(A/N: This is something that came to me whilst reading another Sherlock fanfiction. It was heavy Johnlock and the idea just went pop into my mind. Damn plot-bunnies... Right now I'm working on a lot of stories that I try (and fail) to update regularly, so this one is gonna be a side project. I'll update when the chapters are done, and that will be infrequently. Tell me what you think and if I should follow up. Enjoy!)

"According to Greek Mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate beings, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves."
-Plato's The Symposium

"It used to be said that people held both hearts and mind, both love and logic, and the world was at peace. But a war erupted, splitting the people into two factions, Heads and Hearts. They warred for many years perfectly matched, neither able to gain an advantage. Well time passed, many battles were fought and many lives were lost. Eventually the reason for the fighting was lost to whispers. Neither side saw any reason or point in continuing the futile war and ceased all confrontations. Life found its own schedule once more, Hearts and Heads working together to rebuild their cities, and the halves began to grow whole again, slowly but surely.

"Still today some people are more Head than Heart or vice versa. Others are close to their equilibrium and a few have obtained that perfect balance again. But... there are still those that seek our that other half, that survive with just a Head or just a Heart. They are the saddest cases for they can never truly be human until they find their other half. The ONE person that literally completes them. Hearts have the easier time of the two, their compassion and love forging friendships and easily liked. Heads struggle with the simplest of manners and are usually alienated and scorned, their logic and observations biting and blatantly honest. Thankfully halves like these are few and far between. But that also means that their missing piece could be anywhere. Or anyone. Only time can tell if the Heart and Head are truly one."

A young boy looked up at an older woman with wide, eyes. "Why did you stop, Gia?" The grandmother looked down at the boy in her arms and smiled softly.

"Because, sweet child," she said, running her fingers through the boy's blond, silky hair, "there is no more." The boy's eyes got wider, if possible, and full of despair.

"But," his lip began to tremble, "but there's no happy ending. I like happy endings. And this isn't happy." Tears began to silently fall, hot and fast. Gia wrapped him into a warm hug.

"Oh, no John. Sweet, dear John. No," she pulled back, looking down at John's red face and gently wiping away a few tears with her thumb. "Don't be sad. You know why? That's not the end." The tears stopped, but the boy's face twisted with confusion.

"It's not?" he asked tentatively. Gia shook her head, smiling.

"No. And," she leaned in a little, lowering her voice, "do you want to hear a secret?" John nodded enthusiastically, eyes alight. Gia drew closer and began to whisper, "This story doesn't have an ending because..." she paused to glance around as if searching for an unwelcome listener, "no one has written it yet. They're waiting for the right ending." Gia pulled back, her wide smile mirroring John's.

"So I could write it? I could give it a happy ending?" He asked excitedly, bouncing up and down in the bed. Gia nodded, but John calmed and his smile fell. "But... I want to be a doctor or a soldier and help save people," he muttered, head down.

Gia gently lifted his head. "Why can't you be both?" John's eyes grew wide once more, full of confusion and hope. "Why can't you be an army doctor, that way you can help save and fix people, and write just for fun."

"Just for fun?" John asked slowly, as if trying the words out.

"Yes," Gia smiled again. "Just for fun." John smiled up at his favorite, albeit only, grandmother, yawning a little.

"Good. I'll do that," John managed between yawns. "I'll help fix and save people and write just for fun." John yawned again, snuggling down under the covers. "And everybody will get a happy ending." John stilled, he breathing evening out, with a smile on his face.

Gia stood, tucking the duvet under John, before placing a single kiss on John's forehead. "Kalhnyxta kai oneira glyka," she murmured as she walked to the door and turned off the overhead, the only light coming from the hallway. Just before closing the door behind her, Gia turned back and whispered, "I hope you find a head worthy of your heart."

That was the last time John saw his grandmother. She died in a car crash on the ride home a couple nights later. When John heard the news, he was inconsolable. And when he finally calmed, after crying himself into a fretful slumber, he uttered naught a word for three days. His father told him to "man up." His mother called him "sensitive." His sister only pulled his ears and called him a "pansy." In the years to come, John thought of his dear Gia many times, pulling from her words of wisdom to help with his explosive temper and using her words of kindness to soften the bullies' blows. But he never really thought about that last night.

John worked hard in school studying every night, excluding the occasional date, until he did well on his A levels. He got a scholarship to medical school, paying for a majority of the tuition, and earned his title of Doctor Watson. Not a week later, John Hamish Watson enlisted in the army.

Not a month later, he was deployed to Afghanistan.

