Heat of Battle
The entire case had been a mess from the beginning. Together Holmes and Watson had followed their target from tavern to tavern, waiting for him to meet his contact and claim the indiscreet letters their client had hired them to retrieve. Really it had sounded standard and did not hold the usual thrills that their other cases had. The trouble had come when they had to follow the man threw the crowded streets and even more so crowded taverns where it was difficult not to lose him in the crowd. Normally his American accent and over all nature would make him stand apart but tonight it had the opposite effect. Why? It was July 4th, or as the Americans called it Independence Day.
Many of the bar owners were less then thrilled with their rowdy patrons or the nature of their celebration but there were simply to many and too much money for them to turn them away on principle. When money was concerned it generally was the first thing to go.
The stifling heat was not helping matter and when they finally were spotted by their target, it made the chase all the more unpleasant. All the days walking and the numerous hiding places they had endured had made the pain in Watson's wounded leg ache fiercely but the chase made it nearly unbearable. Despite the pain he pushed onwards and they were closing in on their pray when he heard it.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
The noise made him jump instinctively and he skid to a halt and pressed his back to a wall as his eyes scanned the gloom. Watson knew it wasn't gun fire, no matter how close it sounded at this distance, but his body reacted out of a instinct he had long since thought he had forgotten.
Firecrackers, gunfire, firecrackers echoed off the walls of the alley and he could hear the far off screaming of the merrymakers. Funny, just as the sound distorted the firecrackers so to did it turn the cries of joy into ones of pain and fear.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Watson felt his breathing pick up speed despite the fact he was no longer running and he squeezed his eyes shut. 'Stop it your in London, not Afghanistan.' He tried to reason to himself, trying to quell the panic he could feel bubbling up. The all to familiar feeling terror creeping on him.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
'If he was in London why were they shooting at him?'
“Watson he's getting away! Good God man what are you doing, this is no time for a rest!”
Pop! Pop! Pop!
'It's just gunfire, firecrackers, gunfire.'
“Watson? Doctor?”
Pop! Pop! Pop!
'Gunfire.'
His heart was pounding like battle drum now.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
“Doctor?”
“Doctor?”
“Doc-”
-
“-TOR!”
Watson's eyes snapped opened to take in the gloomy battlefield. God they were trapped in the hills, confusing as the most challenging mazes and filled with native hostiles. They'd be killed if they stayed their.
“Doctor!” His eyes turned to the soldier next to him. The man was panicked but doing his best to hide it like a good soldier. He wanted to comfort him but it would be empty at best and they had to get out of this crevice they found themselves in or risked being ambushed.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
At the sound of gunfire he instinctively tackled the taller man to the ground and covered his body with his own the best he was able.
“For Heaven's sake soldier, where is you helmet?!” He hissed at the man below him when he felt hair under his hand instead of the metal of a helmet. Though at the thought he noticed that the familiar weight that was usually on his head was missing. What had happened to his helmet? Had he been hit and had his helmet knocked off? It would explain why he was so disoriented and didn't notice it's absence until now.
“Watson?”
“Shush. Sound will echo in his narrow crevices, we don't want to draw them to us do we? Good lad.”
The man blinked at him in confusion and he absently patted his arm before standing up. He had to be knew to the ranks if he didn't have the instinctive reactions that came with prolonged exposure to warfare. Grabbing his arm he drew the soldier up as well while casting about for his medical pack. To his dismay it was missing as well, probably with his helmet somewhere. And the rest of his platoon now that he thought about it. It didn't matter now, they had to move.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Fighting the urge to his the dirt again he merely grabbed the soldiers arm and took off in a crouched over run
They had been so close! Almost upon the devious blackmailer when Watson skidded to a halt and pressed himself against the wall. While he knew that the man's leg had been troubling him now was simply not the time for a break!
“Watson he's getting away! Good God man what are you doing, this is no time for a rest!” Holmes yelled to his friend and gestured emphatically at the escaping criminal. The gesture was lost on the doctor however since he had his eyes firmly closed and now that he had stopped to noticed, was breathing in a frightfully heavy manner. His friend and colleague had lost all color and was trembling violently.
“Watson? Doctor?”
Nothing. If the man had heard him calling he certainly didn't show any signs of it.
“Doctor? Doctor?”
Still nothing. Now he was becoming rather alarmed. Had Watson somehow been wounded with out his knowledge? Impossible they had been together the entire time. So what ever was the matter with his dear friend.
“Doctor?” His confusion melted away to worry. “Doctor?” Panic.
Then without warning the doctor's eyes snapped open and he was suddenly tackled to the ground. The breath was knocked from his body and when he went to gasp for air he found himself stifled by the material of Watson's shirt. Dear Lord what was going on?
“For Heaven's sake soldier, where is your helmet?” He had never heard such a tone come from his friend before. It was a mixture of exasperation, worry, and rage. Not to mention the odd state of the question. It had so thrown him all he had been able to do was call his friends name though he was promptly shushed.
It did lend some light to what was going on with his friend however. Now that he saw the outcome, the steps that had lead to this were painfully obvious. He should have known that the yelling and the firecrackers would have some negative effects but the more subtle things such as the stifling heat and the pain of his wounds had sent his poor friend spiraling into memories of darker times.
