Soldier and his Detective

Chapter 16

Harry moved in search of mugs and tea. She could hear the men talking and moving in the bedroom as she opened a cupboard. Inside were a wide array of chemicals, she moved some to the side, to find a few tins of beans and soup. What the fu-

She turned to the sound of someone behind. John walked towards her. He had a pair of joggers that were too long and his grey tattered top. She knew the top, he wore it often when he was home, but the joggers were clearly not his. He moved around her and held his hand to the side of the kettle before flicking it back on. He shifted in front of Harry to open the cupboard next to her. He grabs out three mugs and begins the tea making ritual. "I told him about those chemicals, keep meaning to organise. He's useless with that sort of thing. But, I just keep getting... uh, distracted." He lets out a soft laugh as he moves towards the fridge.

Harry moves to sit on the sofa after John hands her a mug. He places another by an armchair before he sits opposite with his own mug. They sait in silence, the sound of their breathing, the only sound filling the room. They both looked up to see Sherlock sweep into the room. Thankfully, this time, clothed. John's eyes follow him as he dumps himself in his chair. "So," He turns to face Harry, "What can we do you for?" Harry gives a short smile and looks between her brother and his partner.

"Well, you're leaving again tomorrow and I want to meet the man that made my little brother a bumbling mess. I figured you wouldn't do anything about it, so, here I am." John's face had turned a light shade of pink while Sherlock smirked across from him. They sit and drink their tea, enjoying the company of each other. No one says anything, but they don't really need to.

Their bubble they had created was going to pop. They all knew it. They also knew the real reason Harry was there. She needed to check on her baby brother, see just how badly he fell. And from the look of it, he fell pretty damn hard. John would be leaving in the morning. A week not long enough for them. That's all they'll get though, for now at least. Harry needed to meet Sherlock, she was on damage control it would seem.

Harry clears her throat and places her mug down, leaning forward slightly. "Sherlock, right?" He hums and directs his attention toward her, "We can keep in touch if you want. You know.... while he's off gallivanting around the desert." She lets out a weak chuckle as Sherlock's lip curls sadly. He picks up his phone from the table next to him and tosses it to the seat next to her.

They spend an hour together. Sharing stories of a young John, and stories of Sherlock's work. Eventually, Harry moved to take her leave. John carried their mugs to the sink and Harry pulled a shocked Sherlock into her arms. She whispered gently into his ear, "You're my brother too. I'll be here if you need me, okay?" She breaks off when a weak nod comes from Sherlock. John joins them at the door to wish her well. The lanky detective wraps himself around John as they stand in the doorway.

***

They had spent the rest of the day much as they had spent the previous days. They held each other, studying their partner. Holding on for dear life. Neither able to sleep, just holding.

Curled around each other in bed, John's phone begins to ring. It's time. John leans over to shut off his alarm. His feet following, Sherlock clutching from behind. They pull apart as John moves for the shower. They hadn't spoken for hours. They had nothing to say. Sherlock follows John into the shower. Slowly washing each other against the pouring water. It's going to take some getting used to. They had stuck to each other over the past week. Neither is able to seperate. Now they seemingly had to go cold turkey. Sherlock had grown accustomed to sleeping with a body next to him. John had realised how this was the first time in a long while, that someone is listening to each word he utters.

Mycroft and Greg had offered them a lift to the airport, an offer John grabbed. He had spent some time yesterday trying to pack. He would be stopped by long arms. They roped around him and pulled the clothes back out before wrapping around John's hips. Both trying to keep it together as John dressed. Under the circumstances, Sherlock couldn't even appreciate John in his fatigues.

***

John's bag was by the door and both men were sitting curled on the sofa. Sherlock's eyes closed as his face pressed against John's neck. Soft kisses placed on his neck. John kept planting little kisses onto the curls he could reach, a hand running along any part of Sherlock he could reach. That's when he heard it. Sherlock's face turned further into the body with a slight moan. The footsteps on the stairs seemed to boom in the still flat.

Greg stood in the doorway looking over at the two men tangled on the sofa. He stepped forward and his foot hit the bag on the floor. He bent to pick it up. He cast a glance at the men before picking up the bag and walking back down the stairs. With a final kiss on the lips, Sherlock stood, pulling John with him. Sherlock began to move towards the stairs. He turned slightly to grab John's hand and saw the man looking around the flat. The pain held tightly within his eyes and jaw. Sherlock shifted and took John's hand in his, he pulled him gently, they walked to the awaiting car hand in hand.

Greg was closing the boot as the men stepped outside. All three climbed into the back of the black car. Mycroft was already seated on one side. It was one of his larger ones, but that didn't mean it was large. They all sat close in the small space, everyone exchanging looks before Sherlock huffed. He climbed onto John's lap, much like in the flat. The car lurched forward. Sherlock's long limbs fitting neatly into the confined space.

The men hardly shifted until the airport. He had already done two years in Afghanistan, but this is the first time he's had something to fight for. The flight took almost six and a half hours. Could catch up on the sleep missed. The car stopped and Sherlock climbed out after John. They began to walk through.

Mycroft and Greg hung back, just watching the men. Maintaining a distance so that they wouldn't intrude on the last moments of the men.

They held on tight in an almost bone crushing embrace. "Don't you dare fucking die." Sherlock's voice was cracking. It was the first words uttered all day between them. "I don't plan too. You better not either." John said this with a small broken chuckle, trying to break the tension so that they don't break down. "I love you so much." They were practically whispering the words against the other's skin. Repeating their love, peppering light kisses. In what could only be less than five minutes they are forced to break apart. They pulled back just enough to press one last bruising kiss and share a smile.

Squaring his shoulders John gave Sherlock a nod and began to walk away. Sherlock remained fixed to the point as he watched John walk away. The second John was out of his eyeline, he spun on his heel and walked back to the car with purpose. He wove through the crowds. Much like John had done on their date, his brain unhelpfully supplied.

He climbed into the car. His back straight and his eyes fixed on the people passing in the tinted windows. He didn't shift as Greg and Mycroft joined him in the back seat. The car once again pulled forward. They were off, leaving John. Sherlock turns his head to his right. Mycroft looks back into his eyes. Sherlock takes a deep breath, still maintaining eye contact with his brother. In a rare moment Sherlock slumps down, his lip quivering. Once Mycroft got over his initial shock, he held his brother close as he cried into his suit.