A/N: OK, here is the long awaited sequel to Afghanistan Comes Home. I had so many questions after the other story of what happened to Murray, and did he survive. Well this one picks up almost immediately after ACH. (I highly recommend reading that one first if you haven't yet, as this is based off of that one. You should be able to catch up, but just wanted to give you a heads up.)

There are a couple things about the time line here. I spend a ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out the time line of the episodes. I used John Watson's blog (put out by the BBC) to narrow down the dates, and also borrowed some dates from Lady Sam Mallory (check out her writing… she is incredible!). The point being, from what I can tell there are about 3 months between The Hound and when Mycroft gave John the info about the assassins, the kidnapping case, the girl screaming, their arrest and escape, and Sherlock jumping.

Two months prior to those events was when Moriarty's trial occurred (based on the timeline laid out for us in Reichenbach Fall). My two stories, "Afghanisan Comes Home" and this one "Returning Home," take place during that 2 month time frame. I thought a great deal about the timeline in this story and very carefully planned it out, so it would fit in the time I had. I made a couple of adjustments in ACH to make sure it fit. They don't affect the flow of the story if you have already read it.

Hound- early March 2012

Moriarty trial- early April 2012

ACH- April 23-26, 2012

Returning Home- April 28, 2012- June 3, 2012

I won't say any more about that timeline until the very end of the story, because it would be spoilers for this story if I did. If you have any questions or want more information on how I came up with the dates, please message me and I will let you know.

Thanks and enjoy the story!

John finished speaking with Mrs. Evans, turned and spoke quietly to a couple of other fellow servicemen, then walked across the grass to where Sherlock was waiting for him. Unable to bring himself to say anything, he just nodded and they headed for the entrance of the graveyard.

John paused when he heard his name called, and catching the sleeve of Sherlock's coat, he turned. Straightening to attention, John saluted as Colonel Harrison approached.

The Colonel returned his salute. "At ease, Captain Watson."

Sherlock watched their interaction from where he'd stopped, several paces away.

"Sir," replied Watson, taking refuge in the military formality.

"Captain, I have a request. I have a car waiting for us at the entrance," stated Colonel Harrison.

John's shoulders stiffened slightly. His hands clenching into fists behind his back betrayed a sudden wariness.

"Where are we going, sir, if I may ask?" questioned Watson.

"You may," granted the Colonel, as he gestured for Watson to follow him. "We are going to meet with someone in the British Government. I have been told that at times he is the British Government."

Sherlock muttered under his breath as he trailed behind the other two men. John, ducked his head to hide a small smile at the sound.

Sherlock groaned, "I told my brother to leave us alone. At least for today. I'm sorry, John. I don't think I can prevent this kidnapping."

Colonel Harrison paused and turned to face Sherlock. "Oh, Mr. Holmes was quite insistent. Captain Watson isn't the only one being 'kidnapped' as you say. You are expected to accompany us."

"I see my brother often enough. I have no desire to see him today, thank you," responded Sherlock with distain.

"You might want to reconsider, sir. We both think that your eyes and abilities might be extremely helpful in what we are attempting," warned Harrison.

"What do you mean, Sir?" questioned John. His eyes focused intently on Col. Harrison as he watched him decide how much to reveal.

"Please, let's keep walking if you don't mind," Col. Harrison responded. "I would prefer to continue this conversation in the relative privacy of the car."

As more people from the funeral started approaching, the three men picked up their pace. Reaching the gate, they climbed into the waiting car. It pulled into traffic and Col. Harrison started speaking again without prompting.

"We have footage from the helicopters that came in to pull out the team when they were attacked. They have been cleaned up and enhanced as much as possible. Mr. Holmes is also pulling satellite surveillance during the time of the ambush and the surrounding twelve hours on either side of the attack."

"What we need are as many sets of eyes on the videos as possible to try to not only analyze what happened and went wrong, but also to attempt to determine where Wilkinson and Murray were taken."

"You told me that teams on the ground have been searching," exclaimed John. All military protocol suddenly dropped in the light of his concern for his friend.

"John, there have been. They aren't coming up with anything other than old hideouts and dead ends. The army is… uncertain… how many more missions they are willing to do, or men they are willing to risk to try to find them. I have convinced them to search for another week," Col. Harrison explained.

Sherlock watched as the Colonel gazed at John with deepening intensity.

