Chapter 2

Lestrade's jaw dropped. What the fuck was Shelock talking about? Husband? The man didn't have a husband? He stuttered a few inaudible word, the confusion taking over all his thoughts and therefore his tongue. He had no idea how to react to the situation, no idea what to say to Sherlock. What? What?! Sherlock had a husband and more importantly Sherlock had not told him about said husband. What was going on?

Sherlock sighed as he registered the man's face. Of course Lestrade had to react in such a ridiculous fashion. Why was it such a shock to the man that he was married? Okay, so Sherlock may have thought that John was dead for the past four years and so may not have made any mention of him at all. But still, Lestrade's dumbstruck face was annoying. As Sherlock watched the man's face with bored fascination, he was reminded of watching a beetle squirming in a jar attempting to escape. A pointless endeavour, as pointless as Lestrade's attempt at comprehension was, and yet it tried anyway. After several minutes of dumbstruck silence Lestrade finally managed to regain, at least a small amount, of his dignity and managed to string a coherent sentence together.

"So you have a husband and you didn't tell me. Sherlock why didn't you tell me? Surely that's an important thing to mention after three and a half years of friendship." Lestrade had a slight tinge of anger in his voice, but mostly he just sounded hurt at the fact Sherlock had kept this piece of information under raps for such a long time. It hadn't been easy for Lestrade to get Shelock to warm to him so when, after five years, he thought that the man had finally accepted him it was a serious blow to find out that such a monumental secret had been kept for him.

A knock on the door and a squeak of the hinges as it was pushed open cased both of the men's heads to whip to the source of the noise. Mycroft Holmes stood in the doorway, a smug smile on his face as he saw the company that Sherlock had at that very moment.

"Brother dearest" the older Holmes said. "I see you have some company. Good day Lestrade" Mycroft smirked, bowing his head in acknowledgement "Well little brother, I heard about John's little stint with the police and just came to ensure his health. After all it would not do for him to grow ill when we have only just found him again, would it now." Mycroft said, the smirk on his face only growing as he watched the anger grow on Sherlock's face.

"Mycroft" Sherlock hissed out "Neither John or I require anything from you. You should leave now." Sherlock's tone was dismissive and yet there was anger seeping into the words. `He looked at Mycroft with disgust. Sherlock did not need his brother's interference. He did not want John getting messed up in any more of Mycroft's twisted schemes. The last time he had been in one he had been missing, presumed dead, for four years.

"That's not quite true is it brother. Only this morning I needed to pull some strings to get Dr Watson of a most unpleasant situation" the man purred out. Sherlock clenched his teeth, his nostrils flaring in disgust at the man's words.

"Mycroft" he growled out, ready to start the argument to end all arguments. However, before another word could spew from his lips a creak of the stairs echoed through the room. Sherlock's eyes snapped toward the staircase. All of the anger flowed out of his body as he scurried toward the staircase. Lestrade looked on curiously, while Mycroft only sneered as Sherlock attentively held out a hand for the returning army doctor, helping him with each step that he took. Lestrade could hear muttered reassurances being whispered from Sherlock's lips. With each passing second Lestrade only became more bewildered by the changes in Sherlock. Even if John was is husband it did little to explain the insane fluctuations in the man's attitude.

John settled down on the chair that Lestrade had only seen as empty in the past. Lestrade found himself thinking that the patterned material seemed to suited the man. Sherlock flitted around the man, making tea and somehow producing a plate of biscuits from somewhere and placing them before the man. Lestrade could only stare.

"Is your shoulder feeling okay John?" Sherlock's tone was business like and yet Lestrade could hear the care that was underlying it. John gave a nod, before a gravely voice issued from his mouth.

"It's fine Sherlock. It's a little sore, but I suppose that it's expected from the reopening of the wound." John sighed. It was the most words that Lestrade had heard the man say so far. As well as being the most normal thing. However he also was slightly regretful that he had spoken. He felt a wave of guilt run through him as he realised what was being said. He could only think of one event that would have caused the wound to reopen. He was a tad embarrassed at the fact that his officers had been so violent with someone who was obviously seriously injured. He was about to open his mouth in apology before he shook himself out of it. The man had injured two members of Lestrade's team. He had a gun pinned to one of their head's. He didn't need to apologise.

