This plot bunny is stuck in my head, like hardcore.
Probably just a two shot. One in John's point of view, the other in Sherlocks
I could be persuaded to do a Lestrade POV but that would take some serious reviews.
Sherlock, where are you? I just got to the crime scene. - JW
The tired, huffy doctor ducks underneath the police tape with familiar ease. He even takes an extra second to smile at the bobby standing beside the familiar yellow barrier. He doesn't recognise her, which is rather rare for the doctor but John is so tired that he wouldn't recognise his own mother.
Regardless, the bobby lets him through without protest and a returning smile. The scene is in chaos, like the soldier is used to. The panda cars' lights play and dance on the buildings like wildfire while the sirens ring with familiar shrilling ease. The dark London night is full of flashing blue and red of awaiting ambulances.
John scans the crime scene looking for Sherlock or at the very least Lestrade. Per usual, the doctor doesn't know anything about this crime scene. One little beckoning text and John would follow the consulting detective into a volcano.
There are officers running about, screaming demands in strained authority as John watches in masked amusement.
John walks away the tape towards the building, pocketing his phone in the mean time. The row of flats remind the soldier of Baker Street. Simple, flat surfaced buildings all lined up in a row. In fact, the main building that seems to be the center point of the crime could be an exact replica of 221B. It is smooth and white and even the windows are all in the same place.
John gets a sudden eery feeling.
The doctor scans the crowd once again while the back of his neck hairs stand up. Nobody seems out of place or suspicious. John shakes his head and choses not to dwell on his probably strung out emotions for long. He is much to tired to care or really see properly, anyhow.
John starts his leisurely pace again as he yawns. His twelve hour shift at the surgery seemed to morph into a fourteen hour shift and this was after a night of chasing Sherlock around London. The good doctor hasn't slept in almost thrity six hours and its getting to him. Not to mention the overstimulation and lack of rest is causing John's shoulder to ache and his limp to start up.
However, Sherlock had practically begged John to come and the doctor has a really hard time saying no. Either that, or Sherlock has a really hard time understanding that No means no. So, with a sigh, John who is practically dead on his feet had hopped tube trains and found himself in West London on this chilly March night. Now he stands with his coat buttoned up and body moving forward, like the good soldier he is, towards the Baker Street doppelganger.
"It would be a lot better if I knew what I was walking into." John thinks to himself sort of bitterly, silently cursing Sherlock and his overly smug avoidance of questions. The older man doesn't even know who is dead or got hurt, or what crime was even committed.
He tries not to dwell on the fact that he assumes it was a murder. He needs to really get a different hobby.
The doctor habitually looks towards the ambulance and sees an empty metal carcass.
"So whoever is hurt, if anybody, is still in the house." John deduces focusing his eyes back towards the house.
He sees a flash of a familiar face and watches in amusement as Anderson's ferret like face, all red and angry, bounds out of the house in his blue coveralls. The bitchy forensic scientist sidesteps Donovan in a huff and speed walks towards a group of scared looking officers. Donovan, who seems to be interviewing a civilian, merely glances in Anderson's direction before returning towards her job, a small devilish smile plastering her face.
John grimaces and takes immediate pity on the new forensics team. They are about to experience the unpleasant wrath of Anderson. John turns away so he doesn't have to watch the screaming Anderson sputter out malicious words.
He continues to make his way towards the building, hoping that Sherlock is waiting for him instead. A sudden impatient beeping stops John in his tracks and he digs into his pocket looking for his phone.
Before John can read the incoming text message a shadow looms in front of him. The soldier looks up and his eyes meet the wary face of DI Dimmock.
"Dr. Watson." DI Dimmock sighs, not out of impatience but the same exhaustion that John is feeling. "Sherlock said you'd show up." The short man states as John extends his hand in the customary greeting gesture.
"Hello, Detective Inspector." John says happily despite his fatigue. Their hands break apart and John looks around the crime scene in confusion.
"Not that I'm not happy to you see you Dimmock, but where's Lestrade?" John asks his gaze settling back onto the shorter man.
"He's over behind the ambulance, securing the perimeter. This is a nasty one, Dr. Watson." The DI replies gesturing vaguely towards the back of the ambulance.
John frowns and then asks the next question on his mind. "Where's Sherlock?"
The DI looks behind him, his back is facing the row of flats as the door opens and shuts with a never ending stream of officers entering and exiting the premises.
