A Study In Living With Sherlock Holmes 16/22
Title: A Study In Living With Sherlock Holmes
Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.
Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama
Warning: PTSD, Violence, Description of Injuries, Allusions to Drug Use
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.
Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.
Word Count: 2,570
Author's Note: Below is my attempt to write out a recurring nightmare of John's.. one that is reality of him being wounded in Afghanistan. I've been avoiding writing it so far because I of course can't do it any proper justice, but the urge to write it persists. I only served in the Navy and I was never on the front lines, so one can only imagine what it can be like if one hasn't been. Also I most likely took a few liberties medical wise, so apologies in advance.
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****************************
Afghanistan.
John and the others jump off the CH-47 Chinook with their equipment, live fire all around them as they race to where the American and Royal Marines are. The force protection troops around them kept alert, guns out, as they escorted the John who was the A&E specialist on this trip, Doctor Joyce Smith the anesthetist, and the other medics to where the soldiers have been in heavy fire with the enemy for the past half hour.
Several wounded, according to the report. Several needing to be transported to the field hospital.
They get to the site, a groups of three buildings in the town that's taken heavy fire from a Sortie on the mixed American and British convoy.
The smell of blood and moans of agony is not far away. Medics rush to some of those just needing a little attention while John and Doctor Smith are brought into the back of the of the building.
Six wounded. Varying between ripped off arms and open stomach wounds, to head wounds.
Three dead.
John and the other doctor work together quickly on the wounded, then securing them to be transported back to the Chinook to be lifted out. After the six wounded are gone an IED hits the building John and Doctor Smith are in, shaking it's foundations, yet somehow still staying up.
Ducking fire, and managing to avoid getting shot in all the madness, the two doctors get to the other two buildings, fixing up the wounded enough to be able to be transported, while confirming the dead.
All in all, (After the two doctors are back in the middle building with the medics, waiting for the troops to be secure to bring them back to the Chinook), twenty injured, fifteen dead.
"Hell of a day," Dr Smith grunts as she wipes her brow, the sweat dripping off.
John nods as he watches the American Marines work in tangent with the Royal Marines. He keeps a close eye on what is obviously a marine sniper. She's set up in an area where she can get the enemy snipers, but if another sniper gets the right vantage point...
"Going to be insane back at the field hospital," she says.
"True," John murmurs, but strangely doesn't feel guilty about why. He's glad it'll be busy, it gives him the chance to put his skills to use, to do his job. To heal and save lives.
Another explosion shakes the building, and he feels Doctor Smith tense up next to him. Shouts and fire being exchanged continues. John, despite being a doctor, itches to take out his service gun. He still hasn't used it yet.. it's a good thing.
"So, heard you went to the firing range."
"The American Marine wanted to see how good of a shot an army doctor could be."
"Heard you impressed him."
Despite the situation they were in, John smiles. "Apparently I'm a crack shot."
"A natural too, according to the Marine."
John shrugs. It's not important. His attention moves from the conversation to the American sniper. She left her spot and has started moving carefully to another. She glances back at them, smirks then continues moving.
She starts up the stairs, heading to the roof it appears, joining the Royal Marine sniper that John and Dr Smith had briefly checked on. He had only gotten grazed by a rival sniper, but refused to go anywhere.
"How--"
Before Doctor Smith gets her question out, John hears two voices yelling and twists to see the two snipers, the American holding the Royal Marine against her as they come down the stairs. Blood is coming out of the man's lower leg.
"Six of them on other ends, cover blown, had to retreat, he got shot as we were moving," the American says in quick, rapid fire sentences, as John works on the man. He's able to block out the noise once more as more fire is exchanged, concentrating solely on the man.
"Name and rank," John orders the Royal Marine, trying to keep his attention of his wound.
"Major...Terrence... Adams," he groans out. "Stupid... higher vantage point... didn't see..."
"Don't worry about that now," John orders. "So Major Adams, any family?"
"Fiance."
"You'll be seeing her soon," John promises. The wound in the Royal Marine's leg was not as severe as some. He'll be able to keep the leg, but the Marine's career as a sniper is most obviously likely to be over.
Once done, John lets Doctor Smith inject a pain killer in the Marine, and a medic takes over. He starts to stand, to move over when the American Marine sniper next to him suddenly pushes him down to the ground.