While Lestrade was debating with himself he failed to notice the pair of twinkling blue eyes that were pinned to him. Sherlock was still muttering about the interruption to healing process and the issues that John may face in the future. However John was no longer listening.

"Detective Inspector" the gruff voice called out. Lestrade snapped his head toward the seated man. "I would like to apologise" he huffed out. Lestrade's eyes widened in shock.

"John" Sherlock whined out. "What are you apologising for? They should be apologising to you!" Sherlock complained, remaining Lestrade of a small child.

"Sherlock" John growled. Sherlock's mouth snapped shut, a pout filling his face. Lestrade wa too shocked to laugh. The look on the detective's face was hilarious but the fact that John could quite him was far too surprising.

"Apologies Detective Inspector, I am sorry that I injured two of your officers even if I did do it in self defence." John hummed out. His tone was business only. It was not friendly. Greg was unsure of what to do.

"Ummm…well…" he stammered out. "I…apologise as well" he finally decided on. "It appears that my officers may have…overreacted" he managed to bumble out. John's face softened slightly at the words.

"Well now that its finally over, will you GET OUT." Sherlock yelled. John smiled fondly as the man spoke.

"Sherlock may not have said it in the nicest way, but he is correct. Mycroft, detective inspector, It would be splendid if you would both piss off." John grinned out. Sherlock gave an equally joyous look. He then proceeded to push Mycroft and Lestrade though the door, before slamming the door in their faces. A muffled shout followed them.

"Don't disturb us again for two weeks at least." Sherlock's voice called out.


Two weeks later and Sherlock was back at the Yard, his signature coat and scarf in place as he swaggered in. He zipped around, examining the crime scene as though he had not been missing for three weeks. The rest of the force didn't say a thing. Lestrade, it seemed, was the only one that had remembered the impromptu holiday that the consulting detective had taken. The rest of the team just complained about the fact that freak was messing up the crime scene. Lestrade could only watch as the man rattled off a list of deductions at a super human rate. It was quickly established that no, it wasn't the boyfriend. It was obviously the brother. It was all about the way the blood was pooling underneath the woman and of course the colour of her nail polish.

Lestrade nodded, ignoring the insults that were aimed his way. Instead he only noted down the reasoning for the murder, the points that Sherlock had so quickly spewed out. However before he had a moment to comment on Sherlock's deductions, the man was rushing from the scene, quicker than he had arrived.

"Don't call me for anything less than a seven next time Lestrade." Sherlock called out. "This was a three at best." With that Sherlock rushed off, leaving the Lestrade muttering curses under his breath. He then turned to the rest of his team, who were longing around gossiping.

"To work all of you. We still have a murder investigation under way. A crime scene to clear up and a suspect to catch. Get to work."


Sherlock walked down the street excitedly, John by his side. He was grinning, his fingers intertwined with that of his husband's. John was being pulled along by the detective, smiling fondly as the man babbled excitedly.

"The facilities are impeccable John. Molly informed me that they have a new batch of body parts in today. There are so many new experiments that I've been dying to try…" the man continued as John only hummed his agreement. Sherlock pushed the door to Bart's open and tugged John in behind him, his grin only spreading as his words spewed more and more quickly from his mouth. He dragged John toward the morgue, almost skipping with glee. Sherlock very much reminded John of an exited puppy.

As soon as the doors were pushed open Sherlock's demeanour changed from exited to intentional. He dropped John's hand and almost ran across the room. John sat in one of the stiff plastic chairs that was situated in the room, watching his husband in awe. It had been far too long since he had watched the man work his magic. For the next hour he did little more than listen to Sherlock's babbling. He asked the occasional question and watched as his husband's eyes lit up and hurried to answer him.

Their harmony was, unfortunately, interrupted far too soon for John's liking. The interruption was made by a woman rushing loudly into the room. She appeared to be in her early thirties. Her brown hair was pulled into a high pony tail, her brown eyes sparkling with nervousness. A smile lit up her lipstick lined lips as she noticed the consulting detective. Her eyes focusing on nothing but him.

