Five Times the SGC Annoyed John Watson and One Time He Helped Them Annoy the Holmes Brothers
Betaed by the lovely Nephir :-D
Summary: For a top secret military group, John seems to run into the SGC a lot.
Notes: Other than looking wet and bedraggled, I have no clue what SG-1 and Vala were doing by the side of a single-track road in Wales. They won't tell me.
John first encounters the SGC in the wilds of Antarctica. Yes, it's an odd posting, and yes, it's unusual for a military doctor to be assigned to an expedition, but it was an emergency and – on a training exercise in Patagonia – John is the closest medic able to replace the injured Dr. Lewis when he takes a tumble part way down the dock and breaks a leg and an arm.
He doesn't mind. Harry is embarking on her first serious relationship after coming out to his parents and he's a little tired of playing the middle-man for the irresistible force of his sister and the immovable object of his parents. He might change his mind however, he decides midway through the assignment, when something happens and the place is suddenly crawling with American Special Forces.
What they're doing at McMurdo is anyone's guess, but they've presented him with two patients and only one extra pair of hands – a fiery redhead who makes him feel like a giant, and who barks like a Staff Sergeant – and he's had enough.
"Everybody out!" he shouts, voice ringing clearly around the room. There is an abrupt silence. "If you are not involved in the treatment of the patients, get the hell out of my surgery!" he reiterates and, looking a lot surprised, they comply. The redhead – Dr Fraiser he reads on her name-tape – gives him an approving nod before directing a similar bark at the male who had been brought in, this time about staying in bed or she would break out the square needles.
It's two years and six months after his first meeting with the SGC – odd patches, but memorable all the same – and he's pretty sure he wasn't supposed to see them, but the pair he had helped treat were in too bad a way to be worried about secrecy and so he had gotten an eyeful before anyone had thought to disappear them.
He looks up and there's a stocky older man standing next to his table in the coffee shop he's stopped at on his way through LAX on his way back to the UK to finish up his post-deployment leave with Harry, who had just gone through a pretty bad break-up with her girlfriend.
The man's dress-blues and General's pips have him coming to his feet even though he's currently in civvies. Hammond, G. reads his nametape and, ok, John is curious now, even as the man gestures for him to sit and joins him at the table. They study each other for a long moment, before the General leans forward, elbows on the table. "I'm here to thank you, son," he says, voice Texas all the way. "You take some tracking down, Captain."
John glances down at his coffee, then back at Hammond. "Sorry sir. I wasn't aware you were looking for me."
Hammond smiles, leaning back again in his chair. "That's not important, son. Like I said, I'm here to thank you. Specifically, you have my gratitude for your assistance with the situation in Antarctica, and my apologies for the delay in expressing that gratitude. And regrettably I am also here to ask for your assistance once again."
John sighs to himself, finishes his coffee and stands, Hammond rising with him. He's about to speak when Hammond says, "And I've cleared it with your CO. Don't worry," he adds, grandfatherly twinkle in his eye, "You'll get to finish your leave once we release you."
As he turns to lead the way, John narrows his eyes at the man's retreating back.
His third meeting with those lunatics had been at an American airbase in Egypt. Used as he was to the base he had been seconded to temporarily being slightly more excitable than the average British base – at least outwardly - he was surprised that the man he was treating was both a civilian and the calmest of the trio who had been brought in.
The second member of the group is the tall blonde he remembers from Antarctica and the third was Janet Fraiser, who greets him with a cordial nod and expects for him to let her help with her colleagues. John isn't having any of it and tells her so in no uncertain terms.
It's a battle he wins – but only just – and from the expression on her face, he's about to lose the war.
Muttering imprecations about bloody Americans under his breath, he stalks off to have some coffee now that he's certain that none of his patients are about to drop dead, although that's a damn localised sunburn Jackson has.
The fourth time he encounters them, it's because he's being offered a job. The project has expanded apparently, and his clearance is now high enough that they can speak to him about a job, though not high enough that he's allowed to know what SGC stands for.
It's a bittersweet job offer – Janet, his friend and pen pal of some six years had been killed in action and it's her job they're offering him. He feels that he has no choice but to turn it down. Jack O'Neill, a man he remembers only vaguely from Antarctica as having much more brown in his hair, stares at him calmly for a long moment before nodding.
"Thank you for your time, Captain," he says, gesturing for John to precede him out of the room.
As he does so, there's an odd splat on his chest and he looks down, frowning. Brown?
He looks up into the becoming-panicked eyes of a dark haired man who stares at John while John stares at him and then flees as a bellow of "Feretti!" goes up from behind him.
Gritting his teeth, he turns to O'Neill. "Sir," he grinds out, "Not just no, No Way in Hell!" He turns on his heel and walks pointedly back to the elevator, just knowing that, whatever happens to this Feretti character, the Colonel is more amused than he should be.
He's manning the first aid tent on a training exercise in Wales the next time he meets anyone from the SGC. Five of them, sitting by the side of the road as he brings back a squaddie who had found a rabbit hole with his foot, drenched and looking just a little lost. He recognises Dr Jackson and Major – no, Lieutenant Colonel Carter now, but he's never met the other three. Sure, the big guy he'd seen briefly talking to O'Neill when they had offered him a job, but he's drawing a blank on the name.
He sighs irritably.
"Get in," he tells them. "No strange conspiracies, no weird sunburn and chocolate pudding is banned from the first aid tent."
The squaddie looks confused, as do the dark haired woman and the sandy haired man who isn't Jackson, but Carter and Jackson and the big guy exchange amused glances. Irritation rising, he waits until they're almost settled before gunning the engine.
"Okay," the dark haired woman says, "I don't know what these guys did, but I didn't do it!"
Carter snorted from where she had successfully wedged herself in. "I don't think he cares, Vala," she points out. John pointedly ignores them while the squaddie carefully pretends he's not there.
Sherlock stares at the tall man who is arguing with Lestrade.
"American military," he says, but before he can continue, Mycroft interrupts with, "Really? How could you possibly have guessed?"
Sherlock fixes him with a glacial stare. "Sarcasm is unbecoming."
Mycroft smirks. "He's a general, head of some special ops project."
Someone behind them snorts and they both turn in surprise. They had thought that John was busy examining the ambassador's body. "He's General Jack O'Neill," John tells them. "The project he heads up is right up your alley," he adds in Mycroft's direction before moving past them and, to the surprise of all except, apparently, O'Neill, moves to greet the man.
The brothers drift closer, catching the edges of the conversation: something about ballistic chocolate pudding.
O'Neill laughs and gestures in the direction of a slim man with hair starting to grey and John gets a speculative gleam in his eye that has Sherlock feeling like a quick exit would be just the ticket. It's not running. It's a tactical retreat to regroup and plan further.
It is, he realises with a startling moment of self-awareness, not fun to be on the outside, and while he's certain that with time he could deduce the exact nature of the relationship between the unexpected group of American military and John given time, he finds that he's a little worried that John had known more about them than Mycroft.