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"Captain Watson!"

John turned around instinctively at the military address. His brow creased as he struggled to identify the man rapidly walking toward him. His forehead smoothed as he recognised the scar that ran down the left jaw of the soldier's face, remnants of an injury he had stitched up in Afghanistan.

"Corporal Amesbury!"

Distance was closed with a robust handshake. Social greetings dispensed with, he gestured outward. "I'm just headed for lunch. Care to join me?"

The two soldiers found themselves ensconced in a booth not long after exchanging small talk as they decided what to eat. Orders made to the waitress, John smiled his thanks as she gathered up the menus and departed.

"So. I see that you're a married man now," said the corporal, drawing attention to the gold band adorning the captain's left hand.

"Mmm, six months now." He knows that he looks like a soppy newlywed bastard but can't help it.

"How did you the two of you meet?" Amesbury seemed genuinely interested.

"We met not long after I was discharged actually."

There was a moment of silence as they both remembered those who hadn't been so lucky to return home.

"She's a lucky girl," the corporal said eventually.

"Him actually," said John wryly.

"Oh, ah. I didn't realise you were um... "

"I'm not." He rubbed the back of his head, well aware of how confusing this must seem.

Corporal Amesbury blinked twice. "He must be one hell of a guy then."

John's face shone. "He's brilliant."

Arriving home from the afternoon shift, John Watson hummed as he entered the living room and removed his coat before heading to the kitchen.

The detective seated at the table didn't lift his head from his microscope as he spoke. "Good lunch?"

The good doctor had long given up on trying to figure out how Sherlock knew these things and pressed a kiss to his husband's curls on his way to the kettle. "Brilliant as always."

Pottering around preparing a cup of tea he continued to speak. "I bumped into an old army colleague who I operated on in Afghanistan."

"And you told him you were a gay married man," stated Sherlock.

"I'm not gay," responded John mildly as he poured the hot water.

Sherlock lifted his head and turned toward him then. "Then I fear you need to consult a dictionary as the definition of the term is a man and..."

"I'm not gay," John repeated placing the milk in the fridge and closing the door. "I just had the sorry luck to fall in love with a prat that seems to be the only one for me."

Brushing his lips across the mouth of the very prat in question, he placed a cup next to him. Picking up its partner, he walked into the lounge room, taking up his usual armchair and the newspaper.

Sherlock stared after him, mouth slightly agape before he smirked, looked at the matching gold band on his left hand and turned his attention back to his specimens.

Brilliant indeed.