"Sherlock" she breathed out. "I…I didn't realise you were here." Her tone was breathy and filled with nervousness. Her eyes were filled with longing and desperation. John frowned. He wasn't sure that he liked the way that the woman was looking at his husband.

"Ah Molly" Sherlock said dismissively as he spun around to see the woman before him. Oh, so this was Molly, John thought. He had heard of the woman. He was sure that the woman was infatuated with the oblivious Sherlock. Sherlock made no further attempt to talk to the woman. He turned his back, continuing to examine the various severed fingers, slowly disintegrating after being subject to various different substances. Molly stood awkwardly for several seconds, tugging awkwardly at the sleeves of her lab coat.

"Well Sherlock…" she finally stammered out. Her eyes then lit up with inspiration, seemingly having found a conversation topic. "Would you like to get some tea?" she questioned shyly. Sherlock looked up from his work. His eyes meeting Molly's.

"Of course, black one sugar. John will have his with just milk" he said before turning his attention back to the fingers. Molly's eyes widened in shock.

"J-John?" she stuttered out questioningly. Sherlock merely hummed, focusing on the fingers. John took this as his cue to make his presence known. He pushed himself up, wincing at the pain that rippled through his shoulder. He made his way across the room, limping.

"Hello" he grumbled out. Molly whipped around so quickly that John feared she may give herself whiplash. As her eyes met he continued his introduction. "The name's John Watson" He thrust his hand forward, introducing himself. Molly took the hand delicately in hers and engaged in, what John would call, a rather wet handshake.

"Molly Hooper" she responded nervously. The question was clear in her eyes. She wanted to know who John was and what he was doing with Sherlock. Therefore she made the first move. "I'm a Specialist Registrar here at Bart's…" she trailed off, looking for something to say. She didn't need to. John picked up where she finished off.

"A pleasure, Miss Hooper" he said with a small smile. He, however offered no further information about himself to the woman. Instead he limped toward Sherlock. He sat next to the man, their arms very nearly touching.

"What you doing now then?" John questioned Sherlock in a hushed voice. Sherlock continued as though he had not had the interruption of Molly. He began to babble on about the various processes of decomposition and the differences between acidic and alkaline solutions. John couldn't hold back the smile and the fond twinkle in his eyes. He loved his husband more than anything else in the world.

Molly could only look on awkwardly, before she bustled off to make tea. As she dunked the tea bag in the water, stirred in Sherlock's sugar and added milk to John's, she kept telling herself over and over that they were just acquaintances. That Sherlock must have just picked off a random person from the street. Sherlock didn't have any friends, he didn't have anyone that he was close to. He couldn't, Molly would know.

Molly reentered the morgue, the cups of tea held in her hands. However as she kicked the door open and lifted her head the mugs slipped from her hands and smashed to the floor. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape. Before her was John, seated on the work bench next to the severed fingers. His own fingers were intertwined in black locks, pulling the mouth of the Consulting Detective's onto his own. Shelock's body was pressed against John's. A moan escaped his lips, which was interrupted by the sound of breaking pottery. Sherlock broke the contact, his head whipping around to see the disturbance. John looked lazily toward the shocked woman.

"What…what…" Molly stuttered out. Sherlock ignored her. Instead his eyes flickered back to John before addressing him.

"Come along John, we best be going" he smirked. He then turned his attention back to the still frozen woman that stood in the doorway. "I'll be back to check on the fingers tomorrow Molly. Keep them secure for me won't you? A shame about the tea…" Sherlock mused before he rushed from the room, grabbing his coat as he went. John followed at a more sedate pace; stopping before the woman in the doorway.

"Apologies Miss Hooper. My husband can be rude at times. However I know that he's merely exited about his new experiments. I suppose I may see you tomorrow. A pleasure to meet you" with that John left. Molly didn't think she could be more shocked. She had been wrong. Husband? Husband! Sherlock had a husband! She didn't know what to do. Her eyes filled with tears. Taking a few steps she managed to support herself with the wall before collapsing into one of the stools that sat under one of the work tables. She brought her hands to her face as the tears streamed down her face. How had Sherlock never told her that he had a husband?