John quickly gained respect as a surgeon. He was quick, efficient, and rarely lost a patient. His charges found him sweet, sympathetic, understanding, and they rarely had a bad thing to say about the small Doctor. But John Hamish Watson was no pushover. He may be kind, but if he found something wrong, morally or otherwise, he would not hesitate to speak up. But he would do so respectfully and with tact which gained him respect of his superiors. When Doctor Watson spoke up, you'd listen no matter your rank.

Then the unthinkable happened.

A bomb went off in the mess hall. One minute idle chatter and the clinking of silverware, the next chaos. Within seconds thirty people are injured, ten are blown out of their seats, and five are dead. John was just headed to his seat in the mess hall when the explosion occurred, but he only suffered from multiple minor lacerations. Without a thought, Doctor Watson leapt into action, pulling people from the burning rubble to safety and tending to the most injured before dealing with simpler things like breaks or cuts.

Within five minutes, a majority of the survivors were out of the ruins of the mess hall and those in immediate danger were stabilized and safe for transportation to surgery to receive proper care. Within seven minutes, the base was swarming with medical teams, all of them hearing the amazing tale of John's bravery and selflessness. Within nine minutes, the story had travelled the grape vine up the ranks till it had reached the Brigadier's ears. Within ten minutes, John Hamish Watson was unofficially named a hero.

When Doctor Watson finally stopped seeing to the needs of others, a majority of his initial small cuts and scrapes had scabbed over. However, during rescuing his fellow officers, John gained more injuries and now sported minor burns on his shoulders, neck, and arms as well as deeper cuts on his arms, legs, and chest. Once the adrenaline fled his system, John staggered to the closest medical tent before collapsing.

When he awoke, John's wounds had been tended to and a small crowd had gathered. John was confused, but it was quickly explained that the explosion took only soldiers, both dead and injured so badly they need to be invalided home. John sighed heavily, feeling the loss on his own shoulders. But, because of John's heroics and quick reaction, the number lost is exponentially less than it would have been. As a reward, Doctor John Hamish Watson is promoted to rank of Captain.

John is struck dumb, but the numbness is quickly replaced with an overwhelming feeling of honor. However, his rank comes with a stipulation. Because of the numbers lost, some of the medical staff had been chosen to be on the front lines. John readily accepts, happy to help in any way he can. The wounds heal quickly and soon John is in tip top shape once more.

A quick briefing on basic gun terminology and safety procedures later, Doctor John Hamish Watson is being given a crash course in shooting, in case the frontline medics need to defend themselves or take out an enemy. John takes to it like a fish to water, his accuracy almost impossibly high for a man that hadn't wielded a gun prior to that day. And he finds comfort in the weight of the solid gun in his hand, in the kick of the recoil, in the sound of the bullet firing. And, for some inexplicable reason, John is looking forward to getting out the base.

Until he actually finds himself on the front lines.

The hell he finds in those dunes will haunt him for days and weeks and months and years to come. Every life lost, whether theirs or the "enemy's", left a dull ache in his chest. His days become empty echoes of the peace he knew, now filled with blood and pain. The war seemed endless. John feared he'd be trapped forever.

But then a miracle occurs.

One of John's subordinates is injured and, being who he is, Captain Watson dashes over to his fallen comrade. He patches the injured man up to the best of his abilities, but as he's pulling them to better cover, John is shot through the shoulder. A red-hot flare erupts from his left shoulder, just below the collarbone, and, in a rush of adrenaline, John gets the man to safety before collapsing himself.

When he wakes a week later, John is sitting in a bed, his shoulder and leg throbbing. When the nurses notice he's awake and lucid, they call over a doctor who calmly explains to Captain Watson that he was shot in his left shoulder, through-and-through thank God, and is being invalided home.

A mix of emotions rush through John. He's elated that he's finally off those front lines. He's overjoyed to have the chance to see home again. But he also feels an immense loss. John is unable to pinpoint what exactly he'll be missing, but for some reason that one loss outweighs the happiness that is sure to come.

Three days later, John is released and deemed safe to travel. And he leaves the deserts of Afghanistan, his home of five years.

And he feels like he is heading towards something better.

And somehow feels inexplicably empty.

(A/N: Well hello there. What did you think? I'd really love to know. I'm definitely not finished with this world. I've only just begun. I'll update when I can. But seriously. Review. Please. :3

FYI: Gia, as John calls his grandmother, is a shorter version of giagiá which means grandmother in Greek. Kalhnyxta kai oneira glyka is Greek for "Goodnight and sweet dreams." All bits, present and future, in Greek are from Google Translate, so if they are incorrectly phrased or spelled or aren't what I'm trying to say, feel free to let me know. I felt that I should give John that connection to Greece and the ancient Greek mythology. I hope it works well. :D)