The next few days passed by in a blur for Watson. He was detained at the VetMed and later on at the Enforcement Post for hours, filing statements and complaints against Xue. Holmes was there as well in the periphery, filling in gaps for the grudgingly admiring Lestrade with a lopsided smirk and an extremely self-satisfied posture as he leaned against a desk, ankles and arms crossed. Watson didn't pay too much attention to Holmes' recap, having been there for much of it. He was busy perusing his own file.

The effort had an air of morbidity to it; his enlistment photo was attached to the file and to see who he once had been, compared to his more recent triage photos and scans, was like reading the life of a stranger. Twenty-four seemed impossibly far away. Watson looked at the bits of his file he could read, seeing the notes and bookmarks made by the, indeed very thorough, Sergeant. Lines such as "candidate", "physical condition precludes discovery" and "no reported effects" labeled him as something "other" even more. It made him angry, to see his life, his struggles and pain, so callously categorized and filed, the liberties taken with it. He hadn't realized how much he missed his own vitality, until he had seen how pathetically lifeless he could look to an outsider's eyes.

After filling out all the forms, and seeing Xue booked in to the hold, Holmes had stridently announced that he and Watson were heading home. Lestrade's twitchy head jerked up at the word "home" and he cast an even more intrigued, if less suspicious look at Watson. The pair walked back towards home, Holmes' steps light and energetic and Watson's extremely exhausted.

"If you don't mind me saying, aibou, you seem subdued despite our one-two victory. I would think you would be happy to have all the loose ends tied up."

"Are they?" Watson asked, pointedly.

"What else could there be?"

"That's what I'm asking. Are we going to get home to find a long-lost brother to Sgt. Bishop? Is there a partner to Vasiliy that you are setting some trap for? Am I going to discover that we're headed to the other side of the planet on some new errand? Because this time last night, I already thought we were finished."

"Watson-kun, I apologize for not including you in the plan, but I needed an opportunity to go through Xue's files, and I couldn't do it if I couldn't be assured of his distraction for the appropriate amount of time…"

"You could have said something to me! Warned me!"

"Watson, we've already established that you're a horrible liar."

"That's not an excuse!" Watson stopped walking, the streets thankfully bare despite the arched streetlamps casting them in a haloed glow.

"Watson," Holmes shot back, as if talking to an tantruming brat, patient and condescending. It infuriated Watson. "The fact of the matter is we've only known each other for a few days. While I'll admit that we seemed to have a…kindred spirit from the beginning," Watson was amazed that the man didn't even blush at the statement, "I didn't know you. You seemed perfectly agreeable, companionable, polite, and upright. Under normal circumstances, I would have hated you on principle. But from the moment we met, you intrigued me, for reasons that even I would be hard-pressed to explain. But I was waiting for the sucker punch. If I had told you your friend was dead, that the man responsible for your poisoning was going to be sitting across from you, I couldn't be sure how you would react. I don't like surprises; I couldn't risk an unforeseen reaction on your part ruining my plans."

"I'm an adult, Holmes! I have my own will and I make my own choices. If that doesn't fit into your plans, so be it!"

Watson knew he would regret these things, even as he said them. He had learned in a very short amount of time that he had been duped and used, both by his doctor and by his friend. Choosing to take his anger out on the latter because he couldn't on the former, Watson was ignoring the very real fact that, in doing what he had done, Holmes had saved his life and most likely his sanity.

"You were in no danger. I took the precaution of calling in Lestrade beforehand, to be ready to arrest Xue or to intervene if he had become noncompliant."

"Oh, thanks!" Watson's rage began bubbling all over again, boiling even hotter due to the highly insulted look on Holmes' face.

"It needed to be done! I can throw around theories all I like, but it means nothing if I don't have proof."

"Even if you have to put more people in danger to get it?"

"Yes," he responded, his voice uncertain.

"Who thinks like that?" Watson shouted at him, exasperated. They would get nowhere like this--somehow managing to speak the same words without speaking the same language.

