FanFiction

BBC Sherlock

Title: From One Friend To Another

Summary: John has a nightmare about losing a friend in Afghanistan in the trenches. When he tries to get out from the trenches, he feels a sharp pain in his shoulder as he's shot and a piece of shrapnel cuts his face. (*No major damage from the shrapnel)

From One Friend To Another

A disgusting smell of blood and dirt lingered in the air as John Watson ran through the trenches dug in the battlefield. The sun shone blindly bright over the fields of Afghanistan. John's soldier uniform clung to his chest as he could feel sweat dripping down his body. The humidity was overwhelming, and he needed to reach somewhere with water, soon.

"Come on Frank, we have to keep moving!" John urged his friend on as they continued to run towards safety. A thick cloud of dust rose before them, and John covered his nose and mouth with his elbow as he passed through it. His eyes began to water from all the small particles finding their way into them.

John continued to run, his friend Frank all the while keeping up behind him. Everywhere he looked, a soldier lay dead or wounded, and he could not stop to help them. Even with his army doctor skills, he needed to escape this maze that John was stuck in. Other soldier ran by, and some blasted guns above the trenches to hurt the enemy. There would be an occasional explosion of a bomb on the battlefield, and John could not help but think of all the soldiers who were lost in the terrible event.

The trench began to widen as John and Frank reached a stretch close to safety. As John passed a soldier on the ledge dug in the side of the trench, the soldier's voice rang out into the air.

"Get down! Move!" The soldier threw himself from the ledge and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, stumbling in front of John and Frank. John looked back to see what was to come. A small object flew right into the trench, not ten feet from them. Knowing what it was and what damage it would cause, the three men ran as their lives depended on it.

It was not long before there was a massive BOOM from behind them, and John threw himself into the ground as the bomb exploded. He buried his head into his hands as supplies, dirt, and debris flew into the air. John coughed as dirt covered part of his face and several pieces of wood landed on top of him. The explosion did not last long, and soon a silence fell over the stretch of the trench.

John forced himself out from under the wood and other various things that lay on top of him. The soldier who had yelled must have made it to safety and was getting help, because he was nowhere in sight. John turned to face the direction in which they had come, to see if Frank was ok. But Frank was not there either; in fact, instead, there was just a pile of rocks, dirt, and wood. The only part of Frank that was visible was half of his leg, sticking out from the pile of debris.

"Frank! Frank!" John crawled over to the pile and frantically began to dig Frank from beneath. When he managed to dig him out completely, John kneeled next to him and rolled Frank over onto his back.

A large, gash was in the side of Frank's head, and it was spouting out blood without difficulty. Josh sat, holding his friend in his arms, shaking from head to toe. He couldn't help him. His supplies were out of his reach. He was just going to sit here and watch Frank die. John felt failure as he knelt, hopelessly awaiting Frank's death.

Frank tried to produce his last words from his mouth, but nothing but a coughing noise came out instead. He took one last, unsteady breath, then his eyes went blank and stared into nothing as John felt a single tear run down his face.

John felt empty. His soldier friend had died in his arms, and he could not do anything to remotely help him. That was yet another person who died under his watch. He'd seen many of his patients, men, sometimes women, and some children, die while he was trying to help them.

John put his hand over Frank's no longer beating heart, and he mumbled, "Always in my memory." He forced himself to rise to his feet. There was no one else in sight, as he looked in all directions in the destroyed trenches.

John looked above the trenches, as he could see a figure coming into view. It stopped a little less than fifty feet from him, and several other soldiers ran behind the halted figure. John stood for one second before a CRACK echoed in the air and the soldier shot the rifle in his hands. John had no time to act before he felt an excruciating pain in his left shoulder.

John fell to the ground, letting out a terrible scream. He gripped his bleeding shoulder with his opposite hand, and crawled over to the trench wall. He leaned up against it and breathed heavily. I am not going to die, he thought. I…I am going to live. His head fell back against the trench wall, and he did not care if his hair was completely covered in dirt at this point.