Unfortunately he did not get much time to think since he was pulled roughly to his feet and pulled after the doctor/ soldier who was dragging him along. He was pulled two who alleys over before he was able to adequately able to act.
“Watson, stop.” He said as gently as he could, digging his heels in to pull his friend to a halt and turning the hold on his wrist against his friend since he now had his arm as well.
Watson gave a irritated snort and tried to tug him onwards without once looking back, instead constantly searching the night for the invisible enemy.
“Doctor. Watson, please listen to me.”
The army major dragged the soldier behind him as they moved from one dark crevice to another. His leg was throbbing painfully but he could not stop to rest, his life and that of the soldier behind him depended on his ability to move. So when the man came to a halt and asked to stop he only snorted in annoyance and tried to pull him along. For such a thin man he was surprisingly strong.
“Doctor. Watson, please listen to me.” The man had such a pleading note in his voice that Watson turned around.
He stared at the man for a moment the shook his head and turned back to watch the darkness around them. “Soldier we don't have time for this. Get your ass into gear or we are both going to end up dead.” There was no time to be gentle, not when their lives were on the line. God he was a doctor, he wasn't suppose to end up stranded alone in enemy territory with only a green soldier to back him up. He was suppose to be behind the lines in a medical tent far from the fighting, funny how that never happened.
Before he knew it the solider detached his hand from his wrist and spun Watson around so he back hit the wall. Two strong hands cupped his face and turned his gaze up to meet the soldiers.
“Watson please.” His words came out sounding so full of pain Watson wondered if he had been wounded. He tried to scan the solider but a small shake made his eyes turn up to the taller man's. “You're safe. You're in London my good man, and the war is long since over.”
What? The man had lost his mind. Even now he could hear the gun fire and the screaming.
As if reading his thoughts the man shook his dark head. “You're safe Watson. Please come back, you're safe here with me. I swear it.”
-
Watson didn't want to listen to reason, simply issuing a sharp order in hopes of getting his disruly soldier back into order. Unfortunately for him Holmes was no soldier.
It flayed him to the bone to see his friend in such a state. His normally warm and open eyes were cold and distant, as if he were taking everything in but it wasn't really registering. Watson's inner soldier was focused on getting them out alive and that was all he could think about. This wasn't his Watson, this was some man his friend had been forced to become out of a need of survival.
He had to have his Watson back.
Holmes grabbed the doctor and pressed him against the wall to keep him in place and then grabbed his face. Normally he was a cold calculating machine but right now all his worry and need to comfort his friend could be heard plainly in his tone and muttered reassuring words to his friend. It seemed not to snap his friend out of his memories as he had hoped but at least the man stopped fighting. Soon that gave way to a look of confusion.
With a sigh he grabbed the doctor and crushed him tightly to his chest, pressing his face to his hair, and just held him in what he hoped to be a comforting fashion. At first he could feel Watson tense in his grasp but just as quickly as the fit came it left. Watson when limp in his grasp and lean heavily against him. The man's breath was shaky and could feel tears start to soak his shirt front, but he paid it no mind. “Alright, old boy, I got you. You're safe now Watson I've got you. There's a lad.” He spoke gently from where his face was still pressed against the mans hair while he rubbed soothing circles on his back.
Watson tensed when the soldier suddenly pulled him into a tight hug and held him for all he was worth. He had seen men react in strange ways due to the stress of battle but this seemed...different. His face was pressed against the man's shirt and he was surprised to note that the man did not smell like sweat, sand, and blood like the average soldier did. Instead he smelled of strong pipe smoke and chemicals. A odd mixture to be sure.
Wait, he knew that smell. Where did he know that smell from? It smelled like...Holmes.
Oh God he was back in London's alleyways, not the confusing hills of Afghanistan. Relief and sheer mortification struck him and his body seemed to go limp. If it wee not for the strong hold his friend held on him then he no doubt would have fallen. As if his embarrassment could not be complete he felt tears slipping from his eyes. Relief, sorrow, fear, embarrassment, and pain all were drawn from his as he sobbed into his chest.
The words were starting to trickle into his brain and he heard the reassuring speech his friend kept up in a attempt to calm him.
“Alright, old boy, I got you. You're safe now Watson I've got you. There's a lad.”
Like all English gentlemen he was taught to never show such weakness and public and he hastened to pull himself together. When he finally had a grip on himself he pulled out of Holmes's hold and looked anywhere but at his friend. “Holmes, I am so sorry. He got away and it is all my fault.” His face with hot with embarrassment as well as the release of emotions he had just had.
To his surprise Holmes once again cupped his face in his hands and turned it to face him. “You have nothing to apologize for, my dear Watson. You have survived the worse kind of hell in the service of your country and should never have apologize for the effects it had on you.” As he spoke Holmes tilted his head down until their foreheads rested together. “If fact it is I who should apologize. I should have realized this would not be a conducive environment for a recovering veteran. Not tonight of all night. Bloody American's and their fireworks.”
“There was no way you could have known I'd react as such, I didn't know I would react as such!” He tried to reassure his friend who merely sighed tolerantly and pulled away from him.
“Well tonight has been filled with surprises. I don't know about you my boy but I want nothing more to retire to Bakers Street where I could do with a drink.”
Watson couldn't help but smile. “That sounds wonderful.”
Holmes returned the smile and took his friends arm in his and began leading the way out of the alley.
“And Holmes.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”