Shots are exchanged, and John looks up to see the female sniper standing in front of him, using her sniper rifle to shoot at four attackers who were shooting at where John and Doctor Smith were.
"Move back" She shouts at them. "We're getting ready to retreat, airstrike coming soon, move back," she continues and then her words are cut off as John sees three shots go into the female sniper's right leg and she goes down.
John doesn't hesitate, he reaches forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer to him. As he does, he uses his free hand to grab his service pistol. He takes a few seconds to aim and then fires, shooting twice at two targets and hitting them, then turns his attention back to the marine. He needs to treat the leg before he goes anywhere, get her secure, make her ready for transport.
"What's your name? Rank?" John says loudly to her, to try and keep her attention on him and off her leg. So much damage.. the bullets tore through her leg, leaving large gaping wounds... he could tell it hit nerve, shattered bone... Her right knee is done for. She'll never properly walk again... if she makes it.
She'll make it, John promises to himself as he works on her leg, letting Doctor Smith inject her with a painkiller to help ease the pain.
"Captain... Leah... Carson..." she gasps. "What.. about... you...?"
"Captain John Watson--"
Crack!
Pain in the shoulder, muscles screaming, bone cracking.
Pain in the head.
Darkness.
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Date: February 28th, Day 29
Location: 221B Baker Street
Time: Unknown
***************************
John jerks awake, panting, a shout escaping him but he swallows back the rest.
His heart is pounding, head swimming, his shoulder aching.
He stares at the ceiling, trying to make the images go away.
Once Afghanistan and that day starts to fade to the recesses in the back of his mind, he collapses, shaking. He balls his left hand into a fist, feeling the tremors shake through his arm and into the fingers.
His right leg aches, and he knows if he tries to walk now, he'll need the bloody cane.
He inhales, taking a deep breath then exhales.
Does it three times.
He's at 221B Baker Street.
He's not in Afghanistan. Even if sometimes he wishes he was.
He swallows, his free hands digging into the sheets.
When he came to, after the chaos, after being told he was shot in the shoulder, after everything, John asked about the two snipers.
Major Terence Adams of the Royal Marines was shot in the calf and would recover. The possibility of remaining a sniper was a wait and see.
Captain Leah Carson... was not as lucky. Due to John's quick treatment, she lived. However, the damage was so severe, that nothing could be done to save the leg.
Her career was undoubtedly over.
John stares up at the ceiling, guilt worming it's way up to his head and heart. He made a stupid mistake, a mistake that he had been trained NOT to do, and ended up becoming a target which ultimately cost a young marine her career. He had been told repeatedly that it was not his fault, he still felt it was.
John swallows. He hadn't had this dream in a while. He had plenty of others.. but not this one.
He knew why though.
He left the letter downstairs.
Leah Carson was in London.
And she wanted to meet.
John got the letter today.
After another long day.
A particularly trying week too.
Sherlock was getting restless. And he wasn't handling it well this time. His mood had gone black, his violin playing (thankfully not going on now) was excruciating, and John was barely able to handle being around him for more than ten minutes.
No cases.
Three days ago Sherlock's mood became right foul after John came back from another unsuccessful job hunt. Mycroft was leaving just as he came to the building.
Plus two of his experiments weren't going the way he liked.
Also to add onto it all, apparently Molly Hooper was on vacation. Her replacement was apparently very by the rules and didn't care if Sherlock had access to the morgue... she didn't let him have any.
So all in all... Sherlock was not a happy person.
He literally stopped talking... two days ago.
"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes, I don't talk for days on end.. would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."
Worst.
Hah.
John was just glad Sherlock hadn't found his gun....
Hell.
He needs to use the toilet.
John sighs.
He grimaces as he gets to his feet, his right leg protesting.
John wasn't the only one that needed a case. He needed one to come along, so his flatmate wouldn't end up burning down the flat. He rather liked it, and wanted it to be in one piece.
John refuses to grab his cane and forces himself to go down the stairs without, even though it kills his leg. There's silence right now, so he has to be quiet. If Sherlock is asleep, he doesn't want to wake the man making his black mood even more black. If it was possible.
He comes to a stop in the kitchen as he sees Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table, a biscuit that looks to be half-eaten next to him and a cup of tea.
Ah.
