Words: 389

Author's Note: I don't remember the prompt for this one, but enjoy anyhow. Unbeta'd


Guardian

Sherlock had always heard these quiet snatched of a voice. It was soft, appraising. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could see the figure of a sandy-blond man in military garb and a torn shoulder.

He had seen this man since he was a small child, the soldier's voice always calming him. Taming him (if only slightly). He would sometimes sit with his eyes closed for hours just listening to the man speak in this soothing voice that would pull him from whatever bad state he was in.

He wasn't stupid - hearing voices was never a good thing.

But how could anyone ever say that this wasn't good?

When he was young, he made the mistake of telling his mother of the voice. "Does everyone hear voices?" he had asked her. The Solider had nearly screeched at him 'don't tell, don't tell!' he pulled at Sherlock.

It had been too late, however, and Sherlock had been taken to multiple psychiatrists. He had realized his mistake with the first. The end simply determined that he had created an imaginary friend to keep him company since he didn't have many friends and his brother was so much older.

Sherlock knew better. The Soldier wasn't imaginary, nor was Sherlock crazy.

When Sherlock took cases, the Soldier took a lot of interest as if he was curious how the people died. He would hear the soft notes of "Brilliant" and "Fantastic," every time he would make a deduction. It was almost distracted, but Sherlock would practically glow under that praise.

He was glad for the voice, yelling at him not to take the pill.

But Sherlock lived a dangerous life, and he knew he would not be able to run from death forever. He had not had time to register the explosion - just suddenly, it was loud and then it hurt. He heard his name and it hurt all over.

But then the pain went away.

His soldier was clearer than ever, holding a hand out to him.

He took the hand, confused that he was actually able to touch the man he spent over thirty years listening to.

"It's time to go," was all the Solider said. He grasped the hand, trusting this man with his complete heart. Who else was lucky enough to have such a guardian?