"He's-" Dimmock starts but is interrupted by a horrific sound. The street erupts in a loud, deafening boom. John feels something flying against him with such a force that he plummets backwards and straight into the sands of Afghanistan.
The soldier groans and then coughs. His head throbs and his emotions scream confusion. How did he get here? Where is here?
He tries to opens his eyes but his eyelids seem to be unbearably heavy. After several seconds, John gives up and moves onto his other senses experimentally. The army doctor's body is sore all over and there seems to be a heavy pressure on his chest that John can't place the origin of. He stretches but stops immediately when a jolt of pain erupts from his side. The soldier tries to move an arm to the source of the pain but finds it impossible. His arms seem to be pinned by the same weight that's on his chest.
A sudden and familiar wave of warmth floats across John's body. The doctor tenses involuntarily. He knows where he is at. He could never mistake the overpowering heat of the Afghan desert.
Afghanistan. He struggles a little under the oppressing weight and fights until his eyes finally open slightly. He eyes immediately meet the face of an unconscious soldier.
So that explains the pressure on his chest.
The man's hair is covered with sand, his brunette locks now almost entirely covered by the particles of desert. The soldier seems to have lost his helmet and John immediately sees the blood dripping across his close eyes and down his face.
John's vision frays a bit at the edges but the soldier blinks hard before shifting his body.
The line of blood that lines the fallen soldier that lies unconscious on top of John fuels the army doctor through his soreness and pain. John slides out from underneath the body wincing the entire time as his head smarts and his body screams in protest.
As he shimmies from beneath his fallen mate, John feels the scratchy surface from beneath him give slightly and solidify. Definitely sand.
He is finally out from underneath the unconscious body. His training immediately kicks in and John rolls the soldier flat onto his back, automatically checking for a pulse as he works.
A steady throb meets the pads of his fingers and John sighs in relief.
A sudden burst of light blinds the doctor temporarily and John is forced to look into the ever expanding desert. This is the first time he notices his true surroundings.
The area around him is in complete chaos. He is seems to be in a city of some sort. Building tower on his sides but the makeshift street is littered with debris and bodies. The unconscious or maybe even dead figures are strewn haphazardly like littered rubbish. Movements distract the army doctor temporarily as he watches soldiers that were lucky enough to stay conscious run around assessing the damage and situation.
"Don't they know better? They are just making themselves easier targets." John thinks to himself as he suddenly scans the roofs. The tops of the buildings seem to be empty but that doesn't necessarily placate the doctor who has experience with sneaky snipers. There are bodies strewn everywhere and people running around. John tears his eyes away from the roofs and sends a glance to his left. His eyes latch on immediately to a younger woman who appears to be cradling a man in her lap. The woman, in civilian Afghan clothes Afghan has silent tears coming out of her eyes and mute screams erupting from her open mouth.
John stares confused at the sight. He can see her vocals chords moving beneath the skin in her neck but there is no noise.
John remembers the ringing that is still present in his ears.
A bomb then. The soldier deduces the familiar sensation. He is unfortunately all too familiar with the sensation. John shakes his head and immediately regrets it as he head throbs painfully. He probably has a slight concussion from the force of the blast.
However, that means John knows exactly what to do. John's eyes scan the street looking for anymore threats. He looks to his immediate left and sees an army Humvee idling. A giant corpse of building debris is scattered across the hood the car. He thinks for a second before taking action.
John grabs the soldier laying next to him and pulls him swiftly towards to the protection of the vehicle.
The injured soldier grunts in pain but doesn't wake from his slumber.
Suddenly, the ground shakes with an aftershock and John immediately huddles his own body over the shorter man's body to shield him from debris.
The ground shakes with vehemence and John struggles to breath through his panic. There are times when fear breaks through training and John is having one of these moments.
Time freezes as John tries to rain in his control. He cannot afford to lose it. He must stay diligent. John closes his eyes and takes deep breaths. His hands are like vice on his fallen comrade but thankfully the unconscious man doesn't seem to mind.
The fear leaves him and duty takes over and at the precise time, his ears pop and a cacophony of noises overwhelming the doctor.
John lifts his head and can hear the yelling and the screaming. He even hears the cackling of a burning fire. A fire? John looks towards the building and notices the flames engulfing the once pristine looking building.