"You know how quickly the odds drop of finding them, alive or otherwise, after two weeks."

"And you know they can survive longer than that. There are documented incidents." John's voice was fierce, before he turned to look out the window, attempting to compose himself.

Sherlock was unable to identify the emotions that had flashed across his friend's face before it was hidden from him. However, Col. Harrison's concern for John was obvious throughout their conversation. He continued to watch John with a worried frown, only turning away when he saw Sherlock looking at him.

Col. Harrison let the silence linger the rest of the drive to Mycroft's office. Sherlock didn't dare to break it. He knew enough to know that nothing he could say would make John feel better. John kept his face averted the rest of the ride, sitting straight and rigid, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

oOOooOOooOOo

Upon arriving in Mycroft's office, Sherlock was surprised to see it had been transformed. It almost looked like the army had invaded. Multiple large screens were set up around the room, video images looping on them. A large table had been moved in, upon which assorted maps of the area the ambush had occurred had been placed.

Sherlock leaned back against the wall by the door and observed as John and Col. Harrison approached Mycroft. Though John still seemed like himself, shooting him a brief smile when he noticed Sherlock watching him, a new layer was emerging. In full dress uniform from the funeral, his back ramrod straight, confidence radiated from him. His face was still too pale and drawn from the strain of the past several days, but his blues eyes were bright and alert, taking in all the activity going on around him.

Sherlock stalked across the room to the trio of men when he heard Mycroft state, "You haven't told him yet, have you?"

"No, sir. There wasn't the opportunity to say more than we needed both his and your brother's eyes on the footage we have." Col. Harrison looked slightly uncomfortable at the admission, but stayed quiet as Sherlock approached.

"There is quite a bit more to it than that, indeed." Mycroft gestured to some chairs grouped off in a corner of the room.

They took a seat, and Mycroft proceeded to explain.

"Colonel Harrison came to me requesting that I look into the issue of the capture of Wilkinson and Murray. To put it delicately, he felt the situation needed to be handled with more care and discretion, as well as a more comprehensive approach than it had been. I also have access to some resources that the army was unable to take advantage of."

Mycroft smiled slightly at John. "I am aware of some of your background, John, and your friendship with Captain Murray. I am assuming that you are willing to do whatever it may take to retrieve him."

John nodded sharply. "You assume correctly, Mycroft. What do you have and what do you need us to do?"

oOOooOOooOOo

With that statement, the four men got to work. Five hours later, both John and Col. Harrison had taken off their jackets, loosened their ties, and rolled up their shirtsleeves as they bent over the maps on the table, comparing them with the satellite and video feeds they had.

Sherlock actually managed to work with his brother without their typical sniping. Despite what others thought, he did know when to lay that aside. This was one of those times.

The satellites hadn't been perfectly in place at the time of attack, but were over the area about 45 minutes later. Analyzing the data and extrapolating which direction they would have moved after the attack, Sherlock and Mycroft were able to narrow down the most probable area the insurgents would have gone to ground with Murray and Wilkinson.

John stood in front of one of the large screens, ignoring the few other men and women who walked in and out periodically bringing more data. Slowly flipping through the satellite photos of the area, he stiffened and spoke with one of the men at the computer nearby. Slowly, though some of the resolution was lost, it became clear they were looking at a group of men on the move. Their location was such that it was highly likely they were the men they were looking for.

Events progressed rapidly after that and at the end of fifteen hours of non-stop work, they were ninety percent certain of where Wilkinson and Murray were being held.

John collapsed back in a chair and dry rubbed his tired face. Sherlock joined him, passing him a sandwich and cup of coffee. John thanked him and ate mechanically, as he watched people moving around the room, keeping a close eye on Colonel Harrison who was on the phone with his superiors.

"What are we waiting for? Why has everything slowed down now that we know where they are?" questioned Sherlock.

"Because things are going to start heating up on the ground over there."

Gesturing toward the table of maps, John stood, taking his coffee with him. Sherlock joined him as John pointed to one of the maps. A small area was circled in red.

"That's where we think they are being held. These blue dots in and around there are areas where we have some informants on the ground. We are waiting for some information from them before we take action. They will be able to confirm if there has been insurgent activity in and around this small grouping of mountains. There are many caves there, so we are hoping our informants will be able to narrow down which section seems to have the most activity. That is likely to be where they are," John explained.