Sherlock seems subdued now, staring resolutely at his laptop. John doesn't say anything, just limps past him, and down to the hall to take care of his needs.
A few minutes later he re enters the kitchen, Sherlock still at the table. This time there is another biscuit and a cup of tea on the opposite side.
A peace offering perhaps?
John grunts as he takes a seat, knowing he's not going to be able to get any sleep soon.
"Anonymous is being annoying."
"Is that right?" John murmurs. "So you made tea?"
"I can make tea."
"You just choose not to do it, right?"
A slight smile in response.
"May have a case."
"Is that right?" John figures that may be why Sherlock seems to have calmed down.
Sherlock nods. "Rather late message, but her name is Tilly Briggs. Something to do with a pleasure cruiser. She'll be stopping by in two days."
"Ah."
"And thankfully, Molly will be returning tomorrow."
"No wonder you're in a good mood then. And talking."
"I did warn you."
"Yes, yes you did," John admits before taking a bite of his biscuit. He feels Sherlock's penetrating eyes on him. "What is it?"
"Everything all right?"
"Fine."
"I saw the letter."
John grimaces. His fault for having it lie around. Although, how she knew where he lived surprised him. "I don't want to hear it Sherlock. Just.. not now."
"All right." Sherlock goes back to his laptop.
John watches the man for a few minutes as silenced questions start to make some noise. Anything to keep his mind off..
"You got questions."
John smiles slightly. "Yes. Not sure how to ask them though."
"You asked me about my sex life, what's so hard about this?"
John snorts, then chuckles. "Well.. it depends, on whether or not the question is a tetchy subject."
"Never know unless you ask."
John nods. "In the past... certain things have been said that well make me curious," he can't bring himself to look at Sherlock now. "It started the night you got me involved in the serial suicides, and now and then little things were brought up--"
"John," Sherlock says in a patient voice, and John looks back at the man, his gaze locking with Sherlock's. Dark blue eyes meeting pale blue.
John knows his eyes reveal that he had demons. Sherlock's eyes reveal that as well, but no one ever dares to look at them for too long. Same with John.
"Ask."
"You did drugs."
Sherlock's eyes suddenly shutter. They darken a little. "That was.. not a question."
"No it wasn't."
"Because someone already told you."
John nods. "But not everything. Your story to tell."
"Hmm."
"Why?"
Sherlock twines his fingers together and places his chin on them, elbows on the table. "You are asking me why I did them?"
John nods. "Someone as brilliant as you... why? How? What happened?"
"Quid pro quo, John."
"Pardon?"
"We've been flatmates for how long now?"
"Nearly a month. Bloody feels a lot longer though."
"Really? You want me to tell you? You don't want to deduce it? Or perhaps read the file that Mycroft has on me."
"You think he does."
"No doubt he got one put together the moment he heard we were flatmates."
"No doubt. But yes, there is something I want you to tell me."
"How did this get turned around?" John asks suddenly. "I asked you about why you did drugs and you're turning this around to me."
"I want to know about Afghanistan."
Oh.
Everything inside John closes up. And he knows Sherlock notices it.
"Yes, see now?"
"See what?" John says tightly.
"We have parts of our past... parts that you and I want to know about. When you're ready to tell me about Afghanistan, I'll tell you why I did cocaine."
John scowls. He should have seen this coming. "It's not easy to talk about Sherlock. Not that simple."
"And yet you want me to tell you about a specific time in my life... So quid pro quo, Doctor John Watson. You obviously are not ready to talk about yours, which I understand."
John lets out a shaky breath.
"I don't know if I'll ever be ready," John admits.
"Then you'll never know the answers to your questions on my part." Sherlock says, sounding a bit disappointed now. John wonders if it's disappointment in him.
"So, at a standstill."
"It looks like. So when you are ready to tell me of your time in Afghanistan, John Watson," Sherlock says to him as he stands up, "I will then tell you about the whys and hows of my past involvement with cocaine."
Despite the fact that he has the burning curiosity to know, John has a feeling that may be a while.
"I'm going to bed," Sherlock murmurs. "Sleep well."
NEXT CHAPTER
Ending Author's Note: Normally I would write two more chapters and put them up after this one, but this one took a lot out of me, so I need to rest up a bit. Apologies.