A sudden violent cough tears John's attention from the surrounding chaos.
The army doctor looks down and sees brown eyes of his fallen soldier. The man's eyes are wide with panic and fear while his face scrunches up in pain.
"Stay still." John commands looking the man over. Confusion sweeps over the now conscious man but John ignores it and continues with his job.
"MEDIC!" John bellows loudly and he can hear the echo throughout the street, even over the yells and disorder. He curses himself for losing his medkit and scans the area hoping that maybe he just left it in the middle of the street.
No such luck. Damn.
"What's your name soldier?" John asks soothingly as he does a primarily triage scan of the man's injuries.
"Ian." The soldier gasp out and writhes in pain. John lays a calm hand on top of the man's shoulder.
"It's going to be alright Ian. I will help you." The army doctor says.
A sudden sticky wetness grants John's attention. He looks down and sees a rapidly expanding pool of blood emitting from beneath Ian.
"Just hang on." John commands and gently tilts the soldier onto his side while he takes a look at his back. Ian sighs with relief as John stares in a masked horror.
His fatigues are completely shredded and the man's back is a mess of open lacerations and welts.
John starts to apply pressure to some of the deeper ones.
John's eyes never leave the man as he impatiently attends to the man's wounds.
"Doct-" The man gasp quietly before erupting in a violent coughing fit. John hold him in place while shushing him. His eyes search for the medic he called.
John lays a hand on the man's pulse and listens as it stays surprisingly steady, despite the trauma and inevitable shock the man is going through.
The army doctor feels the figure next to him before he hears him. Probably an after effect of his temporary hearing loss due to the bomb.
Naturally, John sees the medkit first. Without acknowledging the medic who brought it, the soldier dives for the supplies and begins patching up the dark haired man.
The medic says something but John ignores him and starts rummaging through the kit, pulling out the right supplies as he goes. Without blinking, John hastily wraps and patches up the wounded man in front of him, hurriedly securing the flesh to his black, trying to stop the bleeding. All the while, hoping a med-vac or at least a red cross helicopter is near by. This man needs a hospital as soon as possible.
John hands remain steady the entire time and by the time he is done the job is quick and choppy at best but John doesn't have time to make pretty stitches.
The injured soldier had passed out somewhere in the middle of John's hasty triage but his pulse remained strong so John continued.
Once the army doctor is finished he looks at the medic for the first time.
The uniformed man opens his mouth to speak but John interrupts him with a wave of his bloodied hand.
"This man needs a hospital now, Soldier." John demands in his captain voice, yelling over the loudness of the war around him. The soldier, his face twisted in confusion nods timidly before calling over a few of his buddies.
John watches for a minute, making sure that the medics don't disrupt the man's sutures before moving on. With a parting pat on the wounded man's shoulder, John departs in search for more wounded.
The army doctor picks up the borrowed medkit and walks in a crouch along the army vehicle, making sure the metal mammoth protects him from possible snipers.
The brightness and hotness of the sun smothers the doctor but John trudges through.
"Doctor!" A yell somehow gets through the cacophony of war noises and reaches John's ears. The doctor turns towards the voice and sees a man, without his helmet, running blatantly in the middle of the street.
John's eyes widen in panic. "Keep your head down soldier!" John yells as he desperately waves his hand in a downward motion. The man, his salt and pepper hair reflecting the bright sun, looks confused but sees the panic in John's eyes and ducks hesitantly, running over.
"ARE YOU CRAZY?" John whisper shouts as soon as the man is close enough. The man is older and has a look of confusion across his face. He crouches down next to the doctor. "We are in the middle of a hot war zone and you are strolling through it like its Hyde Park. Do you have a death wish?"
"What-" The soldier questions but gets interrupted by another blast. John instinctively grabs the man and pulls him against the vehicle as the ground slowly stops dancing. John tucks his head into his arm while he holds onto the other man protecting the soldier from shrapnel.
Debris burst over top of their heads and more litany of yelling and chaos echo the street.
John hears a groan to his left and immediately lifts his head towards the sound. A figure lies in the middle off to the side, the shadows.
The army doctor looks towards the older man beside him. "What's your name soldier?" John asks him but the soldier only looks back in confusion.
"Look, that soldier over there," John starts pointing to the wounded trooper that is lying in a rapidly expanding puddle of blood, "needs our help or he will die. Now, what's your name?" John states through gritted teeth.