"Once we have the information, we're better able to plan the team going in. Putting together the right people with the right skills, the size of the team, and the chemistry of the members of the team are essential in pulling off a successful mission."

John cuffed a hand through his hair. "We need all those things in place so we have a successful extraction without losing any more people."

"As our information flows in, we will be pulling men from multiple units and getting them to the forward base, closest to the location they are being held." John gave a grim smile.

Sherlock could see something in John's eyes that he didn't like. The normal warm blue had turned icy and calculating. They narrowed, and Sherlock could almost see the multiple scenarios running through his head.

John continued his explanation, unaware of what Sherlock was seeing. "Once we are all gathered, we will be able to plan our strategy and get everyone up to speed."

"John…" Sherlock fought against the sinking feeling in his stomach. "What exactly to you mean by 'we'?"

He watched warily as John sighed and looked around the room. "Come with me." Leading the way John sat down in a chair in a relatively secluded corner of the room. Sherlock sank into the one next to him, dreading to hear what he knew was coming.

"When you stepped out a little while ago, I asked Colonel Harrison for a favor. Harrison is leading the mission, going back for this specific mission before moving on to his new posting. They need a doctor and a sniper. Roberts has requested to go in as well. He was injured in the original capture, but it was minor and he has been cleared for full active duty again."

Holding up his hand to stop Sherlock from interrupting him, John continued. "I asked to be part of the mission, Sherlock. I spent considerable time in that specific area during my last tour there. It may have been close to 18 months since I've been there, but there were come particular things that occurred while I was there… they are classified, Sherlock… that give me unique expertise that I think would be helpful to the team."

"You… you can't do this, John. You're a civilian now. You can't just drop back into the war," hissed Sherlock, attempting to keep from drawing attention to themselves.

"I know." The calm of a difficult decision made was reflected on John's face. Sherlock felt things start to unravel. He tried to deny what that look meant, what decision his friend had made

"That's why I asked Colonel Harrison to work on it from his end. I then spoke to Mycroft and asked him to pull some strings and call in favors to get me reinstated, for the duration of this mission."

oOOooOOooOOo

John watched his friend with sad eyes, as Sherlock made a bee line for his brother. Though he didn't hear their conversation, he could imagine what Sherlock was saying about his brother's "interference" in something that wasn't his area. John watched Sherlock's countenance darken, and his eyes grow stormy as he realized he couldn't change the tide of events.

Refusing to make eye contact with anyone, Sherlock spun away from his brother. John braced himself as Sherlock came towards him, but Sherlock passed by without acknowledging him and raced out the door, slamming it hard behind him.

John slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes, supporting his head with one hand, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair. Sensing someone standing close, he spoke without opening his eyes.

"Well that went as well as could be expected, I guess."

"I agree, Doctor Watson." Mycroft sank into the chair Sherlock had so recently occupied. "He is concerned. To be truthful, as far as I know, you are the first friend he has ever had."

John looked over at him in surprise. "Ever? No childhood friends, mates in school?"

"He was bright and energetic, full of laughter and very expressive when he was young. He was curious about everything, and I taught him as much as I could. When he was old enough to start schooling, our father had tutors come to the house. Around that time, Sherlock became more reserved. When he entered school, he didn't know how to adapt in social situations. He was teased and bullied and withdrew even further, divorcing himself from his emotions. When he went university, cruelty from classmates didn't get better, just more 'refined.' He's always walked alone, until now, John."

They sat in silence for a few moments, as John mulled over what Mycroft had shared. It was far more than he'd expected when he'd asked about Sherlock's previous friends. But it definitely helped him understand Sherlock's reactions better, which was probably what Mycroft had intended.

His thoughts were interrupted as Colonel Harrison approached them. The formality of his posture prompted John to rise to his feet and salute. His stomach tightened in anticipation of his next words.

Returning the salute, Colonel Harrison spoke. "Captain John Watson, I hereby offer you an official reinstatement to full active duty in the Royal Army Medical Corps, attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, for the duration the mission to retrieve Captain Murray and Lieutenant Wilkinson. Do you accept this charge?"

"With full knowledge and free will, I accept this temporary reinstatement, Colonel Harrison. Thank you, sir," John replied.

Exchanging salutes again, John remained standing as Colonel Harrison walked away. Seeing a movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned to find Sherlock standing just inside the door to Mycroft's office. His face was pale and stricken with naked emotion before a mask dropped into place in an attempt to guard himself.