"If you hadn't stupidly tried to overplay your part and had just gotten the caps according to the plan…" Holmes accused.

"I didn't KNOW the plan!" Watson countered, beginning to feel as though this schtick would go on forever. "You were being no help, just sending me out on busy errands. You weren't showing the slightest interest in finding Sandeep, so I felt like I had to take matters into my own hands."

Here, Holmes' face twisted sneeringly, almost ugly. "Oh yes. Sandeep, and your great concern for his welfare…" Sarcasm practically painted the words.

"Do you want to know what I think?" Holmes said, furious and intent.

"No." Watson turned away from Holmes and began limping onward towards the park ahead. A right turn there would take them to the ramp-way leading down to the dock.

"Tough!" Holmes stridently yelled after him, matching his pace to Watson's once he caught up. "You've been fixated on helping a man you don't even like just so that you can play the knight in shining armor to a woman you don't even love."

"Stop it."

"You've been getting yourself pummeled twice a day trying to be the answer to her problems. If I didn't know you better--and I do know you better--I would think you wanted to take his place."

Watson whirled on the taller man, his face mere inches from his, his breath coming short and angry as he looked at Holmes' face. The other man had schooled his features into disdain, his eyebrow lifting, daring Watson to deny it. Watson's fists clenched and, even though he was in a weakened state and this Holmes character could fight when he needed to, he desperately wanted to punch him.

"You, John Watson," Holmes said, his voice lowered to a terrible, knowing declaration, "Have an almost pathological need to feel useful. To be the hero. It's a role for which you are unqualified…"

Holmes looked like he was about to continue, but Watson didn't want to hear anymore.

"Enough!" he shouted, lifting his hand up, before restraining it with every ounce of will that he had. "Enough."

And with that, he had turned and strode back toward the dock, passing an automatic street-sanitizer as he went. Holmes eventually caught up with him again, and the two returned to the dock in silence.

They had only seen each other sporadically over the next few days. Holmes hadn't thrown him out, but now they had taken to pretending they were new roommates, asking each other before using any of the facilities, not talking while watching 'casts, buying their own food. Watson found himself missing their easy camaraderie and their back and forth exchanges. Several times he had thought to make the opportunity to apologize, but it was hard to find the time between the legal case, visits to a newer doctor to see to the damage Watson had managed to accrue over the investigation, and attending Madison's tribunal.

Three days after Xue attempted to kill him, Watson found himself back at his old hostel, searching through his kit. He hadn't yet moved out, but nor was he eager to move back in. Sandeep's funeral was in three hours, and Watson needed to fish out his dress uniform. He hadn't worn it in over a year and it hung on his frame unflatteringly. While he finished putting on all of the finery, he heard a knock at the slider.

"Madison," Watson greeted, surprised. She was not wearing her uniform, disastrous as the Tribunal had gone.

"Hey, Watson," she said, voice brittle. She had gone out to buy a black dress to wear to the funeral, and looked beautiful, even in her misery.

"How are you doing?"

"Oh, all right. It feels wrong; to have a funeral for him without a body. I would have thought, if that were going to happen, it would be because he was still on New Apolla somewhere. Not here. We were supposed to be safe here. You're going to the funeral?" She nodded to his uniform.

"Yes. Although, I'm glad I ran into you before. I wanted to give you something." He walked toward her, putting his hand in hers. When he pulled it away, there was a bright anonymous slider in hers, wired for a substantial amount of creds. Holmes had insisted, when Yoshiro-san had sent her assistant to render payment, on having it split in half for Watson's use.

But the thought of poor, weak Jenski being the unwitting accomplice to his lover's ruination, of Sandeep leaving behind a similar selfish legacy for poor Madison, of the unknown but identical wretches left behind to rot and fester in the basement of the Desal plant, made it impossible for Watson to accept it without feeling ill.

"Watson!" she cried out, breathless.

"Don't scan it until I'm gone. You'll take every bit of it. You need it more than I do. You and…" he trailed off.

"Jaden Jr. JJ."