John rocketed up form the bed, a scream ripping from his lips, loud and violent. His hands clutched at the sheets, his breath coming quickly as sweat poured down his face.

"John" a soothing voice called out. Arms embraced him and gentle words were whispered into his ear. "It's okay John, it's all okay." John felt his breathing slow, his heart rate becoming more regular as the sooting tones filled the room. After several minuted of reassuring strokes and gentle kisses, John was calm. His mind was a mess but his body was no longer out of his control.

"Tell me" Sherlock soothed, as he ran a hand gently through John's hair. John let the seconds tick by, attempting to string his thoughts into a coherent sentence.

"I was back there. It was dark. There were screams. They…they were torturing them Sherlock. All of them." John's voice was filled with pain, his memories overwhelming him. Sherlock let his delicate fingers run through the cropped blonde hair.

"It's okay John, you're safe. You're home and you're safe." John let Sherlock's voice gently sooth him until he fell into a light sleep. However Sherlock did not follow him. Even though he was without a case his thoughts were just too loud for him to fall asleep again. Sherlock could not stop thinking about how he had failed his husband. He should have been there for him.

Sherlock and John had met in University, John studying Medicine and Sherlock studying Chemistry. John had latched onto Sherlock after seeing the man deduce that one of the members of the dorm had been sleeping with another member of said dorms the previous night. John had told him how brilliant he was and the pair had never looked back. A year and a half after their initial meeting they had both decided that it was beneficial for them to pursue a romantic relationship. Two years later the pair had moved in together. Sherlock had finished University and the pair had got a flat in Cambridge. The black haired man was spending his days attempting to entertain himself while John continued his medical training. Their nights were spent together.

Another year had passed by, Sherlock had been bored. John had attempted to finish his training at a university in London. Due to his outstanding grades he had been allowed to transfer to UCL to finish his training. He and Sherlock had then spent the next three years in London while John finished his training. Three weeks after John officially became a doctor the pair were married; a small wedding with only family in attendance. However, their time together was cut short due to John's army commitments. He was drafted to Afghanistan.

On and off meetings and phone calls were their lives for the next two years. However soon even those stopped. A bombing of the camp, hundreds of soldiers killed, John was thought to be one of them. What none of them had know, not even Mycroft, was that John had not been killed. Sherlock had held a funeral for his husband. He had mourned and vowed to never love agin. He would be married to his work from now on. John had, in fact, been taken prisoner. He had, as a doctor, been forced to treat the wounded; both his friends and his enemies. There had been times when he had to attempt to heal his tortured friends while listening to the screams of others. Four long years of torture, almost all of it mental. It was amazing that he had not broken.

Three months ago American soldiers had stormed the base. John, attempting to save the wounded had been caught in the crossfire. His left leg had been shattered through the fall as a bullet pierced his shoulder. It had take weeks for him to be able to move. Months for him to be able to stand and endless hours of therapy for John to feel even remotely safe.

It had taken two and a half months for John to even begin to piece his life back together. However as soon as he started to delve into the past, looking for any information on Sherlock Holmes, he had put himself on Mycroft's radar. The man had swooped in on John, ready to defend his brother from anyone that was searching for him. He had, however been shocked, dumbstruck even, to find one John Watson alive and mostly well. Within the week he had been shipped back to England. He had been reunited with a husband, a tearful and extremely emotional meeting. For the next week the pair had not left the flat. 221B had become their shared home, after housing only Sherlock for the past two years. It had been miraculous.

Both he and Sherlock had been damaged by their years apart. They had been lonely, desperate and tortured in their own ways. To be back together was beautiful. However Sherlock was still burdened with immense guilt. He still didn't understand how he could have not realised that John was still alive. He had always prided himself on being smart, but it seemed that he had not managed to deduce that his own husband was alive. He let the self deprecating thoughts swirl through his head. He was in for a long night.