John's vision began to fade as he started to lose consciousness. He took long, deep breaths, and needed to reach shelter and get help. The pain in his shoulder was increasing, and he let out cries of pain every so often. He grit his teeth in pain and saw another object come flying into view; this time, closer to a large pile of debris. Realized what it was, John lifted himself from the ground. Before he could run, there was another massive explosion. A piece of shrapnel flew past John's ear. He started to turn his face to see Frank one last time, but another piece of shrapnel skimmed John's head, just above his eyebrow. He collapsed to the ground again, feeling the terrible pain in his head and a sharp pain in his shoulder as he moved it. Warm blood poured from the large gash on John's face as he kneeled on his hands and knees.

John lay panting for quite some time in the trench, thinking he might die there, alone. Just as Frank had in his arms, only worse. But his depressing thoughts turned to courage in his brain, and he rose from the ground, and ran as fast as he could towards the safety that awaited him.

His breath was hot and the blood poured down the side of John's face as he ran. He heard someone yell from a distance. "Someone's coming!" The voice was not far, but the blast from the explosion had an impact on John's hearing. He had not gone deaf, or lost hearing in either ear, but it certainly was harder to hear anything.

John turned one last corner as his legs gave out under him and he collapsed to the ground. He heard footsteps approaching his body as his vision faded and the world went black all around him.

"John! John! Wake up!" Someone was roughly shaking John's shoulder. He thought he had died, but he heard a voice from someone in an infirmary. His eyes jerked open as he expected to see a doctor next to his bed. Instead, his room in 221B Baker Street came into view, and Sherlock Holmes was looming over him.

John could feel sweat on his back and face, just like in his nightmare. His pajama shirt clung to him and the sheets on his bed were damp.

"Are you alright John? You were shouting and screaming in your sleep. You're white as a sheet. You look…horrified." Sherlock's voice was calm as he looked at John with hard eyes.

"Frankly, I'm not alright." The words came out from John's mouth faster than he thought they would.

Sherlock sighed and sat down on the bed next to John. "So…" he hesitated, "what was it about? The nightmare?"

John let out a couple short breaths before he got the words out of his system. "Just another flashback from Afghanistan. I'll be ok." Sherlock didn't believe his friend, his only friend, and he raised his hand to feel John's forehead. Then he rose from the bed and went into the bathroom. John heard the faucet on the sink running and saw Sherlock return seconds later.

He came back to where John was sitting and handed him the towel without words. John took it in his hands, and rubbed the cold towel over his face and behind his neck. When he was finished, Sherlock took the towel and placed it on the bedside table.

Sherlock shifted his position on the bed and sat on his heels. He put both his hands on the sides of John's head gently. "John," he began, his voice sounding comforting. "The war is behind you. I promise you, you'll never have to go back there again. I know this is hard to forget about it, so I'm just letting you know…I am here for you. And I promise, I will never let anything terrible happen to you. Ever." Sherlock moved his hands down onto John's shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes.

John smiled slightly and gave a nod to show Sherlock he understood. He couldn't hold in his feelings any longer, so he reached out his arms and wrapped them around Sherlock's body. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, and he ran one hand through John's hair.

John felt one last tear run down his face. "Thank you Sherlock." Sherlock smiled behind John's back and cared deeply for his army doctor. He brought his head around and placed a small kiss on John's cheek.

"You know why I won't let anything happen to you John?"

"John looked at him with wondering eyes. "Why?"

"Because I care about you. You're my best friend. My army doctor. My blogger. My companion. And I…I love you." John's mouth opened slightly and curved into a smile.

Sherlock continued to speak the delicate, heart-warming words to John. "I do. I love you." He paused for a moment, and smiled as he looked down. Then his eyes met John's again, and he delivered his last loving words before they settled in to go back to sleep.

"Deep down. In here." And the hand that rested on John's shoulder slid down his shirt and landed in the exact place John knew it would land; over his heart.