John walked over and grabbed onto Sherlock's jacket sleeve to keep him from fleeing the room again. Never taking his eyes off Sherlock, he called quietly over his shoulder, "Mycroft, is there a room where I can speak privately with Sherlock?"

"Yes. Down the hall to your right, the second door on the left."

oOOooOOooOOo

Entering the office indicated, John walked to the two armchairs facing each other. Sinking down in one, he pointed at the other one. "Sit down, Sherlock, before you fall over."

"I don't have to take orders from you, Captain," Sherlock sneered. "I'm not under your command."

This was more serious than he thought. "Sherlock, I'm not ordering you. I'm asking you, as my friend, to sit down and have a conversation with me."

Sherlock huffed, but sat in the chair across from him, his face a blank mask, radiating arrogance. But John knew it was covering a wide range of emotions, most of them stemming from fear.

"Sherlock, I have to do this. You know I have to do everything in my power to help Bill. If it were you out there, don't you know I would do the exact same thing?"

At Sherlock's obvious look of doubt, John shook his head, "I would do absolutely anything to get you back safely," John tried to explain gently. "You're my best friend."

Seeing that his words weren't getting through, John propped his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands. He only hoped Sherlock would store these words, these moments, in his Mind Palace to review later, rather than deleting them.

Sighing, he murmured, "I can't say anything to convince you that this is the right thing to do, or that I have to do it. If you don't want to see it, nothing will make you believe me."

John continued, his voice pleading for him to really listen. "Sherlock, I need your help and support despite whether you think it's the right thing or not. I know you can't come with me physically, but I need…" Sighing again, he stopped for a moment, attempting to marshal his thoughts. "I'm so tired and I need to sleep before I leave, but I need you to know…"

Here John paused again and said more fiercely, "I plan on coming back here, to London, to you and our flat, our life chasing criminals. All of that is my life now. Not the army, not anymore. This is an aberration, not a life change. Please, Sherlock. I…"

John's head dropped further as he ran his fingers up into his hair. His heart hurt for Sherlock. There was no other way to describe it. He wished he could reassure Sherlock somehow, as this was such new territory for his friend. But he didn't know what to say.

He was overwhelmed. He was concerned about his own abilities, and if he was ready for the mission or if he'd be a liability to the team…

His whirling thoughts were interrupted by a hand resting on his shoulder. He released the hold he didn't know he had on his own hair. John looked up to find Sherlock had pulled his chair close enough that their knees were nearly touching. He could see his friend struggling to put words to his thoughts.

Sherlock dropped his hand back to his own lap and cleared his throat. "I know why you feel the need to go and help find Murray. I can understand that… I think. But I don't see why they need you specifically. I am certain that out of the whole RAMC there is another doctor who could go, or another person with similar skills and qualifications to go instead of you."

John shook his head in frustration. "I wish I knew how much I could tell you. I have to err on the side of caution right now until I get specific clearance. There are things that I know, that happened while I was there, certain information I obtained, that are needed specifically for this rescue. Murray knows even more. He's not just a medic and sniper. He has to be rescued, before they either break him or kill him."

"Oh," breathed Sherlock. "Oh! You… gathered information, too. You said before you went into villages with Murray and that was what he was doing when he was caught."

John looked at him, feeling a quiet admiration for his friend's brilliance. "No comment."

Sherlock's expression warmed fractionally, and his own eyes reflected his pride in John. "I still don't like that you have to go personally."

"I know, Sherlock. But, I think that Mycroft has figured out a way that we can stay in contact with each other almost the whole time."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock's eyes brightened even more with interest.

"I didn't get the chance to tell you this before. Mycroft has a couple of mini cameras for Colonel Harrison and myself to wear on the mission. They will attach under the edge of our helmets, with a miniature mic that will attach to our helmet strap. The battery pack and transmitter fit under our body armor between our shoulders. It will feed up through a special satellite link and you will get the audio-video from us the whole time we are out on the mission."

"You won't be able to speak to me," warned John, "but you will be able to hear everything that goes on, and see what I see."

"Why can't it be two way audio?" pouted Sherlock.

