Chapter 7
Here We Go Again
James Sholto
Afghanistan
Major James Sholto skimmed the names under his command. Most were new recruits, but there were two experienced officers lumped in with the rest, a Lt. Peter Jones and Capt. John Watson. Sholto racked his memory, but neither name rings a bell. He had pulled the files on both men and was surprised to find that the Captain was a former RAMC physician, but there was not much else mentioned. Why would a physician enlist as a full combatant? The file was extremely thin for a man of his age and Sholto would bet his bottom dollar that the information had been redacted. He made up his mind then and there to watch the man closely. The other, Lt. Jones was beginning his third tour, however it would be his first time serving in Afghanistan. He was trained as a handler and would be serving with his bloodhound Toby.
His eyes flickered up as his new troop assembled for the first time. Sholto stared them down daring them break protocol. If there was one thing that he was unyielding about it was SOP. Policies were in place for a reason, and barring a complete and utter clusterfuck, they were never to be ignored. He could easily pick out the officers amongst them. Jones, with his bloodhound by his side, stood tall and unwavering. The man had dark hair and eyes with an impressive build; the picture of an officer. Sholto's eyes then moved over to Watson. The man was at first glance was unimpressive. He was only about 5'6 with sandy blond hair, just beginning to grey at the temples with a compact build. But if one looked beyond the obvious, his eyes hinted at something much more dangerous hiding behind the unassuming appearance. They were the eyes of a man who had seen too much, a man on the edge. There was a story there and he intended to do some digging to find out more.
"Attention!" He commanded. "For those of you that haven't heard, I am your commanding officer, Major James Shloto. Insubordination will not be tolerated. Now, let's see what you've got. About face, forward march!" He always ran basic drills the first day in order to assess skill levels.
John
John ran through the drills easily. Sholto shot him wary looks throughout the entire exercise, particularly during the target practice. John couldn't understand why. One thing was for sure, however. The rumor was at least partially true. James Sholto was horribly scarred. The entire side of his face was disfigured by burns. They could not take away from the intelligence and determination in his blue eyes. John wished, not for the first time, that he had Sherlock's gift of deduction, so that he could get an idea of what the man was thinking. The thought of his friend caused John to pause for a moment as his chest tightened. He quickly recovered and proceeded with the drills. "Watson!" John broke formation and approached as ordered with confidence despite the sideways glances that he had been given by both his commanding officer as well as his fellow soldiers. His performance had been flawless. He didn't know why he was being singled out but there was no basis for a reprimand and John wasn't about to be scolded for nothing.
"Meet me at the barracks at 2100." Sholto ordered in sotto voce. "Dismissed." John nodded sharply and moved back to join his troop a bit confused and on edge. He would evidently be learning more in regards to the officer's opinion later tonight, but for now John needed to focus on the task at hand and returned to the drills mindful that of his every move as he was mercilessly scrutinized.
Nightfall
John breathed a sigh of relief as the scorching heat was diminished with nightfall. He moved towards the barracks unsure of exactly what to expect. Not so much worried as annoyed. How he could have gotten on Sholto's shit list was a mystery to him. He had reenlisted in order to serve in combat and if that wasn't a possibility then John always had other options. He had his military issued weapon on his person at all times. It was like an old friend, always ready and waiting should the need arise. He pushed Bill Murray's plea out of his mind. He would do what needed to be done. "Watson, Attention." John's body responded by rote as his straightened and saluted.
"Sir, yes, Sir." He answered as Sholto approached looking at him like one of Sherlock's failed experiments. It set John's teeth on edge. This was one thing that he hadn't missed in the military. The potential for abuse of power.
"What is your story, Watson? I've read your file. Army doctor, there has to be more to it than that. You could have run those drills with your eyes closed and that was some of the best marksmanship I have ever seen. Those are not the skills of an RAMC physician. But even more than your skills, your eyes give you away; windows to the soul. What have yours seen?" Sholto fired the questions at him as his eyes bore into him looking through him with a cold calculation similar to Sherlock. Sherlock, God. Would he never escape his tortured memories of what if's when it came to the mad genius that was Sherlock Holmes? Something akin to pain must have flickered across his face before he could mask it because Sholto pounced sensing an opening. "Man on the edge, you've lost someone. Someone close. I know about loss and regret and what it can do to a man." His voice changed with the last statement it moved from demanding and interrogating to soft and sympathetic. John risked breaking protocol and met Sholto's gaze and saw the internal pain that he had been feeling mirrored back at him.
Perhaps Sholto hadn't called him here to discipline him. No, that wasn't his intention. He wanted the full story that much was sure, but it wasn't to make his life miserable. The man was knew what it was like to have a death wish and could see himself in John. He wanted to save him. John didn't quite know what to make of that.