A feeling of cold fear enveloped Sherlock's heart after reading the few words of John's latest letter. With each new letter, this strange feeling had grown stronger. Sherlock felt as if he had been put into too tight clothing, as if he had been repeatedly dipped under water and given little opportunity to breathe.
John's letters had become shorter and shorter, more and more impersonal, and again and again this William had appeared, whose name in the latest letters was only Will. Sherlock was afraid, panicked that John would come back and it would all be over. At the same time he was afraid that John would never return. He had always been able to control his fears, but now this fear accompanies him more and more often to a crime scene, to Barts or to Scotland Yard. Greg seemed to have noticed that something was wrong with Sherlock. His brother also turned up at his house a conspicuous number of times. And Molly also behaved differently towards him.
Sherlock needed reassurance, but he couldn't just write a letter to John accusing him of being involved with someone else. But he couldn't just go on like that either. It was distressing.
Everyone at the base was in a state of great turmoil. There had been an attack in the immediate vicinity and they were still under fire. "Captain Watson, the Major sent me, we should go in", one of his soldiers stormed into the medical tent. Preparations were immediately made. John slipped into his role as captain without much difficulty, instructing some of the soldiers to stay behind with the wounded and to make further preparations before sending the others to their tents to get ready for action. Only a few minutes later, everyone returned to the medical tent in full combat gear and shouldered the medical emergency backpacks.
At a run they headed for the vehicles and on the short way to the scene John had time to reflect. The image of Sherlock appeared in his mind's eye and John realised with force how much he had neglected his partner recently. All the time he could spend with his comrades and the little work had almost made him forget where he was and even worse, his homesickness and longing for his loved one had faded. The last letters flashed before his eyes. Some of them he had written down only quickly during a break between playing rugby and his shift. This had never happened to him in the four years he had known Sherlock, and there had been more than enough deployments in that time. On arrival at the scene he had no further opportunity to think about his behaviour. As soon as they had left the vehicles, they were already facing chaos. John swallowed hard when he saw all the injured, so many innocent people. But before he could let it all get closer, his routine took over. He divided his group and sent them to the most seriously wounded at first sight. The gunfire nearby just made everyone work faster. Suddenly there was a suspicious silence that sent a cold shiver down everyone's spine. John was the first to understand what this situation meant.
"Cover", he shouted. Almost everyone reacted immediately. Only a small part of his group tried to pull some of the injured civilians into cover. John, however, was aware that they were only losing valuable time. "Leave behind," he shouted, but this call went down in a detonation. The shock wave was so strong that even John was ripped from his feet. The screams that accompanied the detonation made John almost sure that some of his people were also affected.
But before he could get an overview of the situation, other parts of the British forces joined them and John realised that the battle had shifted to them. He reached for his weapon and took position. Shots were fired again shortly afterwards. "There are a hell lot of them", the woman next to him told him, who had obviously been involved in the defence since the beginning of the attack.
It took a long time before the enemies could finally be pushed back and John had narrowly escaped being hit several times. His heart beated violently against his ribs and he wished for nothing more than to be held by Sherlock at that moment. Back at the base, they were already trying to care for all the injured. Silently praying, John hoped that there had not been so many victims among the soldiers. The next few hours were a maelstrom of blood, morphine, metal splinters and the announcement of times of death.
Shortly before being relieved, one of the soldiers succumbed to his injuries. When he announced the time of death, one of the wounded soldiers cried out in a gut-wrenching way. It was only then that John realised that the soldier he had just lost had been stationed here with his wife. It was days like these that repeatedly made John doubt his decision. Such were the moments when he longed for nothing more than 221B Baker Street, where Sherlock was waiting for him and welcomed him with a warm expression in his eyes.
Sherlock, was the only thought John was still capable of when he stumbled out of the lazaret when he was relieved and made his way to his tent. "Oh John, I'm so glad you're not hurt," a voice next to him suddenly ripped him out of his thoughts. "I have no time now Will," John replied. "Please, just a moment," the other asked. "No, I can't, I have to write a letter," said John. "That can wait, the letters were never that important before," Will interjected. "But this time it's important," John flared up and turned abruptly to Will. He looked at John in surprise. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that. The last hours have been very exhausting," John immediately felt sorry for his behaviour.
For a moment, the two soldiers faced each other overwhelmed before William took a step towards John and pulled him into his arms. For a moment, John let himself fall, longing for nothing more than that. But he just didn't could find the peace and quiet that Sherlock could always give him when he was held by him. John withdrew immediately. Before he could completely detach himself from William's arms, William raised his hand and laid it on John's cheek.
"Stop," John said violently and flinched back. Surprise flashed in William's eyes. "I really must write the letter now," John tried to escape the situation without it becoming really embarrassing. He had already taken a few steps when William reached for his wrist. "What is so important about this letter?" he demanded to know. "The person," John replied, hoping William would understand.
"'And to whom are you writing?' he continued. "Sherlock" John replied. "Whoever that is can wait. John, this is more important," continued William, unimpressed, waving his hand between them both back and forth. "There's nothing important here, at least nothing that couldn't wait until after this letter." "John, don't you want to understand?", William grew louder. "Yes, Will, I understand very well. You are the one who does not understand. Sherlock is my boyfriend, my partner, my companion or whatever you want to call it," John said emphatically, turned away and almost ran to his tent.