Hadi Harun and John took the back seat of the truck while Smyth took the driver's seat, gunning the engine causing it to roar to life and blow dirt and sand out of the exhaust pipe.
"So, my friend, tell me of your life back in your home land." Hadi angled himself towards John to engage him in conversation of their time apart. It had been years since they had seen each other and it was good to see each other their looks had changed though they both felt that their personalities had not.
"Well, when I got back I found myself a flat mate, Sherlock is his name, and, um, eventually we found that our friendship went a bit deeper than that," John blushed slightly talking about Sherlock, oh god Sherlock, the thought of the lanky dark haired man made him smile involuntarily. Hadi smiled knowingly at John, "We got married and a few years later this boy, Andrew, his parents got killed, it was a case that Sherlock was investigating. So, we adopted him."
"Sherlock, you said? Sherlock Holmes?" Hadi asked curiously over the grinding of the engine and the loud crunching of the dry cracking earth outside underneath the the heavy duty tires of the armored vehicle.
"Yeah, how do you know of him?" John asked confused and slightly concerned at the how well known Sherlock was that a person in Aphganastan knew of him and probably his skills.
"Of, course," Smyth offered from behind the driver's seat sparing them a glance through the rear view mirror, "it's hard not to know of him when his brother is Mycroft, and when you write about him on your blog-"
"You read my blog?" John was not shy about letting the shock and dismay show clearly on his face, he had known that his blog was getting popular, but he had no idea that it had reached the soldiers still on the battle field.
"Yeah, we read it for entertainment, plus it's encouraged to read a former's blog to show support to those who have gone home, though some aren't allowed to read them cause it makes certain people terribly home sick." Smyth nodded to John, "Just a quick question, does Sherlock really not know that the Earth revolves around the sun?"
John burst out laughing and keeps it up until Hadi and Smyth join in too.
"If he ever finds out I said this he will kill me and make it look like an accident," John managed to get out between chuckles and gasps for breath, "but yes! He doesn't think that astronomy is important!"
Their truck continued down the road with the trio continuing their merriment and mirth.
"Hey," Smyth said carefully his attitude sobering up, "What's that?" John leaned forward in his seat to get a better look at the object they were approaching.
Smyth pulled out the walkie talkie connecting them to the other trucks and ordered for them to halt.
"WH, take the controls while I scout the object." Smyth opened the door a crack preparing to climb out of the car.
"Smyth! Stay back, we get these all the time. Get one of the mates from another car to come up and do this. The last thing we need is for you to blow yourself up." Smyth grumbled in agreement as he climbed back in the car and barked the orders into the following trucks.
In the silent atmosphere the three men created the faint slam of an armored door and the thick boots crunching the already minuscule sand particles was heard. Larson, the explosive specialist, stuck his head in the window.
"Well, hello all! I heard we got a possible explosive?" Smyth nodded and pointed to the small cloth item in the middle of the road, "What, that small thing? I mean, sure, but you can go around that."
"We could, but you know for a fact that the never put just one." John commented from the back seat, Smyth nodded in agreement and Larson sighed.
"Alright, let me go get geared up." As Larson left a small dust cloud seemed to rise from the a rock several meters off.
"Smyth," John called to the front seat, "Do you see that? Or is it just me being mad?" He leaned forward again pointing to the cloud.
The realization was like a freezing shower.
The tattered piece of cloth in front of them was not the bomb the should be concerned about, it was the ones planted under their trucks in the dirt.
"We need to get out of here, NOW!" Smyth fumbled with the walkie talkie screaming orders that were possibly recognizable.
"PULL BACK! ALL OF YOU! REVERSE NOW!" Engines could be heard as they were woken from their dormant state, but too late.
The trucks may have been started and ready, but they were not ready for anything, definitely not for the quick flick of a thumb over a big red button.