"JJ it is." Watson smiled, feeling at least a little bit lighter, despite the heaviness of the day.

"Thank you, so much," she said, tearily, stepping boldly forward to embrace him. Watson could smell her perfume and for a moment, just a brief moment, he thought about what could have been, before resolving never to think on it again.

"And be sure to thank Mr. Holmes, too," she added into his shoulder. "When you see him again."

The funeral was solemn and dignified, a full military service: orders read, rifled salute, a flag and his patches presented to Madison. There was no casket, Sandeep's body never having been found despite an intense Enforcement search. It would turn up someday. Or not.

Halfway through, Watson felt a presence at his side, tingling at the edge of his senses. Standing at attention, he couldn't slide his eyes to the left like he wanted to, but he knew even still that it was Holmes. Later, when the service was over and Sandeep's name was being laser etched into the memorial wall, people were milling about, offering condolences to Madison. Watson watched from afar, oddly content, knowing that Madison would be alright.

Himself, however…

"It was a lovely service," Watson said. Holmes was practically attached to his side, looking utterly awkward and out of place in the sea of uniforms while wearing an elegant, if cheap, black suit.

"Yes," Holmes responded. "Madison told me what you did. It was very…noble."

"It was the least I could do. You might have been able to accomplish what Yoshiro-san asked of you, but I wasn't so successful."

"It would have been almost impossible to be, aibou. Sandeep was likely dead long before Madison even thought to ask you for help. Though I will say," Holmes turned to him, "I'm glad that she did. Your…help has been invaluable."

"Thank you, Holmes." They stood in silence for a few moments. "Still, I wish I could've done something more. Could have at least found Sandeep or confirmed he was dead."

"Even if he somehow managed not to be, I think Madison will be better off accepting the idea that he is. Better to live on believing somebody to be dead, than to know they've left you to continue on elsewhere."

Watson couldn't have disagreed more. If Watson were in love, even the bitterness of abandonment was better, if it meant knowing they were alive. But Holmes and Watson were two different men, and it would be foolish to forget that, no matter how this all turned out.

"I've been thinking…" Holmes began, cautiously, the midday sun turning his pale skin a bright pink.

"God help us all," Watson snorted good-naturedly, as Holmes butted their shoulders together in teasing rebuke.

"I have the tendency to get lost in a case, as you've noticed. If it means that I end up putting my own pride before the needs of my client, before the needs of my friend, it's a part of me that I'm not particularly proud of." It was a clumsy attempt at an apology, but it was a start. It deserved encouragement, and there were several things Watson had been wanting to say over the last few days.

"My life has changed a lot in the last two months. I had thought, had hoped, I would be able to adapt to these changes with better grace than I have. But it's been hard. These last few days have been…reinvigorating. If I let my gratitude get lost in my grief, it isn't what I want." Holmes' finely featured face seemed to relax at the words, the sharp planes stretching into an almost boyish look of contentment.

They were comfortably silent, happy to listen to the murmurs around them and the sound of waves crashing off in the distance. It was Holmes who broke the silence, surprisingly.

"What I said to you, the other day, about being unqualified to be a hero. That wasn't what I meant. You have very many heroic qualities, Watson-kun, most of which make you a better man than me. But, I sense that you are a man who doesn't like to be alone and for whom being useful is the very cornerstone of heroism."

Watson wasn't sure he liked Holmes analyzing him so baldly, or what the analysis implied about Watson himself, but he couldn't disagree with the assessment.

"So, I was wondering if you would--if things with your commission go as you expect them to--if you would like…"

"Yes?"

"To be useful to me."

Holmes wouldn't ask. He would demand, would presume, would finagle, would abstain if the previous didn't work, but he would never ask.

They were surrounded by a literal army of people, the soldiers pressing in on them from several sides. Despite this, Watson felt completely isolated from them, no longer a dying part of a whole. He and Holmes were alone now, against the world. He had no plans, no trajectory, no future. But, it no longer felt like a looming abyss, but rather an opportunity. Possibilities. No expectations, except the ones he made for himself.