"Gregory Lestrade." The man gasp out, bewilderment evident in his eyes.
"Captain Dr. John Watson. Nice to meet you Lestrade." John says before grabbing the soldier and hauling him off the ground. John runs to the fallen soldier, one hand tight around Greg's wrist and the other holding onto his medkit like life depended on it.
And in truth. Someone's life does depend on that medkit.
John crashes hard onto his knees next to the fallen man who is groaning in pain, a hand clutched to his stomach.
"Lestrade, I need your help with this." John says scanning the man for his injuries, while he shoves the medkit at Greg. The man is lanky and tall but conscious with his eyes blown wide with pain.
"I'm here to help you. Don't worry." John says soothingly as he peels the man's hand away from his stomach. Blood immediately starts pouring out and John replaces the hand very quickly with his own.
"Anderson." Lestrade says quietly and the army doctor looks at him briefly noticing that Lestrade's eyes are locked on the man's face.
Lestrade knows this soldier. Great
"Gregory," John starts trying to get Lestrade attention back to an area of helpfulness, "I know he is your friend but I need your focus." John says, his voice full of command that immediately snaps Greg out of his trance.
"Yes, sir." The soldier says before unzipping the medkit and diving into it. "What do you need?"
John lifts his hands slightly, earning a gasp of pain from Anderson. He sees deeps burns and cuts along the mans mid section but the most alarming is a piece of debris sticking out from one of his wounds. John grasps around the metal debris trying to be gentle while slowing down the bleeding.
John looks at Lestrade and barks out equipment while the soldier dives into the kit.
"MEDIC!" John yells aloud again. He can hear the shuffling of feet but doesn't dare let go of the bleeding wound.
The bleeding soldier stares at him in confusion before another wave of pain breaks his resolve. A weak groan escape his lips again.
"It's okay Anderson, you will be fine." John comments, grabbing the suture from Lestrade's hands and stitching up a deep laceration with a little bit more grace this time around.
"John." Lestrade's voice is timid but the doctor ignores him in favor of the incoming medic who is a woman this time.
"This man is next. Shrapnel to the stomach and foreign object embedded in his stomach." John barks out and the woman just nods and proceeds to get the man ready.
John looks around the area as medics shift Anderson onto a stretcher and take him away. Soldier lay haphazardly across the street. The fire is warm and bright and it cackles in taunting. John snarls at it and makes a move.
A sudden sharp pain emits from his side and he cries out in pain.
"JOHN!" Lestrade calls but the doctor waves him off as the pain subsides. John looks down at the origin of the pain and sees a deep cut marring his skin.
"It's nothing, Lestrade." John waves him off, "There are more wounded."
John starts to move again, this time more gently. The adrenaline pumps through the army doctor and John is determined to save as many lives as he can.
John crouches and sprints to another body close by. He can smell the burnt flesh before he sees the blank eyes. Lestrade catches up to him and plops down next to the scorched body, his breath heavy. He stares as John closes the man's dead eyes in compassion.
"John." A timid voice makes the doctor look up from the dead body before him.
"Come alone, Lestrade." John demands and continues to sprint, moving from soldier to soldier and calling for medic after medic. His feet move him about the battlefield. He treats burns with gauze and stitches deep cuts left by flying debris, wraps concussions calmly but quickly, treats burns and shrapnel tears and wounds, suturing and stitching those he could, yelling for more medics and closing the eyes of those already gone.
One soldier, the first woman he comes across surprisingly, has a piece of shrapnel sticking out of her side. Her voice is silent but her eyes are screaming with pain. John quickly assesses her damage. Her body trembles with fear and pain. "She's going into shock." John says distantly and Lestrade shifts closer next to him, ready to help.
John talks to the woman, asking for her name. Her raspy voice pants out a response. Sally.
"It's okay Sally," John says comforting, poking around the wound. It looks as if it's missed any thing major but John could be sure. Blood loss is the only major issue at the moment and the doctor is more worried about her going into shock than anything else.
"I can't take it out, it will be worse." The army doctor says sadly and Sally nods knowingly but her eyes are misty. John grabs her hand and squeezes it comfortingly as all three of them wait for the next round of medics to take her to the hospital.
John watches as the last soldier gets boarded into a waiting ambulance. With one last look around, John notices that he was the last one. Exhaustion suddenly creeps up on the doctor and he sways slightly. The heat is seeping through his clothes and smothering him right to the bone.
