Author's Note: This was a response to a prompt: "amnesia fic - An anarchist's bomb damages the Diogenes Club. When Watson awakes, his most recent memory is of a battlefield in Afghanistan."

Watson did his best for the wounded men, because blood and bone made sense even if shattered oak panelling and debris-strewn carpet did not. And when other men came and asked him questions he could not hear through the tinnitus he pointed to the fat man first, whose huge body had been interposed between the worst of the explosion and the thin man, as if deliberately. The thin man, in his turn, had shielded Watson, or so he guessed having come round no worse than dizzy wrapped in unconscious arms. But why, and who, and how, he could not tell.