Author's Note: I do now own Sherlock or any of the characters.
Dr. John Watson lay in his bunk trying to sleep but to no avail; it had been a very rough few days. His body and mind wouldn't and couldn't shut down; adrenalin still ran through his veins. Every time he closed his eyes he would only be woken by a noise from outside the small metal building or one of his roommates coming to bed. He just wanted to sleep but then even his sleep wasn't restful as the nightmares that had plagued him when he had returned to London had returned.
"John," called a quiet voice, he hadn't heard the door open but then his mind had been elsewhere.
"Mmm" he replied trying to appear asleep.
"Sir, have a phone call in the office." replied the voice.
"Can it wait, Mary?" asked John rolling over in his bunk.
"I don't' think so." she entered the small dark room. "I told the commander you were asleep, he asked me to wake you, it seems important."
"Who is it?"
"He wouldn't say."
John rolled himself out of his bunk and straightened his blood stained scrubs before heading out. He couldn't think of anything that would be important enough to drag him from his bunk at 3am after what had been a very long, difficult and frightening day. He quickly made his way across the compound, too lazy and tired to find a coat for the cold night air.
"Dr. Watson" said the commander as he entered the building that housed the command post. It was lit by only a few electric lights. "You have a phone call."
Even the commander looked very confused. No one got personal phone calls, and not in the middle of the night. The commander pointed to the phone that sat on a table in the corner of the room.
"John Watson" he said picking up the receiver.
"John," said a very familiar voice that explained just about everything.
"Mycroft." John replied.
"You have orders to be on the next transport home."
"I will see you in a couple of days."
John put the receiver down and turned to his commanding officer who was obviously reading a fax that had just come in on the secure line.
"Let me guess, I need to go pack." Said John.
"You have serious connections in the government." Replied the commander.
"I know." He paused. "But I wish I didn't."
John was not happy as he returned to his bunk, what was so damned important that Mycroft would drag him back from Afghanistan. He and Sherlock had not parted on the best of terms, and John had made it very clear that he never wanted to see or hear from the Holmes brothers every again. He wouldn't make a big deal out of it, he didn't have the energy right now and he really could do with a break from the tragedy of war. He hoped that this wasn't going to be one of the Holmes' brother little games.
The cargo plane landed at an air force base just outside of London, John grabbed his ruck sack and made his way off the air craft, and there in front of him was the black car. Mycroft stood leaning on the car dressed in his typical suit with his umbrella in hand. It had been two days since the phone call.
"Thank you for coming." Said Mycroft
"Like I was given any choice." Replied John.
"I am sorry to have to resort to such measures but I believe you will understand soon enough."
Nine months ago John had returned to Afghanistan after a rather large and dramatic falling out between himself and Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft had been witness to many of the events leading up to the blow up that had ended his time at 221B Baker Street. The car ride passed in silence between the two men. Athena was engrossed in her cell phone the whole time as normal. Mycroft was obviously distracted replying to all of his texts with very short answers and dismissing any phone calls that may have come in. John figured it might be because there was more going on than he believed.
After arriving at the family home Mycroft lead John down a long highly decorated hallway, and into a small room filled with computers monitors lining the walls. It looked like something out of a military command center showing views of every part of the house and grounds.
"John, I should warn you, what you are about to see is something that neither he nor I would want to share with anyone but I don't know what else to do."
Mycroft pressed a few buttons on a nearby key board and an image appeared on the main screen, it was of a small white room, with no decoration on the walls except for streaks of blood. A mattress lay in the corner, showing obvious damage, and a single individual sat huddled in the corner, it was Sherlock, although it was hard to tell.
"What happened?" asked John shocked by what he was seeing.
"He was attacked, kidnapped and held hostage for nearly three months."
Mycroft nodded slightly.
"John, I have tried everything to help my brother." he paused. "You are my last hope to ever see my brother recover from this."
This explained why Mycroft had dragged him Afghanistan. If Mycroft believed that John was the only way to reach his brother then there was something very wrong.