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

Dont let go

Forgetting about Sherlock's slight change in behaviour that day was easily brushed aside in the midst of a new case, adrenaline pumping through their veins as they chases after the killer.

A man in his fifties, an ex army, having been removed from service due to his untrustworthy character and stubborn attitude to those in charge. Having not served in any battles he hadn't seen the pain John had alongside other soldiers, he hadn't truly fought, but he had trained to a maximum extent and it showed in his fighting styles and quick moves.

It showed when a right hook to Sherlock's jaw set the younger man unconscious and collapsing against a wall, giving himself concussion. It showed when John opened his eyes again and saw halogen lights above his head.

He too had been knocked out by Gerald McKinsley, but not until he'd put up a fight in vengeance for his dearest friend, McKinsley was found with a broken jaw, three broken ribs and a dislocated arm.

John managed to escape the confinement's of the hospital bed, pulling off the heart monitor and feeling through his hair to discover a lump clearly caused by the blow he had suffered, with a wince he dragged himself into the corridor to be confronted by Lestrade.

"John. What are you doing? You need to rest!" Lestrade had insisted but John had other priorities.

He needed to find Sherlock.

"John!" Lestrade called as John made his way through the corridor and checking through the rooms and beds until he eventually saw a dark mop of curls and soft pale skin against white sheets.

"Sher-?" John began uncertainly as he made his way over to the bed that he was certain held his friend and sucked in a deep breath when he saw the bruised eye and cheek on his usually pale skin.

He reaches the side of the bed and sat on the edge of the visitor chair, taking hold of Sherlock's hand and giving it a small squeeze before letting go. He then decided to reach over and read through his records and what injuries his friend had sustained.

First he saw the concussion and bruising on the diagnosis, what caught his eye next was the name.

Surname:Holmes
Forename:William
Other names: Sherlock, Scott

He gasped for breath, suddenly overrun with memories, a whole two months he had lost, not William in school but William, a soldier who had run alongside him in afghanistan, who he had grown close to, more than a brother, less than a lover.

"WILL DON'T YOU DARE!" He had shouted but Holmes had run over the top anyway and he'd got shot. He'd nearly died but John had followed straight after. "WILL!"

He felt the papers crinkle in his hands as his knuckles turned white and set the clipboard down on the edge of the bed.

"Will?" He asked and he didn't feel the tears that ran until he saw them land on pale alabaster skin that ran down soft white knuckles. He was too distracted by that single tear to notice the eyes that blinked up at him in confusion then recognition.

"John?" A voice asked tentatively and John looked up to see tired eyes blinking up at him and a small smile gracing a chapped Cupid bow.

"I'm here. I'm here" He smoothed a hand over Sherlock's brow and into his hair.

Sherlock leaned into the touch before trying to sit up, his concussion however protested against the movement and he had to fold forward in on himself with a wince as nausea hit him hard. John noticed his skin turn green in colour though and held the bin just under the detectives chin.

He held Sherlock's hair back with one gentle hand as Sherlock removed his stomachs contents into the basin and his brow began to soak in a cold sweat.

"It's alright, better out than in" John quoted with a smile.

When Sherlock had finished gagging and leaned back against the pillows he looked at John with a wry smile.

"Shrek? Really John? How could you sink so low?"

"So you did watch it! You git!" John exclaimed, remembering the night when there had been nothing on except on channel four that was doing every shrek movie in order for a whole day.

"You hardly gave me much choice!" Sherlock defended.

John shook his head fondly and set the bin down, grabbing some tissues off the beside cabinet to wipe away the sweat that had formed.

"Rest and then you can go home tomorrow, just a few more hours" John told him gently, before lifting Sherlock's upper body away from the cushions and help him lay down properly and propping his head to a comfortable position before stroking a knuckle across his cheek.

"Can't you just get me out of here now and I'll go home and I can rest on the sofa?" Sherlock asked petulantly.

"No, and anyway, I'll take care of you when we get home tomorrow. Also, when you wake up i want to ask you something okay, I..I..just rest for me okay will?"

He watched as Sherlock's eyes widened in realisation, his mouth opening and then snapping shut, before he tried again and still no words seemed fit for that moment. "Watson?" He trailed off unsure what he planned to ask.

"Just sleep okay, we'll talk about it tomorrow" John promised and ran his hand through sweat soaked curls again.

And even as Sherlock's eyes began to close again, his grip tightened on Johns hand. He repeated the last words John said to him as a soldier.

"Don't let go"