"John." Lestrade states laying a hand on his soldier. Suddenly his knees buckle and John falls onto the hard sand. His hand bracing himself up and preventing him from falling.
Wait, that's not right, sand isn't necessarily soft but its definitely not this hard. Now that the adrenaline is slowly leaving John feels shooting nerves of pain echoing throughout his body. His head throbs and his side hurts. He can hear Lestrade crouch next to him and his worried cries echo the almost empty street next to him but John doesn't acknowledge.
The doctor sees a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye and John looks up suddenly. A tall, lithe man saunters towards John with all the grace that doesn't belong in a war zone.
The tall man stops before him, looking down while his expression remains non-threatening. John stares at him blindly, his own body sinking into the sand and the heat of the sun blindly him and warming him.
He recognizes this man. The curly hair, the tall lean figure, the bellowing coat. It can't be.
"John." The army doctor stares in disbelief and takes deep breaths. His head bows and he flinches as a shooting pain runs up the side of his body. One of his hands find his bleeding side automatically.
"Sh-Sherlock." John gasps out hesitantly. Why was Sherlock in Afghanistan? No, no, no, Sherlock doesn't belong in Afghanistan.
"You can't be here." The doctor pants out looking into the genius's eyes pleadingly.
John turns his head slightly and notices Lestrade. Wait, Lestrade?
"You can't be here either." John says as his vision blurs slightly.
As if like a game, the sands and sun of Afghanistan fuzz out and cobblestone street that replaces the overbearing sand.
Like a rubber band it snaps and the sands come back. John puffs in confusion and lifts his head.
Sherlock moves and crouches next to John.
"I don't...I don't understand." John states.
"John." Sherlock starts placing two hands on top the of the doctor's shaking shoulders. "You are in London." John shakes his head in disbelief.
His mind grows fuzzy and his vision blurs. John's brain rattles and the doctor closes his eyes, giving his head a shake.
Noises and yells come back to the doctor. Sirens that don't belong in Afghanistan pierce the surrounding area, crinkling wood and the sound of water invades the older man's ears.
In a swift, apprehensive movement, John opens his eyes.
The sand is gone, the brightness is gone, the vastness of Afghanistan is gone. Instead, the cobblestone of a London street met the doctor's gaze.
"I..I-" John attempts but suddenly his body tenses and he lists forward. He would have fallen to the ground in a crumpled heap if Sherlock hadn't grabbed John tighter and pull him onto the detective's lean lap.
"John." Worry laces Sherlock's voice and John knows he is going to pass out. The cut was deeper than he thought and he loss so much blood.
He vaguely hears Lestrade leave and wonders where the man went. His soldier with the medkit.
"I thought...it seemed so real Sherlock." John says confused. He can see the dark of the night with the occasional bright flashes of orange and red dancing on the street. The fire.
"Shh. It's okay John. " Sherlock soothes, panic etched into his voice.
"A bomb." John repeats wanting to close his eyes. A sudden thought surges through the doctor.
"A BOMB! Are you hurt? Are you okay?' John yells struggling to get out of the consulting detective's tight grip. He needed to check Sherlock over for himself.
"I wasn't here when it went off. I heard it. I came running back." Sherlock states and the to you remains unspoken between the two of them.
John quiets and stops struggling, content to just fall asleep in Sherlock's lap.
"John." Sherlock nudges, "You must stay awake, love."
"'M so tired" John slurs. His concussion or the blood loss is making him lose the battle of consciousness.
"You need to keep your eyes open." Sherlock demands.
'You aren't the Captain, I am." John answers before closing his eyes and letting the dark consume him.
"It was amazing. I know he was in the middle of a PTSD attack or a flashback or something but it was bloody brilliant. He stitched up almost everyone on my team and Dimmock's team. He single handedly saved Dimmock and Anderson's lives." A deep voice whispers quietly but it echoes in the small room.
A scoff reverberates the room and then a snort.
"Yeah, I know I know, Anderson but whether you like it or not, it happened and it was the bravest thing I've ever seen."
The darken hospital room quiets for a second and the only sounds are those of a beeping heart monitor.
"Yes, John Watson does like to surprise us all with his bravery." Sherlock Holmes says absentmindedly while he waits for his blogger, his doctor, his soldier, to wake up.