Also: Sortie: Military term for a surprise attack from the enemy in a town.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from the BBCSherlock universe.
Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama
Warning: PTSD, Violence, Description of Injuries, Allusions to Drug Use
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.
Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.
Word Count: 2,570
Author's Note: Below is my attempt to write out a recurring nightmare of John's.. one that is reality of him being wounded in Afghanistan. I've been avoiding writing it so far because I of course can't do it any proper justice, but the urge to write it persists. I only served in the Navy and I was never on the front lines, so one can only imagine what it can be like if one hasn't been. Also I most likely took a few liberties medical wise, so apologies in advance.
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****************************
Afghanistan.
John and the others jump off the CH-47 Chinook with their equipment, live fire all around them as they race to where the American and Royal Marines are. The force protection troops around them kept alert, guns out, as they escorted the John who was the A&E specialist on this trip, Doctor Joyce Smith the anesthetist, and the other medics to where the soldiers have been in heavy fire with the enemy for the past half hour.
Several wounded, according to the report. Several needing to be transported to the field hospital.
They get to the site, a groups of three buildings in the town that's taken heavy fire from a Sortie on the mixed American and British convoy.
The smell of blood and moans of agony is not far away. Medics rush to some of those just needing a little attention while John and Doctor Smith are brought into the back of the of the building.
Six wounded. Varying between ripped off arms and open stomach wounds, to head wounds.
Three dead.
John and the other doctor work together quickly on the wounded, then securing them to be transported back to the Chinook to be lifted out. After the six wounded are gone an IED hits the building John and Doctor Smith are in, shaking it's foundations, yet somehow still staying up.
Ducking fire, and managing to avoid getting shot in all the madness, the two doctors get to the other two buildings, fixing up the wounded enough to be able to be transported, while confirming the dead.
All in all, (After the two doctors are back in the middle building with the medics, waiting for the troops to be secure to bring them back to the Chinook), twenty injured, fifteen dead.
"Hell of a day," Dr Smith grunts as she wipes her brow, the sweat dripping off.
John nods as he watches the American Marines work in tangent with the Royal Marines. He keeps a close eye on what is obviously a marine sniper. She's set up in an area where she can get the enemy snipers, but if another sniper gets the right vantage point...
"Going to be insane back at the field hospital," she says.
"True," John murmurs, but strangely doesn't feel guilty about why. He's glad it'll be busy, it gives him the chance to put his skills to use, to do his job. To heal and save lives.
Another explosion shakes the building, and he feels Doctor Smith tense up next to him. Shouts and fire being exchanged continues. John, despite being a doctor, itches to take out his service gun. He still hasn't used it yet.. it's a good thing.
"So, heard you went to the firing range."
"The American Marine wanted to see how good of a shot an army doctor could be."
"Heard you impressed him."
Despite the situation they were in, John smiles. "Apparently I'm a crack shot."
"A natural too, according to the Marine."
John shrugs. It's not important. His attention moves from the conversation to the American sniper. She left her spot and has started moving carefully to another. She glances back at them, smirks then continues moving.
She starts up the stairs, heading to the roof it appears, joining the Royal Marine sniper that John and Dr Smith had briefly checked on. He had only gotten grazed by a rival sniper, but refused to go anywhere.
"How--"
Before Doctor Smith gets her question out, John hears two voices yelling and twists to see the two snipers, the American holding the Royal Marine against her as they come down the stairs. Blood is coming out of the man's lower leg.
"Six of them on other ends, cover blown, had to retreat, he got shot as we were moving," the American says in quick, rapid fire sentences, as John works on the man. He's able to block out the noise once more as more fire is exchanged, concentrating solely on the man.
"Name and rank," John orders the Royal Marine, trying to keep his attention of his wound.
"Major...Terrence... Adams," he groans out. "Stupid... higher vantage point... didn't see..."
"Don't worry about that now," John orders. "So Major Adams, any family?"
"Fiance."
"You'll be seeing her soon," John promises. The wound in the Royal Marine's leg was not as severe as some. He'll be able to keep the leg, but the Marine's career as a sniper is most obviously likely to be over.
Once done, John lets Doctor Smith inject a pain killer in the Marine, and a medic takes over. He starts to stand, to move over when the American Marine sniper next to him suddenly pushes him down to the ground.
