Author: Sherlockedmyheart PM
Whilst war rages across Europe, the world's only consulting detective suffers, quiet and forgotten, alone in the beautiful Sussex countryside, patiently waiting for his doctor to return one last time.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Angst/Hurt/Comfort - Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson - Chapters: 4 - Words: 8,113 - Reviews: 18 - Favs: 8 - Follows: 12 - Updated: 06-27-12 - Published: 02-29-12 - id: 7882642
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An elderly doctor sat on a park bench in Leicester Square, on a beautiful summers day in the middle of August and watched as wave after wave of soldiers march through the city; all of them young, most inexperienced and a few much younger than they looked.
It was the first time he'd had a moment to himself since the blasted war had begun. He'd asked by old colleagues to help train boys into becoming surgeons and impromptu doctors. He had, of course, said yes in a heartbeat (if only he were fifty years younger he would've joined the army himself) as he was willing to anything that his King and country asked of him.
But alas, he had already served his country decades ago. He shifted slightly on the bench, both his leg and his shoulder complained bitterly. He thought back to the time when he'd accumulated these wounds. It felt like a lifetime ago.
However, he did not have time to dwell on the past long as a young girl, no older than six, climbed onto his good leg.
"Papa! Dada will be coming soon! I can see his regiment!" She exclaimed happily. Her face was slightly flushed red as she'd been running alongside the parade until she met her grandfather.
He held the young girl close, her blonde curls had once again managed to escape from her bonnet and tickled his neck as she laid her head on his chest. She sucked her thumb excitedly, waiting for her father to make his long awaited appearance.
Just as she said, moments later, his regiment came marching round the corner. She jumped off her grandfather's lap and held his hand supportively as he used the walking stick beside him to help him stand. He watched, his chest swelling with pride, as his eldest son marched down the street. He scooped the little girl into his arms, and rested on her on hip so that she could see her father over the heads of the strangers.
She cheered happily, along with everyone else in the crowd. But it was when her father disappeared that her cheers of happiness turned to tears. She sobbed into her grandfather's good shoulder, whimpering something about not wanting her dada to go. The old doctor ignored the protests his leg made as his comforted his only granddaughter. His used his handkerchief to wipe away the tears and tried, just like any grandfather, to make her smile.
Those teary blue eyes looked questioningly up at him.
"When's dada coming home?"
He kissed her forehead gently. "Do not fret my little precious...it'll all be over by Christmas."
He knew his mind was slipping. There was simply no escaping from the fact that he had known for some considerable time. He could feel it falling, piece by piece, as the days wore painfully on. The so called trained nurses offered no real support; they were just there to make sure he never hurt himself too badly.
But he could never bring himself to hate them. They were only worried about their fiancées. When they weren't treating other patients, he'd hear them talking about a so called 'war'.
He scoffed at the very idea. There was no way his brother would let this country go to war. It was simply impossibly, Mycroft would never endanger the lives of so many Britons.
But those nurses still carried on with their maddening chatter, trying to comfort everyone by saying 'it will all be over by Christmas'. But, he just smiled politely and nodded, humouring the poor young girls.
He was sure he was going to have to have a word with Mycroft about all these silly young women trying to frightening everyone by creating some kind of war.
It was preposterous…utterly, sickening.
There were times when he'd calm his temperament enough to consider all the facts- the newspaper headlines, the growing number of soldiers and some of the wards were being 'renovated' as they called it. It considered that what they were saying could possibly be true.
But he'd never consider it for too long because he'd soon forget what he was thinking about.