"First, I'm not going to be able to concentrate with your constant remarks in my ear!" laughed John. "Second, I am going to be connected with Colonel Harrison via a personal role radio. He needs to designate commands to different people, and the whole team needs to know who is doing what and where at any given time. When he can't give verbal commands, we revert to hand signals," John explained.

"When I am in transit, and at the base, we will be able to text on our phones back and forth and keep in touch that way." John smiled as Sherlock's face lit up a bit more. "But, you have to be on your best behavior, because you are going to have to spend a considerable amount of time with your brother. We may have only an hour or less from the time we are notified to the time we leave the base. When either your brother calls or I text you, you're going to have to get here quickly."

Sighing, Sherlock rose from his seat, pulling John to his feet. "I suppose I can handle that. Though I don't know if Mycroft can. I may camp out in his office between now and when you start the mission."

John stifled a laugh as they moved through the hall back to Mycroft's office. "I'm sure he will appreciate the quality time with his brother."

"Oh no," Mycroft looked at them with a hint of trepidation in his eyes. "What is happening, dare I ask?"

"I'm not sure you want to know," replied John as he and Sherlock exchanged a glance. Pure exhaustion pushed them over the edge and they started giggling helplessly.

oOOooOOooOOo

"John, I cannot…"

"Mycroft. This is a way you can help me look after him while I'm gone. It's one person. One I trust." John looked at Mycroft fiercely. "He isn't going to take my absence well. You know that as well as I do, just from his reaction today."

"If you get caught with this… or if news of this mission leaks anywhere, at all, I will deny all knowledge of this conversation," Mycroft warned.

"Of course you will, Mycroft. I know how this works far, far better than you realize," replied John as he pocketed the device Mycroft handed to him.

Mycroft gave him a calculating look. "Interesting. I believe you just might." Mycroft started at John a moment longer. "You are full of surprises, Dr. Watson."

John just smiled, bid Mycroft goodbye, and turned to collect Sherlock from where he'd been pacing.

He and Sherlock left Mycroft's office and walked out onto the street as the sky just started turning gray with the impending dawn. Realizing that they'd essentially spent nearly a whole day and night working, John sagged slightly as his exhaustion caught up with him.

oOOooOOooOOo

After making it home and getting some much needed sleep, John felt nearly human again. Then he talked Sherlock into getting together with Greg Lestrade for dinner. Greg came over that same evening, bringing Indian take away with him.

Finishing his food, Greg looked between the two of them and asked, "Ok, what's up with you two. You are both so tense, you look like you can hardly sit still. What's happened?"

John gestured for Greg to sit on the sofa and settled in his own chair. As he did, he pulled a little black device out of his pocket and flipped it across to Sherlock who was perched on the back of his arm chair. Fielding it easily, Sherlock examined it, then smiled slightly before tossing it back to John.

John toggled a switch and set it on the table next to him. Explaining that it blocked all listening devices, he said, "What I am going to tell you is not sanctioned by anyone. I am going out on a limb here, because you need to know what's happening. But it can absolutely go no further. You can't tell anyone what we are about to share with you."

Concern radiating off of him, Greg nodded and promised not to say a word.

John proceeded to lay out all that had happened with his old team, Murray and Wilkinson's capture and the group being put together to go in after them. Then he dropped the bombshell that he was reinstated so he could go in with the team.

After Greg had recovered slightly, and John had answered his questions, he was able to lay out all that he thought was going to happen, from the timing of everything to the actual mission itself.

"I'm still not been given clearance to tell you why I need to be on the team, but I really needed you to know what was going on, Greg."

"Why?"

"Because of me," interjected Sherlock.

At Greg's puzzled expression, John laughed. "Only partially right, Sherlock. First, I want you to know where I'm going and what's happening. I can just imagine your reaction if something happened and you only found out after the fact. There would be some hell to pay."

"Second, I'm going to be gone probably a good solid two weeks, maybe just a bit more. It depends on the condition we find Murray and Wilkinson in. I'm staying with Murray until he's stable. It could be that he will have to stay at the forward base for a bit before he can be transported to Camp Bastion, where they have a full hospital."

"Oh no! You're leaving me alone with him?" mock-groaned Greg.

John laughed out loud at the expressions on both his friends' faces. "Yeah, sorry mate. All I'm asking is that you keep him busy enough that Baker Street is still standing when I get home!"

Greg burst out in laughter, joining John, and even Sherlock managed to chuckle a little, though he still grumbled that he wasn't a child and could be trusted to not burn down the place.