Shots are exchanged, and John looks up to see the female sniper standing in front of him, using her sniper rifle to shoot at four attackers who were shooting at where John and Doctor Smith were.
"Move back" She shouts at them. "We're getting ready to retreat, airstrike coming soon, move back," she continues and then her words are cut off as John sees three shots go into the female sniper's right leg and she goes down.
John doesn't hesitate, he reaches forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer to him. As he does, he uses his free hand to grab his service pistol. He takes a few seconds to aim and then fires, shooting twice at two targets and hitting them, then turns his attention back to the marine. He needs to treat the leg before he goes anywhere, get her secure, make her ready for transport.
"What's your name? Rank?" John says loudly to her, to try and keep her attention on him and off her leg. So much damage.. the bullets tore through her leg, leaving large gaping wounds... he could tell it hit nerve, shattered bone... Her right knee is done for. She'll never properly walk again... if she makes it.
She'll make it, John promises to himself as he works on her leg, letting Doctor Smith inject her with a painkiller to help ease the pain.
"Captain... Leah... Carson..." she gasps. "What.. about... you...?"
"Captain John Watson--"
Crack!
Pain in the shoulder, muscles screaming, bone cracking.
Pain in the head.
Darkness.
***************************
Date: February 28th, Day 29
Location: 221B Baker Street
Time: Unknown
***************************
John jerks awake, panting, a shout escaping him but he swallows back the rest.
His heart is pounding, head swimming, his shoulder aching.
He stares at the ceiling, trying to make the images go away.
Once Afghanistan and that day starts to fade to the recesses in the back of his mind, he collapses, shaking. He balls his left hand into a fist, feeling the tremors shake through his arm and into the fingers.
His right leg aches, and he knows if he tries to walk now, he'll need the bloody cane.
He inhales, taking a deep breath then exhales.
Does it three times.
He's at 221B Baker Street.
He's not in Afghanistan. Even if sometimes he wishes he was.
He swallows, his free hands digging into the sheets.
When he came to, after the chaos, after being told he was shot in the shoulder, after everything, John asked about the two snipers.
Major Terence Adams of the Royal Marines was shot in the calf and would recover. The possibility of remaining a sniper was a wait and see.
Captain Leah Carson... was not as lucky. Due to John's quick treatment, she lived. However, the damage was so severe, that nothing could be done to save the leg.
Her career was undoubtedly over.
John stares up at the ceiling, guilt worming it's way up to his head and heart. He made a stupid mistake, a mistake that he had been trained NOT to do, and ended up becoming a target which ultimately cost a young marine her career. He had been told repeatedly that it was not his fault, he still felt it was.
John swallows. He hadn't had this dream in a while. He had plenty of others.. but not this one.
He knew why though.
He left the letter downstairs.
Leah Carson was in London.
And she wanted to meet.
John got the letter today.
After another long day.
A particularly trying week too.
Sherlock was getting restless. And he wasn't handling it well this time. His mood had gone black, his violin playing (thankfully not going on now) was excruciating, and John was barely able to handle being around him for more than ten minutes.
No cases.
Three days ago Sherlock's mood became right foul after John came back from another unsuccessful job hunt. Mycroft was leaving just as he came to the building.
Plus two of his experiments weren't going the way he liked.
Also to add onto it all, apparently Molly Hooper was on vacation. Her replacement was apparently very by the rules and didn't care if Sherlock had access to the morgue... she didn't let him have any.
So all in all... Sherlock was not a happy person.
He literally stopped talking... two days ago.
"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes, I don't talk for days on end.. would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."
Worst.
Hah.
John was just glad Sherlock hadn't found his gun....
Hell.
He needs to use the toilet.
John sighs.
He grimaces as he gets to his feet, his right leg protesting.
John wasn't the only one that needed a case. He needed one to come along, so his flatmate wouldn't end up burning down the flat. He rather liked it, and wanted it to be in one piece.
John refuses to grab his cane and forces himself to go down the stairs without, even though it kills his leg. There's silence right now, so he has to be quiet. If Sherlock is asleep, he doesn't want to wake the man making his black mood even more black. If it was possible.
He comes to a stop in the kitchen as he sees Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table, a biscuit that looks to be half-eaten next to him and a cup of tea.
Ah.
