I was a Soldier! (and so was I!)

WILL DONT YOU DARE!

It was another day in Afghanistan, the sun beating down on their skin. It seemed calm almost peaceful and then there was an IED and srgt. O'Leary was blown off his feet, his blood pooling from a hole in his head.

"Will! Don't you dare go over" he shouted to the 31 year old he had grown so loyal to in the blearing light and harsh nights of Afghanistan. But naturally the auburn haired man in military fatigues ignored the command of his friend.

Will (short for William) was a rugged and lanky man, he was intelligent to say the least with clean cut auburn hair, spiked from his hands running through and skin sunburnt so no one could truly tell his natural skin tone under the peeling red and chapped lips.

Will had become close to John, it was a famous tease of all the others, the Captain of the team and the younger soldier, now first mate, they always lead up front, and with Wills sharp attention to detail they always escaped the taliban a mile off. But today, Will was running over, rifle across his shoulder and holding his favourite revolver in steady unshaking hands.

It happened fast, faster than lightning striking earth with no early rumble of thunder to warn of its presence. One minute John was commanding he Stay, then the next will was propelled backwards behind a small sand hill, his gun sending off a shot as he crashed to the ground, a shot to the abdomen that tore through to the other side.

"WILL!" John screamed in a panic before running over, his kit lagging him down as he dropped to his knees beside his fellow soldier.

Hoisting Will into his arms and hearing the distant warning of major Sholto and other recruits, he felt a bullet skim his soldier, twisting to the ground in agony before he pulled them back behind the sand bank and pressed his palms to the wound on Wills abdomen. His shoulder making him see darkness as he fought the urge to pass out.

"WATSON!"

Another shot and straight through his shoulder this time as they lay bleeding out side by side. Johns arm fought one last time and grasped hold of Williams hand. "Don't let go" he gasped as he passed out.

***

The next thing John knew was searing pain, a burning that shot from his shoulder all the way through his body as he tried to swallow and gain moisture in his parched throat.

"Captain Watson? You're awake! I'll just go get a doctor to check your vitals" a nurse with a clipboard exclaimed as she trotted off, kitten heels clicking.

A doctor turned up about two minutes later. Checking his vitals and joint movement as well as redressing his shoulder. He then moved and stood by his bedside with a clipboard and pen. Clucking idly at the clicker, he then began with his questions.

"How are you feeling?"

John gave him a pointed look and stayed silent.

"Your going to need to give me an answer, let's not play games Watson" the doctor sighed but his voice was stern.

"What happened?" John finally asked.

"You were shot" the doctor replied simply. "You're 'friend' decided to run over the top and get himself shot, it's a surprise your not dead"

"What friend?"

The doctors face creased into a frown, a look of concern glinting through his brown eyes.

"Watson, I'm going to have to ask you, but, what is the last thing you remember ?"

"I was training recruits, it was the first day of rain we'd had in ages, it was the same day Prince got hit in the face by O'Leary." John explained.

"Does the name William ring any bells?" The Doctor asked.

"No why, wait, there was William in high school, got kicked out for arson, arsing around more like"

"Right" the doctor decided. "That was two months ago John, you are suffering from reterograde amnesia, it is unlikely you will be able to retrieve any memories from after this time however you can still create new memories perfectly well. I'll leave you to digest this. Good day Doctor Watson." The doctor supplied.

It was then that John, lying in bed all alone, a bullet wound to his shoulder with no memory of having got it and a nagging at his mind he had forgotten something dear to him that he fell asleep. The same sleep he fell into for over a month until the day he was discharged home, no longer suitable to fight in the conditions the military provided.

It was a honorary discharge but it didn't feel worth it, all the while the name William nagged at his mind screaming 'remember me!' The name is someone he promised to stand by now wiped clean from his mind although that wasn't quite true, it was more like trying to decipher something through misted up glass and only seeing fragments.

Some nights in his bed on the outskirts of London in a too-higher-rent flat he catches glimpses of auburn hair in the afghan sun, flickers of a sallow face with no real definition and occasionally the grip of a larger hand in his, a phantom echo of what he once knew.

He searched records, people who fought alongside him in the army, but no one knew of William, no one knew of the young lad that stood by his side in a course of two months. He found many Williams in the list of those who fought alongside him but there was too many to know which one was with him. No way of knowing the William he knows he knew.

He feels like if he were to catch a true glimpse of the face or even the whole name or anything, even the voice he supposedly knew, then the memories would flood back. He feels like he knows, he feels like he remembers and all the answers are locked away in a room in his mind and the key is the owner of those affections that he knows he once had.

He sleeps each night and glimmers haunt his thoughts until he wakes up in a frenzy, panic that steals at his heart and stabs him in the back each time he closed his eyes but he knows-begs-that he'll find him one day.