All he could do was smile and nod, tired and exhausted, but utterly light.

"Well, yokatta for that. Mrs. Hudson found out about the spectral experiments I've been conducting in the house, and was surprisingly aware of the adverse effects of chemical solvents on plastisteel and Glasstech. She has raised my rent again, evil wench, and I don't know how I would manage it without you."

"Well, I suppose it's good that I closed out my account at the hostel and dropped my stuff at the house on the way here, then," Watson replied, no small part satisfied at getting one over on Holmes, as the taller man barked a laugh, tossing an arm over his shoulder.

That night found them upstairs in Holmes' bedroom after eating Mrs. Hudson's casserole and fighting over the threed programming. The night had grown late, although it was still relatively early. Holmes had announced loudly and intentionally that he was going to head upstairs to go to bed.

Not 'catch some sleep', but 'go to bed'.

Watson had seen it for the invitation it was. Even with Holmes now knowing the reason behind Watson's outburst during their previous disastrous attempt, there had been the case to focus on, and then their strained post-fight stand-off. But it seemed Holmes was just as eager to continue as he had implied.

"I think I'll join you."

Holmes had "cleaned" to make room for Watson; his clothes now piled in only one corner, the futon covers recently washed, food wrappers finally discarded. Holmes didn't know it yet, but Watson had grand plans for the downstairs as well.

Watson looked at the bed; already having experienced it, he couldn't wait to be comfortable again.

Holmes approached him, already nude and partially erect. Watson felt apprehension as his clothes (finally his own), seemed to weigh him down. He laughed sheepishly at the disparity. He slowly disrobed, pants and boots first, then reaching down again to grab the hem of the T-shirt. The scar on his left hip, a deep, pocked gouge, was visible, but Watson tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about how much more would be visible soon.

He was startled when Holmes' hands rested on his own, arresting his momentum. Quirking his lips, his eyes shiningly intent, Holmes gently batted Watson's hands aside, grabbing the hem himself. Watson felt the fabric brush against his chest, against the two scars on his abdomen, near his lower ribs, and rub against the still angry scar in his shoulder as he lifted his arms to ease the shirt's passage. Holmes removed the shirt and Watson felt the insane urge to fold it, to set it aside somewhere: something, *anything* to break Holmes' laser-focused gaze. Holmes tossed the clothes aside, however, the items ending up mixed with Holmes' on his laundry pile.

It was full dark when Watson woke up later, exhausted and sore and blinking in the darkness, Holmes having neglected to turn on the ceiling tube lights, using only a small phosphor lamp on a nearby table. The man himself stood shamelessly naked across the room, staring intently at the impromptu diagram etched onto the wall. Holmes had added Xue and Vasiliy's images to some of the outlying lines of the chart. Its complexity thoroughly evaded Watson's well-fucked mind.

He propped himself up on his elbow, laying on his side. His vision was still blurry after so long asleep. Holmes either ignored Watson's wakefulness, or didn't notice it.

"Clumsy."

"What?"

"Xue was a brilliant chemist and a fairly passable doctor, despite his tendency to poison his patients. He is definitely cunning and ruthless, but I don't know if I honestly believe he has the capability to think on so grandiose a scale. Obtaining such ingredients, manufacturing them, recruiting dregs for legwork, living an alternate life. I find it hard to believe that he managed it alone." Holmes paused, his face still turned away from Watson, leaving Watson to guess what was not being said.

"You think he had help."

"I think he was the help. There is a bigger picture here, a higher, villainous power; something that gave Xue the resources and opportunity to carry out his crimes. If only I could decipher it." His voice was ponderous and distracted, but not yet fully enthralled. Best to intervene now, before it was too late.

"Can it wait for tomorrow, Holmes?"

Holmes turned toward Watson, his gaze raking along Watson's also nude form just barely visible in outline through the blanket. His grin spread as his eyes narrowed. "Yes, I think it can."

END

Whew! Well, that's that, good readers. I hope it was as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write. As always, I value any reviews/insights that you might have to offer.

Thanks for reading!