*** Author's Note ***

"...there is no point in driving yourself mad trying to stop yourself going mad. You might just as well give in and save your sanity for later." ― Douglas Adams, Life, the Universe and Everything

"Budge over," John mumbles as he kicks the side of Murray's boot.

"Piss off. I got here first. Get your own damn seat." Bill Murray is a wall of a man. He could toss John over his shoulder like a rag doll. Has done, actually. He crosses his arms over his chest and plants his feet. Unyielding.

"Fine." John thrusts a steaming cup of coffee from their favorite place under Murray's nose. "Me and my coffee'll just be right over there." He points with his chin across the room to where Stephens is sitting, then takes a long sip out of his own cup. "Yeah, damn. That's good." He turns to walk away, but Murray clamps one large hand around his wrist.

"Don't you fucking dare." He's loud enough those sitting around him turn to glare or shush them. He mouths an apology while rolling his eyes at John, then takes the cup and slides over a seat so his friend can sit on the aisle.

John can't handle feeling trapped. They don't talk about it. They don't talk about a lot of things. There are just some things they've come to know after years of having each other's back.

"Stephens make the coffee tonight?" John eyes the coffee pot on the refreshment table.

"Of course he did. Christ it's foul." Murray takes a large gulp of the coffee John bought and moans quietly. "I think I'm in love with you."

"Too late. Met someone today." John casts him a sidelong glance and coughs to cover his laughter when Murray chokes on his coffee. There are more annoyed glances. John thinks they're all just jealous he and Murray are a package deal.

Ella, the woman who leads theses sessions, stops and looks back at them with a raised eyebrow. "Nice of you to join us this evening, Captain."

John has the good sense to act sheepish. "Sorry about last week. Work thing."

Ella smiles warmly. "You were missed. I'm glad to see you tonight." She's not a real therapist, but her heart is in the right place. She's been through the same hell they've all been through, she just wears her scars with more grace than most.

John's only been coming to group at the veteran's center for a few months. He doesn't know if it's actually helping or not, but he genuinely likes Ella. And he feels better being here with Murray, with others who know, than he ever did in that terrible therapist's office.

Murray's the reason he's even alive to be sitting in this group in the conference room of a veteran's center. It's exactly the kind of place John avoids. But Murray had showed up at John's terrible bedsit six weeks after he'd been discharged and sent home - home, what a joke - and found him curled up on the floor sobbing and hugging his service pistol to his chest. He'd made John swear to get help, to actually set an appointment with a therapist.

"I already lost you once, Doc." Murray had shed silent, stoic tears as he took away John's gun, picked him up off the floor, and put him to bed. "Can't let it happen again."

Individual therapy was a disaster for both himself and the therapist. The therapist - John never took the time to remember his name even - was ready to have John sectioned after only three weeks when John told him about the dream he'd had of killing a man, and that it wasn't a nightmare, that he'd actually enjoyed it. John hadn't even mentioned the fact that he'd dreamed about killing the therapist. He'd just got up and left.

"Some people can't be helped," he'd told Murray. Murray in turn had told him off, in a very imaginatively vulgar manner, and invited him to join him for the weekly group sessions he'd been going to.

Murray's saved his life twice now. John doesn't think he'll ever be able to repay him.

Of course, getting paid good money to clean up other people's problems is good for working through his issues too.

Somehow he doesn't think Ella would agree.

Murray leans in to say something and pauses. Sniffs. And frowns. "Why do you smell like one of those pine tree air fresheners? Where the hell were you?"

"Up a tree, actually." With a smirk, John digs the flash drive from his pocket and holds it discreetly, just so Murray can see it. "You free after this to crack this thing open?"

"I guess, I mean - Wait. Is that? I thought that job was next week. You needed me to be your leg man." Murray grabs the drive and examines the external casing.

John shrugs and snatches the drive back. "The guy called, said it had to be today. I told him it was a two man job and that my second was was unavailable. He said someone would be there, and if I wanted to get paid it had to be today. So I took it."

"You should've called me." There's a bit of a warning in Murray's tone. "I don't like it when you go out alone like that. You get reckless."

"You had a thing." John huffs a laugh.

"I call bullshit on that. Second graders singing and dancing terrible choreography to classic rock should never be classified as a recital. It definitely doesn't qualify as 'a thing,' at least not an important one." Murray finishes off his coffee and John can tell he's contemplating the pot on the table and whether the risk is worth it.

John hands his half empty cup to Murray, who takes it without hesitation. "How is your niece anyway?"

"She's great. Smart. Perfect. The best kid on that damn stage today."

"Of course," John chuckles.

"You know this doesn't get you off the hook, right?" Murray holds up the coffee. "I still don't like it."

"I had no choice. Things are kinda tight right now with the new flat." He shoves the drive back into his pocket. "We'll go to yours and take a look. I've got my kit with me." They both glance at the rucksack John shoved up on a shelf when he came in. They are both very aware of the disassembled rifle nestled carefully within.

"You're trying to get caught, aren't you?" Murray scrubs his hand over his face. "You can't bring that shit to places like this."

John ignores him. "After I make the drop off, I'll make sure you still get your cut."

"Don't do that." Murray growls. "Don't try to distract me. And I don't want your money."