Later that night, when John walked Greg down to the door, he stepped outside with him for a moment.

"Hey, if anyone asks, just tell them I went to visit an old army mate of mine. You won't be lying, just stretching the truth a bit," John grinned.

"I can do that. But there's more isn't there?" Greg asked.

John nodded, his face growing serious. "He's not handling this idea very well. I don't want him to be alone. He may need to be left alone the first few days I'm gone, and then he will be holed up with Mycroft for the duration of the mission so he can watch the video feed they'll be getting from it. But after that, he may need someone to talk to. Or someone to press him to talk… or just to give him something to do… I don't know."

Greg put a hand on his shoulder. "I admire you for doing this, John. I'll hold things down here, so you still have something to come back to. I can promise you that."

"Thanks, Greg." Giving each other a rough hug and slap on the back they parted, and John headed inside, feeling as if a bit of the weight on his shoulders had been lifted.

oOOooOOooOOo

Three days later John found himself crossing between buildings at Camp Bastion in the Helmund Province, Afghanistan. Wearing the new boots and combat fatigues issued to him, the Osprey body armor, and helmet, John felt himself falling back into the familiar soldier mentality. Having his side arm strapped to his side and the long range sniper rifle over his shoulder helped as well.

He had worn his dress uniform on the way over, but that was now packed into his bag along with the few other items he'd packed. He was keeping his bag with him, because he wasn't going to be staying long enough at Bastion to even sleep.

He spent the morning and early afternoon in an out of meetings with superior officers before reacquainting himself with a few things around the base, including the hospital. By mid-afternoon he was at the airfield, waiting for Col. Harrison and Lt. Roberts.

Feeling his phone buzz in his pocket, he set his duffle and rifle down at his feet and leaned against the wall. Pulling it out, he unlocked the screen and grinned looking at the hundreds of messages in the log between himself and Sherlock.

Pulling up the most recent one, John started chuckling.

We are out of milk. S

What did you do with it? S

I just bought a carton for you before I left! How can you be out already? J

Maybe Mrs. Hudson borrowed it. I couldn't have finished it already. S

Where are you now? S

Waiting at the airfield to catch our ride to the forward base of operations to meet with the rest of the team. J

No plane this time. It's to be helicopters from here on out. Once we take off in about 20 min. I may not be able to communicate with you until this evening. J

How long will that be? S

About six to seven hours from now. J

…

You can keep texting me, just know that if I don't respond, that's why. Not because there was any trouble. J

…

Sherlock? J

…

All right. When I land at the base, I will shoot you a quick text that I've landed. But I won't be able to do much more than that until after meeting the team and finding out what's laid out for us. J

John waited, this time allowing the silence between texts to linger longer than he had earlier. He knew this whole situation was hard for Sherlock to comprehend. Sherlock was so unused to real friends, he had difficulty with the concept that John could have other friends besides him, without jeopardizing their own friendship. That root of the insecurity seemed to bleed through all his texts.

John found himself having to constantly remind Sherlock that he was coming back home. Sherlock was under the impression that John would change his mind and decide to stay on in Afghanistan.

Finally his phone vibrated again.

Would we be able to talk on the phone before you head out? S

I mean, not text. S

John's eyebrows shot up in surprise. This was new. Sherlock hated to talk on the phone. If at all possible he preferred to text. Opting for a bit of humor, he typed out a response and hit send.

Are you or Mycroft going to foot the bill? J

He could almost feel the eye roll half way across the world as he waited for the reply.

I'll make sure my dear brother covers it. S

John stifled a snort, having no doubt that at least some of their texts were being intercepted by said "dear brother."

When should I call you? S

Actually, I will call you. I really won't know what my schedule is, or what is going to happen until I get to the forward base. J

I will text you first and try to give you a little lead time in case Lestrade calls you in for something. J

That won't happen. I have refused to take any cases for the next several days at least. S

Are you sure that's wise? Aren't you going to get bored? J

Not yet. S

Here comes my ride, Sherlock. Col. H and Lt. R are coming too. I will text you later. J

John… Good luck. S

Thanks. J

I will be all right. J

With that, John put his phone on silent and stowed it away in an inner pocket.

oOOooOOooOOo

That evening, surrounded by the team he'd be going into the field with, John found himself impressed with the men hand-picked by Col. Harrison. Everyone on the team knew at least two to three others, so though it was newly formed for this mission, a strong feeling of camaraderie already flowed. They had listened to some general briefings that evening and enjoyed dinner (as much as could be enjoyed from the mess tent) together.

