The warm Afghanistan sun burned down on John's face. But the temperature remains unimportant. His friends. Where are his friends? He needs to protect them, needs to save them, needs to—what was that? What with the wind blowing all around him, he didn't notice the head sticking out of the sand pile until he was almost stepping on it.
"John..." The voice was weak and barely there. The mouth barely moved.
"Is... is that... you?" John's heart broke when he realized he recognized the voice. Matt Phillips was barely nineteen. They had become close, John being a mentor of sorts to the young boy. He had watched as his girlfriend kissed him goodbye and made him promise to come home safe.
"Stacy... I'm... so sorry, Stacy..." Matt was mumbling now. John quickly dropped next to the head and pulled him out of the sand pile. Matt's striking green eyes were already closed against the wind and sun, and his dark brown hair was covered in sand. Now that Matt was out in the open, it wasn't that hard to see the gaping gunshot wound just below the heart.
"Matt!" John yelled, trying to get the younger man to open his eyes.
"Matt!" When he didn't respond, John forced his eyes open, green eyes unable or unwilling to focus on him.
"J'nnn..." This time it was little more than a whisper.
"It's okay, Matt, we'll get you fixed up, I promise." John knew that was futile. The bullet may have not pierced his heart, but it tore through his left lung. From how labored the breathing was, John knew that there was no saving him. Matt smiled as much as he could and shakily reached for John's hand. He quickly grabbed on, feeling how weak Matt's hand was.
"J'nnn... thanks..." What could Matt thank John for? John failed, he didn't get there fast enough, he—
"F'r being m' friend..." Matt forced out. John smiled softly.
"You're welcome, Matt."
"Stay?" Matt asked, eyes finding John one last time.
"Always." John whispered, and not ten seconds later the boy was dead.
John woke up with tears on his face. Someone was leaning over him, and for a second he thought it was Matt. But no, it was Sherlock, and John couldn't decide whether it was sad or a relief. But what was Sherlock doing in Afghanistan? John started to panic before he realized that he was not in Afghanistan. He was in his bed, with soft covers, and soft pillows, and Sherlock, and lots of things that are generally not-Afghanistan. John closed his eyes again, only to see himself closing Matt's eyes for the last time. John opened his eyes again to dark brown curls, eyes that seemed to change every time John looked at them, and Sherlock's sheet. John sighs. Something would have to be done about Sherlock's need to wear that sheet everywhere. He noticed Sherlock's arms around his waist. John smiled. Sherlock was his savior in so many ways. With Sherlock right there, John could sleep
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Needing You
FanfictionFive times Sherlock saved John and one time Mycroft saved them both!