"You're the one who did most of the planning. You deserve a share." John stands and grabs a tiny sandwich triangle and a biscuit from the refreshment table. He tosses Murray a bottle of water and grabs one for himself.

"True. But I have a day job." He looks mortified as soon as he says it. "Sorry, Doc." John waves him off. "Still no one hiring?"

"Nah." John finishes his biscuit and downs half the bottle of water. "Managed to get some locum work, just the odd A & E shift here and there. They keep telling me I'm over qualified to be a GP. What the fuck does that even mean?"

"It means they're idiots and they don't know that they're tossing aside the best damn doctor in London."

"Doctor with residual nerve damage to my dominant arm, PTSD, and…"

"Just stop." Murray pats John's leg just above his right knee. It's both grounding and reassuring. John is a lucky bastard to have him. "You'll find something. But until then… I need you to be more careful with the freelance stuff, yeah?"

"I know. I do." John nods and slumps back in his chair. It's almost time for the session to start.

"So, who is he?" Murray's smile is a broad, cheeky sort of grin.

"You don't know it's a he," John grins right back.

"Yeah. Yes I do." Murray musses John's hair just to wind him up, and pulls a piece of bark out with a laugh. "Who's the lucky bloke who won my Doc's affections?"

John chuckles, then breaths out slowly. "Okay. Don't panic." He turns to more fully face Murray. "I'm serious. You cannot create a scene right now, you hear me?"

Murray frowns, but nods anyway.

"Remember that Holmes bloke? The detective from the papers?"

"Fuck." Murray jumps from his seat and is looming over him. "Fuck, Doc. This is bad. Bloody hell."

"Sit down, idiot. I told you not to freak out." John shoves Murray to his seat and apologizes to the people around them. The crowd is steadily increasing. It's a good turn out tonight.

"He's a copper…" Murray drops into his seat and puts his head in his hands.

"He's not. He's some kind of… freelancer. Like us."

"No," Murray hisses but keeps his voice very low. "Not like us. He works with the police. We… don't."

"He hasn't sent them after me yet," John knows it's a lame argument. Sherlock Holmes is good, bloody brilliant, but John hadn't given up enough about himself for Sherlock to find him this quickly.

"No, but he almost caught us that one time."

"But he didn't."

"He'll make the connections sooner than later. It's what he does." Murray looks up at him through his fingers and groans. "Damn. We're fucked. You really like him."

John hums. "I do. And I think we can trust him."

"Oh christ." Murray groans again.

Ella steps up to the rickety music stand she uses as a podium and starts the meeting off with her usual cheery greeting. She leads them all in introductions, though most of them have been around long enough to at least be acquainted. "Now for this evening's enlightening inspiration…"

John leans over and whispers, "Caught him staring at my arse a few times"

Murray snorts and coughs to try to cover it. "You fucking with me?" He whispers a bit too loudly.

"Shhh," John nods to the man doing this week's reading. "We're being enlightened and inspired."

"Dammit, Doc." Murray grumbles, and slumps back in his seat.

"He threw a pinecone. At my arse."

"The hell? And you didn't kill him right there?"

"Well… I did throw my penknife. He definitely felt the breeze from it." John casts Murray a sidelong glance. "Pretty sure that was a turn on for him."

Murray snorts again and has to walk away under the guise of getting more water.

"Thank you for that reading, Lieutenant. Now, does anyone have anything they'd like to share?" Ella looks around the room with her knowing smile.

No one else volunteers, so John raises his hand.
"You are. You're just fucking with me," Murray grumbles.

"Doc! Wonderful!" Ella claps her hands and encourages the other to join her. "Do you want to come up here," she motions to the music stand, "or are you more comfortable there."

"I think I'd rather stay, if that's okay."

Ella nods and continues to smile encouragingly. John's never shared before, and she's clearly thrilled with his progress.

"Ella's always telling us to try new things. So, I did. I got a new flat. And it's an actual flat, nothing like my last terrible place." He shrugs. "It's nice. Probably too much space for one person, but I get claustrophobic, you know?"

John can see the multitude of agreeing nods. And Ella looks as if she wants to hug him.

"My new landlady lives downstairs from me. She's a bit eccentric, so we get on amazingly." John gets a few laughs with that. "She keeps reminding me she's not my housekeeper, but I think she's made it her singular mission to feed me up at any cost."

"Anything else, Doc? How's the job hunt?" Ella smiles her encouraging smile.

"It's not great at the moment. But I've managed a few locum shifts, and I'm doing some freelance consulting on the side." John fights to maintain a straight face as Murray chokes on his water. "And, I met someone today. Through a job, but I think it might be something."

"I'm very happy for you, Doc." Ella stand and steps toward him, and John braces himself for unwanted touching. She simply holds out her hand, and he sees understanding in her eyes. He sighs in relief and takes it. "We're all celebrating with you."

"I just… If anyone cares to hear it at all, I just want to say this. If a broke down, worn out old war dog like me can muddle through, anyone can." He ducks his head. "And you don't have to do it alone."

"That's beautiful, Doc. Thank you for sharing." Ella nods again and turns to face the rest of the room. "Anyone else?"

"What the hell was that?" Murray leans close and whispers.

"What, I was sharing. From my heart." John doesn't look him in the eye.

"Now I know you're just fucking with me." Murray shakes his head. "Mad bastard."