Now one by one, the members departed to write emails, have a last smoke or settle in for the night. John slipped out of the tent into the night air that was finally cooling off. He sent of a quick text to Sherlock to let him know he was going to find a quiet place and then call.

Finally settling down, he dialed his friend's number. After multiple clicks and a momentary silence, a light hiss started in his ear, then he heard it start to ring.

oOOooOOooOOo

"John."

"Hey, Sherlock." John was surprised how clear the connection was.

"My brother probably has something to do with it," stated Sherlock, reading his mind, even across all that distance.

John laughed lightly, then sighed as he settled down on the ground.

"Where are you?" asked Sherlock.

"I'm sitting on the ground, my back to a boulder, at the edge of the camp. And yes, I am within the borders of the camp and have my gun with me and have my body armor and helmet on."

Sherlock sighed at the other end.

"So, where are you? On the sofa as usual?"

"Actually, I am on my bed. I wanted privacy and am fairly certain Mycroft doesn't have a camera in here. I also switched on that device he gave you, to make sure that any bugs that are in here are blocked for the duration of our call."

Though Sherlock's words were normal, his tone sounded anything but. He was trying too hard, and it wasn't fooling John one bit.

"We haven't had an easy couple of weeks, have we?" John murmured, cutting right to the heart of the issue.

The line was silent for a moment before John heard Sherlock quietly reply, "No. We haven't."

"My sharing with you about my experiences over here and what happened at Baskerville bothered you more than you let on, didn't it?" John asked, though he was certain he knew the answer.

"Yes." Another quiet reply. "I didn't expect to have such a strong reaction. To any of it."

John stayed silent, knowing Sherlock needed the time to try to put words to emotions he rarely acknowledged he had.

"I… I have never had a best friend before. I haven't been concerned for someone in a long, long time." Sherlock's voice sounded smaller somehow.

His words confirmed what Mycroft had told him, but he knew that Sherlock needed to tell him in his own words. He also knew sharing something similar from his past might encourage Sherlock to open up a bit.

"I had a few people back in school and university, just mates to hang out with once in a while. Bill Murray was my first real friend… until you. He's my friend and you're my best friend," John stated, allowing no room for misinterpretation.

He heard Sherlock sigh in something that sounded very close to relief. John smiled as slowly Sherlock started to talk, opening up over the phone in a way he would've most likely found much more difficult if they'd been face to face.

As his friend talked a little bit about his past, John's heart ached for the young man who had been so misunderstood all his life. He'd been lonely and friendless. That had only started to change after he met John.

Now he was afraid he was going to lose John and didn't want to go back to being alone again.

Oh, Sherlock didn't say so, not in so many words, but rarely did the two friends find the need to say every single thing. They were able to read the subtext, even when they were only connected by a phone call.

oOOooOOooOOo

John found he'd closed his eyes as Sherlock had been speaking. Opening them again, he glanced up and nearly gasped.

"John? What is it?" Sherlock's voice had a hint of panic in it.

"Oh, Sherlock. I forgot. I mean, I remembered the sky being brilliant here, but I forgot what it could look like at night."

"What do you mean?" asked Sherlock, the curiosity growing in his voice.

"The stars," John gasped, in awe once again at the beauty above him.

"Describe it to me, John."

"Hmm? Really?" John was surprised by the request.

"Afghanistan was such a part of your life for so long, learning more about the place is like learning more about you, too. It helped form you," Sherlock explained.

John's face split with a wide grin. "Sherlock, that sounds strangely like it might be sent…"

"Shut up, John," interrupted Sherlock, the warmth in his tone belying the words just spoken.

John chuckled and shifted to stretch out on his back in the dirt and sand to better watch the stars. As he did, the words began to flow.

oOOooOOooOOo

Thousands of kilometers away, Sherlock rolled away from the pillow he'd been clutching as he talked to John about his past. He felt drained and exhausted from putting into words bits and pieces that he'd attempted to delete or file far away from the lit areas of his Mind Palace.

At the same time he felt relieved that he had made the effort. Surprisingly, it felt… good… to know there was someone he trusted who knew more about him than others did. And he knew that what he shared was safe with John.