Sherlock had long since gotten used to the fact that he would have to do the shopping for himself and Andrew, it would be unfair to make Mrs. Hudson do it. So here he was in Tresco doing the shopping he so hated, but now understood the need for. On more than one occasion Andrew had told, and shown, him things that needed to be replaced, but then a case would pop up and Andrew's Father would accidentally delete things from his memory. So the clever boy created a list to keep track of the things that Father could not, which in Sherlock's mind was nothing he could keep track of everything.
A list was made anyway and Sherlock never told Andrew how helpful that stupid list really was.
So here Sherlock was putting food and other tedious items in their proper places in the kitchen that Sherlock made sure to keep clean so Andrew could do his homework, a condition John made him agree to, and so that they could eat dinner together, another condition John made. Which was enjoyable to say the least Andrew cooked, and was magnificent at it, and his Father would stop what he was doing, no matter where he was in the case, unless the VERY end, or Andrew would threaten to call Dad, and they would eat together. It was how Andrew Watson-Holmes was ensured that his Father ate on a regular basis. Sometimes Mrs. Hudson would join them and it would be like a dinner with a real family, because not one of them would comment about how there was always an empty plate at the end of the table, plate void of food, cup dry of drink, and chair empty of an occupant.
Andrew was home not long later and started to make dinner, knowing that his Father was a terrible cook, tonight he was going to make lasagna, his favorite. Father was at his desk filing through case files Lestrade had dropped off earlier in the week.
There was a knock on the front door and a creak as Mrs. Hudson opened it.
"Oh, hello officer. Can I help you?" Mrs. Hudson's voice wavered fearing the next words out of the official's mouth.
"I must speak with Mr. Watson-Holmes, is he at home?" Andrew looked over at his Father siting at the desk filing through case files Lestrade had dropped off, but now he was stone still, except the tremor of his hand.
"Yes," She whispered back, "he is right up stairs."
The tremor of Father's hand only got worse as the footsteps got closer. He stood and made his way to the door, slowly and eyes down cast, so when the steps finally stopped he was there to open the door and invite them inside.
Andrew remained in the kitchen with of a pan of browning hamburger on the stove mentally comparing the slow steps up the stairs to the timed beats of an executioner's drum and the crowd waiting for the blade to drop.
"Mr. Watson-Holmes, I do not enjoy these visits-"
"Just say it." Sherlock whispered, "Just hurry up and tell me. Is he injured, or is he dead?" Father did not raise his eyes to meet the officer's, as he would usually have done to demand answers, but this was personal, this hit his heart and he wanted no one to see that.
"Mr. Watson-Holmes, I am sad to say that Doctor John Watson-Holmes died in action."
Andrew closed his eyes and set the spatula down on the counter not caring about the oil getting on the icy surface. He heard the light steps and the slam of a door, Father had retreated to his room to grieve alone, but grieving wasn't enough for Andrew, he needed answers.
"Excuse me, sir," Andrew called as he exited the kitchen not giving a thought to the stove that was still cooking, "How did he die? My Dad, how did he die?"
The officer's eyes softened at seeing Andrew, but he didn't want sympathy he wanted to know!
"I'm sorry, I don't know and if I did I would not be able to disclose that to you." The officer bowed his head and turned to leave, but that is not what Andrew had in mind for him.
"That's not good enough for me. I want to know how my Dad lost his life. I want you to tell me why I will never see him again and the exact reason I will not be video chatting with him next week!" When tears started escaping his eye, he wouldn't be able to tell you, but all he knew was that he was going to get what he wanted.
The officer stood with his hand on the door nob, he stopped and turned to face Andrew and the sitting sobbing mess of Mrs. Hudson.
"He was returning to base from an outpost. The caravan had stopped to check on a possible explosive on the road, they did not know that there were other bombs planted in the road that were triggered when they stopped. There were no survivors."
"When does his body come home?" Mrs. Hudson managed out through her quieting sobs.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"There was nothing left of bodies, just dog tags. I'm sorry for your loss." The officer escaped the solemn silence that followed his explanation and left into the noisy world of London.