Sherlock seems subdued now, staring resolutely at his laptop. John doesn't say anything, just limps past him, and down to the hall to take care of his needs.
A few minutes later he re enters the kitchen, Sherlock still at the table. This time there is another biscuit and a cup of tea on the opposite side.
A peace offering perhaps?
John grunts as he takes a seat, knowing he's not going to be able to get any sleep soon.
"Anonymous is being annoying."
"Is that right?" John murmurs. "So you made tea?"
"I can make tea."
"You just choose not to do it, right?"
A slight smile in response.
"May have a case."
"Is that right?" John figures that may be why Sherlock seems to have calmed down.
Sherlock nods. "Rather late message, but her name is Tilly Briggs. Something to do with a pleasure cruiser. She'll be stopping by in two days."
"Ah."
"And thankfully, Molly will be returning tomorrow."
"No wonder you're in a good mood then. And talking."
"I did warn you."
"Yes, yes you did," John admits before taking a bite of his biscuit. He feels Sherlock's penetrating eyes on him. "What is it?"
"Everything all right?"
"Fine."
"I saw the letter."
John grimaces. His fault for having it lie around. Although, how she knew where he lived surprised him. "I don't want to hear it Sherlock. Just.. not now."
"All right." Sherlock goes back to his laptop.
John watches the man for a few minutes as silenced questions start to make some noise. Anything to keep his mind off..
"You got questions."
John smiles slightly. "Yes. Not sure how to ask them though."
"You asked me about my sex life, what's so hard about this?"
John snorts, then chuckles. "Well.. it depends, on whether or not the question is a tetchy subject."
"Never know unless you ask."
John nods. "In the past... certain things have been said that well make me curious," he can't bring himself to look at Sherlock now. "It started the night you got me involved in the serial suicides, and now and then little things were brought up--"
"John," Sherlock says in a patient voice, and John looks back at the man, his gaze locking with Sherlock's. Dark blue eyes meeting pale blue.
John knows his eyes reveal that he had demons. Sherlock's eyes reveal that as well, but no one ever dares to look at them for too long. Same with John.
"Ask."
"You did drugs."
Sherlock's eyes suddenly shutter. They darken a little. "That was.. not a question."
"No it wasn't."
"Because someone already told you."
John nods. "But not everything. Your story to tell."
"Hmm."
"Why?"
Sherlock twines his fingers together and places his chin on them, elbows on the table. "You are asking me why I did them?"
John nods. "Someone as brilliant as you... why? How? What happened?"
"Quid pro quo, John."
"Pardon?"
"We've been flatmates for how long now?"
"Nearly a month. Bloody feels a lot longer though."
"Really? You want me to tell you? You don't want to deduce it? Or perhaps read the file that Mycroft has on me."
"You think he does."
"No doubt he got one put together the moment he heard we were flatmates."
"No doubt. But yes, there is something I want you to tell me."
"How did this get turned around?" John asks suddenly. "I asked you about why you did drugs and you're turning this around to me."
"I want to know about Afghanistan."
Oh.
Everything inside John closes up. And he knows Sherlock notices it.
"Yes, see now?"
"See what?" John says tightly.
"We have parts of our past... parts that you and I want to know about. When you're ready to tell me about Afghanistan, I'll tell you why I did cocaine."
John scowls. He should have seen this coming. "It's not easy to talk about Sherlock. Not that simple."
"And yet you want me to tell you about a specific time in my life... So quid pro quo, Doctor John Watson. You obviously are not ready to talk about yours, which I understand."
John lets out a shaky breath.
"I don't know if I'll ever be ready," John admits.
"Then you'll never know the answers to your questions on my part." Sherlock says, sounding a bit disappointed now. John wonders if it's disappointment in him.
"So, at a standstill."
"It looks like. So when you are ready to tell me of your time in Afghanistan, John Watson," Sherlock says to him as he stands up, "I will then tell you about the whys and hows of my past involvement with cocaine."
Despite the fact that he has the burning curiosity to know, John has a feeling that may be a while.
"I'm going to bed," Sherlock murmurs. "Sleep well."
NEXT CHAPTER
Ending Author's Note: Normally I would write two more chapters and put them up after this one, but this one took a lot out of me, so I need to rest up a bit. Apologies.
Also: Sortie: Military term for a surprise attack from the enemy in a town.