept of social classes like we do.'

'So this is the matter with the English women?'

'Oh no. It's more a question of chemistry between the person I'm with and I than where she's from.'

'So nine women. In how long?'

John paused. He looked back into his book, embarrassed. 'Eighteen months,' he said quietly.

Interesting. Why so many? Does he get tired of them that quickly? Or is it just romanticising the exotic, the unusual? Or a voracious sexual appetite? He's still dating foreign women...

….

Another half hour passed.

'John.'

'Hm?'

'Are you really going to the pool party?'

'Huh? Yees. Why?'

'Your scar.'

'Oh. That.'

'Won't it bother you?'

'I thought about it, once I read the invitation. But then I realised no, it won't bother me.'

'How come? Only a few weeks ago you wouldn't even go shirtless for me.'

'Because in that group we've all been through the same things together. Many of them have their own scars, visible or otherwise. Plus, there's not much privacy in the Army, so you get used to it. I'm used to them.'

'But surely, there'll be other non-military guests in the event.'

'Yes. But we'll be sticking together. Just like when in service. Old habits, I suppose. We huddle for warmth and all.'

Sherlock twitched his lips up. 'In the desert?'

'Hey, it gets cold at night in the desert.'

After a pause, Sherlock asked, 'Will you let me see your scar then?'

John's neck and ear turned a bit red. He sighed, burying his face on his book. 'Since I will be in a pool party I think it's inevitable that you will end up seeing it.'

…..

Sherlock was a bit nervous. One of the reasons he didn't want to come was the thought of being in the same hotel room with John. Last time they did he hadn't been having these 'transport malfunctions'. Would they have to share a bed? He had planned to come with... was it Maria? The one from that night he had returned from Germany. So he must have booked a room for a couple. He would have to be careful. He made sure to pack his dressing gown.

Unable to control his thoughts, he resorted to more desperate measures.

'John.'

'Yes, Sherlock.'

'Do you still have Mycroft's folder?'

John was surprised, but made no comments, merely pulling it out of his luggage's outer pocket. He feared the wrong word might remind Sherlock to be angry with Mycroft again. National Security, lives at stake, after all. He hoped it would be interesting enough, like his brother said.