When he asked John to describe Afghanistan, he could sense John's surprise and almost disbelief that he'd be interested.

He heard John shifting over the connection. Without knowing it, Sherlock mirrored his position, pillowing his head on one arm, staring up at his ceiling. Night not having darkened his room yet, as John was hours ahead of him now, Sherlock closed his eyes to better picture what John started describing to him.

For all he ridiculed John about his writing, he was gifted with words. Sherlock could feel the heat of the desert with the harsh jagged mountains rising out of it. The green stripe of land along the river valley and fields and fields of poppies were as fresh in his mind as if he were there in person.

Then John started describing the night sky. The black velvet expanse covered with brilliant pinpricks of light, unmarred by any pollution and the pale swath of light that was the Milky Way, all framed by the darker edges of the hills and rocks around him.

Then he heard John gasp again. "Oh Sherlock," he said for the second time that night.

"What is it? What do you see now?"

"The moon is starting to rise. It's orange, because it's still so close to the horizon. Its upper edge is just barely clearing the tops of the hills to the east of me. And it's just a sliver. I… I wish you could be here to see this in person." There was a plaintive note in John's voice.

"I know, but the way you've described it, it seems like I am. I can almost see it, which is rare for me, if you must know."

John giggled a bit, and Sherlock felt a chuckle of his own rumble in his chest.

Sherlock let a moment or two of silence pass, then asked, "Will we be able to talk tomorrow?"

He heard John sigh, and dreading the inevitable rejection, Sherlock tried to backpedal. "Never mind. We don't have to. It was just an idea…"

"Sherlock, no… stop," John interrupted. "I want to talk to you. It isn't that. Tomorrow we are going to be going through every scrap of Intel, all the maps, and sorting out all the plans, plus our own equipment. Then the plan is to rest as much as possible for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening."

Sherlock stayed silent, listening to John shift around again.

John's voice dropped lower and became much quieter. "We don't have an exact departure time, because it depends on the weather, cloud cover, enemy movement, and so many other factors. But the tentative plan is to take off tomorrow after midnight, so they can get us to the drop zone, and we can do the two plus hour march to get in place before it gets light."

"Oh…" Sherlock sighed with relief.

Then he shivered as the reality of what John was saying started to sink in. At first he thought it was because John didn't want to talk to him (damned sentiment). But now that he knew the real reason, he wasn't sure he felt any better.

"Will you be able to text during the day at all?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. I'm not going to promise you anything. I just don't know how much time I will have. However, I will keep my mobile on me, and probably be able text a bit before I try to get some sleep." Sherlock noticed John's voice was sounding tired.

"Once we start our final preparations before we get the green light, Col. Harrison and I will get the cameras up and running and test them here at the base to make sure Mycroft is getting the signals clearly," John continued before Sherlock could say anything. "We will activate them again once we get on the helicopters heading out, and won't turn them off until we get back to the base again. But it's procedure to leave all personal devices at the base when going on a mission. So my mobile will stay in my bunk until I get back."

"All right, John. Thank you for letting me know." Sherlock paused, not wanting to say goodbye. But, he forced himself to think about his friend. "You're sounding tired. I doubt you got much sleep since you left here. You need to go and try to rest."

John's yawn came through loud and clear, causing Sherlock to let out a huff of laughter.

"I suppose I can't deny it, after that!" John laughed. "All right. I suppose I'd better go then." The reluctance in his voice made Sherlock feel better, knowing he wasn't the only one who didn't want to hang up.

"Listen, I'm not the only one who sounds tired. Why don't you just stay on your bed and try to get some sleep too?" John asked. "You sleep at odd enough hours, this shouldn't throw you off too much."

"I will try. It will help pass the time, at least," conceded Sherlock.

"Good. Then… goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John."

Sherlock regretfully hung up the phone. He realized he missed John more than he thought he would. It had helped a little to hear his voice.

Sighing, he rolled on his side to put his mobile on the bedside table and plug it in to the charger. Sherlock sat up just long enough to slide out of his dressing gown. Laying back down, he pulled his duvet up to his chin and buried his face in his pillow. Thinking of John's voice and the palpable awe as he'd described the night sky, Sherlock drifted away on a sea of stars, images of Afghanistan invading his dreams.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed the set up here. More action coming in the next chapter... Please read and review!