It's a nice summer day, no rain, no clouds and for once, enough sun to tan. He needed a walk to clear his head about the previous night but his thoughts kept wandering back to it. Sherlock in a ridiculous situation and a firefight ensued. By the end of the night John is holding a dying man in his arms and lying to him about being okay. Lestrade has seen a lot of things, but the image of that haunts him. Not only did John hold that boy and tell him he was going to be okay, he acted like it really would be and Lestrade instantly knew John had done it often. Sometimes Lestrade forgets John was a soldier, it's so easy to just imagine John as a doctor, but John has his moments when he reminds everyone that he is still lethal. The more John is around, the more Lestrade understands what Sherlock sees in him.

Lestrade decides to venture off to the side of the park he heard had an excellent water front when he sees something that makes his heart leap. There is a man standing on top of the cliff dangerously close to the edge. Lestrade is running as quickly as he can hoping he's not too late. The man doesn't seem to be moving so Lestrade slows down once he's over the barrier. A few more steps and he's cursing in his head.

"John?" The man turns to him to reveal that it is in fact John. "I'm going to need you to step down from the edge." Lestrade swears that John reads his mind because he's laughing a second later.

"You realize I'm a doctor?" Lestrade steps closer. "I have access to morphine and a handgun, a lot less painful, let me tell you." But Lestrade sees a haunted look in John's expression when he turns back that lets him know John's thought about it before. Greg had been haunted by his war on crime, but John had been to war and haunted by a lot more than a single child. Maybe it was too much, maybe John came here because he was thinking about jumping.

"Not recently." John answers and Lestrade climbs up onto the big rock with him.

"How'd you know what I was thinking?"

"Sherlock can read everything in a glance; sometimes I've seen you do the same."

"Can you step away from the edge for me?"

"I'm not going to jump," John says sincerely. "It's just a nice spot to think."

"About how much you enjoy life." John laughs again.

"Do you think, for a second, that if I wanted to commit suicide Sherlock would let me out of his sight?" John turns to him. "I'm fine, just remembering."

"The war?" John nods. "You hold a lot of people like that, in their last moments?"

"Too many." John turns back to the water and Lestrade feels the mist against his hand, its relaxing. "I've lied to so many people in their last moments. They died thinking they'd wake up."

"Most people do." Lestrade takes another step closer to John, close enough to pull him back at any sudden movement but John ignored the change.

"I used to give the guys with me nicknames." John suddenly speaks. "One of them, Simon Dudley, had the meanest puppy dog eye I have ever seen. So when puppy got shot I lied to him and he knew I was lying. He joked right with me until the end. The last thing I said to him was 'yes sir, puppy, sir.' And then he died."

"I killed a kid once." Greg wishes for a cigarette at the moment. It is really nice right here. "God, I didn't know it was a kid, but he was shooting at my partner and I, trying to protect his father who we were investigating for a homicide. My first kill, so when the bullets stopped coming at us, I figured he ran away." Greg shakes his head and John nods.

"The worst time I killed someone was the day I got shot." And John is there as he describes it.

There is a man behind the wall that surprises John. He brings a metal pipe down. John is fast enough to move, but not fast enough to dodge. The cry that rips from him sounds inhuman and the pain in his leg feel unbearable, but he is a soldier and he's not done yet. John presses all his weight on his other foot and jabs the man with the back of the gun that he was just given by a wounded soldier. Then he takes half a hop back and fires two shots into the other's chest.

There is blood everywhere and John can't push that out of his head. He's killed before but more abstractly. He can taste the others blood. He can't think properly with the jolts coming from his leg, but it can't be broken. Nerve damage, ligaments? Focus Watson. He opens his eyes and mouth as he arches when a stronger one rips through him before hobbling back into the street.

John can see an ambush waiting to happen, so he takes a deep breath and steels himself before setting up his power stance and firing on them first. His leg screams and he may have too, but he saved his men. That's all he cared to know. Until his chest is on fire. He looks at the sky as he wonders why he's on the ground. It hits him at once and he's screaming.

No. God no. Please, God, let me live.

"I'm sorry." John looks to the side to see the look of shock on the DI's face.

"I'm sure you've had to take lives."

"Not many." Greg shudders, "but it only takes one."

"That's why I won't let Sherlock do it, not even Moriarty."

"It would eat him, even if he wouldn't admit it." Lestrade suddenly wonders about John's number. He's shot six people and that feels like too many, it is too many. He suddenly wonders if John's are higher.

"I shot the cabbie."

"I figured it out." Greg shrugs. "I'm not as stupid as he thinks." He glances to John "You probably shouldn't admit that to an officer though."

"Yeah, it was murder." He shakes his head.

"In defense of a third person."

"You never said anything."

"You're an asset." John looks eyes with Greg before nodding.

"Thank you."

They are silent for a few more minutes. "Does it hurt, being shot?" John shoots Lestrade a skeptical look. "Well I know it hurts, but how much?"

"I went into shock pretty quickly but," John closes his eyes and Greg moves closer. "I didn't realize I had been shot at first. Then the burning started on my back and it wouldn't stop. There was the hot feeling of my blood all over my back where I landed. I tried to keep conscious but I knew I was going to die. I wondered about my family and prayed and prayed until I couldn't think anymore. Then I woke up in a hospital bed a few weeks later."

"John," Greg started but he had no idea how to finish.

"It's fine." John let out a humorless chuckle. "It actually hurt more when I was stabbed."

"Stabbed?" John nods but doesn't offer more. Greg places a hand on John's back. "Hungry?"

"Not right now."

"What are you going to do?"

"Mourn." John responds with a shake of the head. "I need to be alone." Greg nods before beginning to walk away. "But thank you, it is better to talk to someone who understands, even if just a little."

It interesting to see other people's pain, when its different. With John, Greg knows there is a whole world of secrets and how lucky he was to get a few today. Maybe he'll get more later but he surely won't forget that John is a soldier anymore. He turn back to look at John standing unmoving on the rock and imagines a statue. It's poetic, the gentle hands of a doctor operating weaponry and the gentle heart of Dr. John being wrapped in the shell of Captain Watson. Lestrade knows he's beginning to understand what Sherlock sees in John and he's beginning to want it for himself.

For now, he has a walk to finish.