Please Be John

Chapter Eight

John woke up that evening, back in their base. In the medical tent. Alive.
Holy shit.
He was alive!

Dry eyes scanned across the tent for a nurse, preferably one that was on his staff.
John's body throbbed and vision was blurry. He had never had blurry vision a day in his life.
Finally he sought out a nurse and she immediately approached him.
"Morphine." He whispered, his voice was dry and rigid.
She went to move and retrieve the requested drug when he grabbed her wrist.
"Who survived?"
"You and Jeanne. Everyone else perished."
"Even Mark?" He asked softly.
"Yes sir."
"Bloody hell."
He released her wrist so she could get him the pain killers. They were nearly out but she didn't dare mention that to John. It'd stress him and he would refuse painkillers. All painkillers.
He didn't even take ibuprofen when he was sore in the mornings.

The nurse put him on a drip and brought him his mail, as per his request.
He read Sherlock's letter with a grin. Where was this man from again? He was remarkable.
He went to write his response when he realized he could barely move his arm while lying flat on his back.
He adjusted his pillows and sat up, beginning to write with paper on a hardcover book.

"Hello again Sherlock. Your last letter was quite vague, my apologies if I sound a bit odd. I do hope everything is well. If not I've heard that writing about it helps, so, why not tell me about it? That sounded a bit more sarcastic than I originally intended. Apologies. Have a swell day Sherlock. Sincerely, John."

The last letter was very vague. So vague that he read it three times. There was mention of an accident but not much more. He didn't quite understand it.
John had his letter sent out and rested for the rest of his recovery time.

After a few months John was sent back out to the field and was indefinitely reassigned to the field.

The jeep flipped. John? He was fine. Just fine. A bit banged up and bruised, but that was all. Now his squad? Nope. They were, well, fucked.
Scrambling from the charing vehicle he stumbled over to the first person he saw.
He had a new squad, forget any name you may or may not remember from before.
He went over to the soldier and squared beside him.
Jeffrey Williams. Aged nineteen years. From Wales originally.
The doctor went to take his vitals when he realized that he had stepped on his colleague's intestine.
He sighed and went over to the next soldier. She was dead too. No immediately visible injuries, probably internal, but definitely dead.
There was supposed to be one more man. Where was he?
"Derek?" He called softly. That was his name.
Derek Jean. From America originally, Pennsylvania to be exact, then he moved to England for work. Then he join the military. He was very chivalrous young man. A bit of a flirt no less.
"Derek?" He called once more.
Then there was a soft clang of something hitting the Jeep. John aptly followed the sound.
Derek was beneath the wreckage of the car. He had hit the side of the car. He could barely speak, blood dripped from his mouth. Surely there was internal damage.
John knealed beside him and took his vitals, he wrote it on his arm.
"They're not coming John." Derek whispered.
"Don't say that." He whispered in reply and stroked the man's hair to keep him calm. "Do you know who you are?"
Derek nodded.
"Do you know what's happened to you?"
Again he nodded.
"I can tell you now that you'll need a dual amputation when we get back-"
"If we get back. No, I don't want to continue my service if I make it."
"We will get back. They should be on their way already. I'll make sure you live." He said as he took off his jacket and pressed it to Derek's bleeding abdomen. He let out a groan of pain.
"Sorry." John whispered. "They'll be here soon."

☆

Hours passed. No one came.
Derek had nearly died but John gave him CPR. He was barely alive now. It was dark out.

"Let me go John. They're not coming." Derek pleaded. "You're a very good man Dr.Watson. Please let me die. Be the good man you are and let me go."
John bit his lip as he held the other man's cheek.
"Don't blame yourself John." He whispered as his eyes shut. His bloodied hand rested on top of John's as the life left his body.
John closed his eyes as tears slipped passed them.

Only two minutes passed and the sound of helicopter blades came from above.
The army doctor looked up to vehicle and cursed himself.
They were too late.