Soldier without his Detective

Chapter 7

A/N** The first few sentences are messages John was going to send to Sherlock, but scrapped before he sent them. Wasn't sure if that was clear. Anyway, enjoy **

[Draft:] Sherlock. I didn't get leave

[Draft:] Sherlock, I love you, But I can't come home

[Draft:] My leave was turned down

[Draft:] We can't spend christmas together.

[Draft:] Please forgive me

[Draft:] I love you, but

[Draft:] I don't know how to tell you this

[Draft:] I'm sorry Sherlock

[Draft:] Listen, I didn't get leave

[Draft:] I miss you. I can't come home.

[Draft:] I need you. But. They need me.

[Draft:] Why is it so fucking hard

[Draft:] I want to hold you

[Draft:] I know you'll cry when you find out

[Draft:] I will fix it

John was making his rounds when the news came in. He had a visitor. Someone was waiting for him in his office. Although, he wasn't told it was urgent. So, John carried on with his duties. Unhurried. His request for leave had been turned down. John had been short with everyone the past few days. 'Sulking' as Bill had graciously put it. If anything that had just brought John down further. He had put in a request for a few days. Just a break. Anything. Not even a fixed date, just anything. Christmas was just a day, the festivities could be moved. As a sign of rebellion he was spending longer on his rounds. It's pretty difficult to be disobedient in the army. He ended up spending less time on paperwork as a result, yet still getting everything done on time.

With a sour face he made his way to his office. Pushing it as far as he could without actually being late. He was greeted by soldiers as he passed. He paid them no mind. Moving into his office. Pushing open the door, he stood at attention when he saw a figure at the window. After a second he immediately sagged. Oh for -

Stood by his desk was none other than Mycroft Holmes. John blew out a large breath. He really wasn't in the mood for whatever he had in store. "What do you want, Mycroft?" The man looks up towards John. A reptilian smirk on his face. He gave a tilt of his head as he said, "Dr Watson. Pleasure as always. You did not receive leave," It wasn't a question. That much was obvious. John's mood plummets deeper. A sick feeling in his stomach. He knows that Mycroft doesn't like him. It's not like he tried to hide it. He carries on, "You have not told my brother yet. Why?" His voice had an edge to it. Something John had not heard in the limited time he had known him.

"Because." John ran a hand through his hair then brought it to run down his face. "Because, as much as you may not like it... I love him. If there was a chance - anything. Anyway, I could come home... I didn't want to cause him unnecessary pain if I could fix it. I tried." His hand was still covering his face. His voice low as he tried to keep it level. Trying to keep his composure. Not letting himself show his hand, well, at least he's trying. It's not working out too well.

His eyes still screwed shut, he hears movement. A shuffling from ahead of him. His eyes remain shut. He's not quite ready to look at Mycroft. He can hear the creak of a chair, followed by a scrape as it's pushed away. Feet shuffling along the floor - coming to rest in front of him. His eyes still closed and hand over half his face. His emotions have been all over the shop and yet, this is the first time he is able to let the show. Even if that means showing them to your boyfriend's insane older brother.

The doctor is pulled roughly into an embrace. All the air escaping him. His instinct to fight, kicking in. His eyes snapped open. He sees Mycroft standing by his desk. Unmoved. Unchanged. His nose is assaulted with the familiar scent. He grabs the face that is pressed to his chest. It moved with much reluctance. John's hand moved from his face to card through the curls on the head. Their lips connecting as if the other had all stolen their air. His finger's became tighter. Holding onto as he felt himself falling into the body of the other. They push into each other. Grasping hands wrap around him.

The face slides. Lips resting against John's chin. Both breathing heavily. It is then that John finally notices how wet his face is. His chin slowly becomes as wet as his cheeks. The body in his arms falls limp against his body as John presses his face into the curls. He is distantly aware of Mycroft watching on. Those thoughts are disturbed as a hand slides back up to hold onto his arm. The body lifting and pulling away slightly.

"Mycroft brought me when he found out about your leave. I missed," He breaks off. Sherlock begins to wipe away the tears from John's face. "I missed you so much. He's managed to get you the rest of the day off. I'm not sure to be honest. When I found out where I was going, I didn't really hear anything else said to me." John looks at him. He took hold of Sherlock's hand and gave it a squeeze before letting it go. He steps forward, away from Sherlock, and stalks over to the man in a suit. They look over each other. Trying to assess each other through sight. John lunges forward and holds Mycroft. Mycroft is frozen, his jaw drops open. In the distance Sherlock snickers. John leans slightly into Mycroft's chest, "Thank you." His voice is hardly audible, but it echoes in the room.

"He can stay until tomorrow. You still have duties in the morning to attend to, however, he may remain in your barracks. I will be here to collect him at 11pm. You are relieved of the rest of your duties tonight. That's all I could do." As he spoke, John moved back. Listening to every word. Finding them a special place in his heart. John's mouth is held agape. It turns into a smile when the familiar arms wrap around his torso. Curls resting against his cheek. Mycroft gives them a stiff nod, an uncharacteristically warm smile, and leaves the room. John turns in the embrace. Planting soft kisses on the man he holds dear.

They cleaned themselves up and began to walk to John's barrack. A few soldiers stop in greeting. Word had spread about the captain's foul mood over the past few days. On the most part they were ignored. Only presented a cursory greeting as they moved through the base.

After coming out to Sami and Bill, John stopped hiding. Well, he didn't monitor what he said. He didn't tell everyone that he was seeing a bloke. He also didn't not tell them. If anyone asked, John would tell them all about his brilliant boyfriend. He also didn't parade that fact around. He just didn't lie if someone asked about his life back home. Due to this, a couple soldiers knew about Sherlock. Even fewer had seen his picture. Most of the soldiers who knew, were ones that had tried to flirt with the captain. Causing him to turn them down with a, "My boyfriend won't like that." Curious glances were thrown at them from some as they walked through the base.

Once arriving at the barracks, John moved to let Sherlock enter first. He stood in the middle of the room. Observing. John stood behind him. Sami and Bill wouldn't be back for hours. Sherlock walked straight to John's bed after he looked around the room. He belly flopped onto the bed. Burying his face into the pillow. It was then that John finally took notice of the man. Finally took in how Sherlock was dressed. He still had his black suit trousers - Why he thought dress clothes in a desert was a good idea, was beyond John - and his grey top. The grey top he had sent. John crossed the short distance and laid on top of Sherlock's back. Holding the man close as his face pressed between his shoulder blades.