A/N: Sorry for the delay everyone. I have a horrible head cold, so I slowed down on the editing. Please let me know if there are any glaring errors! Hope you enjoy!

Also: At the end look for a timeline that I promised, but didn't want to put at the beginning as it would create spoilers for the story. A less detailed timeline should appear on my profile within a few days.

Two weeks later, John's leg was healed enough that he hardly limped. His ribs and shoulder were still quite tender though. He had to be careful how much he used his left arm as its range of motion was limited. However, John could still run and he could handle his gun because he shot right handed. Which was good, as he'd already chased Sherlock around the city after a criminal a few days ago.

The nightmares had eased and were less frequent, as well. Sherlock had been extremely attentive, and had tried multiple techniques to either wake him up, or ease him into a more restful sleep.

After his first marathon of nearly fifteen hours of sleep, John had barely managed to stay up for four hours before he was nodding in his chair. Sherlock sent him to bed, but after two extremely vivid and realistic nightmares, one of which he started throwing object across the room, he meekly allowed Sherlock to guide him firmly downstairs. Once he'd calmed down, Sherlock made sure he took more pain medication, then led him through the kitchen to his own room.

John had balked at first, but Sherlock insisted that being in a different room, with different surroundings and smells might make a difference. Sherlock firmly planted himself in a chair by the foot of the bed, pointed at the bed and told him to sleep. Reluctantly, John relaxed back against the pillows and pulled Sherlock's duvet up under his chin, surprising himself with how quickly he was able to fall asleep. Amazingly, it had worked and John had slept for nearly ten hours with no memory of any dreams.

The next time he started feeling tired, John insisted on going back to his own room. Sherlock sighed and followed him upstairs a few minutes later, carrying the blanket that had been tossed over the back of the sofa. He spread it on top of John's duvet, and pulled it up, tucking it around his shoulders. Sitting up in the midst of a nightmare, feeling the rough wool under his hands and smelling the familiar scents of home helped him come back to reality a little faster.

Each time he woke, Sherlock was there, waiting until John breathed his name. Then he would sit next to him on the bed, offering a solid presence or awkward hug until the fear racing through him eased.

John would have felt ashamed except, in the morning, Sherlock never mentioned the night before, and didn't treat him any differently. Eventually John settled down, feeling more secure in the knowledge that when he woke, Sherlock would be there, one way or another.

Lately, when his dreams started to be filled with images of blood and water, tunnels and insurgents bearing knives, sweet violin music would begin to weave through the images and slowly draw him out of those and away into a more restful sleep.

Without hardly a word, Sherlock had cared for John and met his needs, without being too overbearing or demanding. And he still managed to be his same annoying self during the day. John didn't know how he did it, or what had suddenly made him more perceptive (at least with John… he still wasn't any better with Lestrade or his team), but he was grateful.

oOOooOOooOOo

Now, John stood waiting impatiently in Heathrow, waiting for a plane to taxi to the gate in front of him.

His left arm wrapped comfortingly around a petite brunette next to him. With his right arm, he supported a dark blonde toddler perched on his hip. She was clinging to a stuffed bear and resting her head on his shoulder. Next to the brunette, a dark haired young man, in his mid-teens stood with affected nonchalance, given away by the way his brows knit together and his hands clenching into fists at his side.

Finally the plane arrived at the gate and the doors opened for the passengers to disembark. An elderly couple emerged first, one using a walker, the other a cane. As they cleared the doorway, John could see someone pushing a wheel chair.

There.

Finally.

John's shoulders sagged in relief when he saw his friend's familiar face and dark brown eyes searching the crowd for them.

Hearing a stifled sob next to him, John gave the woman's shoulder a squeeze, saying "Go ahead Vicki, go to him."

Without another word, she nearly ran, and fell to her knees next to the wheelchair. She tenderly, gently wrapped her arms around her husband's wounded body, hiding her tears in the front of his uniform shirt.

The young man made a move to follow her, when John put a hand on his arm.

"Give them just a moment, Will?"

Will nodded, waiting tensely next to John. John looked at him, hardly believing this young man was as tall as him already. He lifted his hand to Will's shoulder, and was rewarded by a shaky sigh, as he leaned, ever so slightly, into John's hand.

"I didn't expect to see so many… bandages," Will said.

John knew that even though this was Will's father, he wanted and needed to know the truth.

"He had multiple fractures in his arm, one that required a surgery over there. Then his leg needed a plate in it for one of the fractures, and will need at least one more here to make sure it's done right. He has broken ribs too. Those are the major things, but obviously there are more that we'll talk about later." John looked at Will's little sister in his arms, and Will nodded his understanding.

John watched Will as he took another breath, steadying himself.

"I know it's hard to see your Dad like this, Will. But he survived. We were able to locate and rescue him. He made it through multiple surgeries. He's home now and safe, and he will heal. Especially now that he has his family around him."

Will nodded, then started forward as his mom released her hold and stood, walking beside the wheelchair as they came closer to where they were waiting.

Will stopped awkwardly in front of the wheelchair, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His father said something John couldn't hear, but as Will knelt down he heard his broken, "Dad," as he rested his head on his father's shoulder allowing the tears to finally fall.

John waited with a gentle smile on his face, still holding the little girl in his arms until Will stood up. Setting her on her feet, he said to her, "Marie, go over to your daddy."

Marie looked up at John with wide eyes, and when he smiled at her, she gave a little nod and said, "Kay, Uncle John." She ran over and her father broke into a wide smile, despite the tears on his face. She got as close as she could to the man in the wheelchair, as he stroked her face and hair with his bandaged hand. She said something to him, and he gave a watery laugh, taking the proffered teddy bear from her outstretched hands, tucking it in securely next to him in the chair.

Then his eyes moved from his family, to seek the face of his friend.

John could feel a lump grow in his throat, seeing the family together, remembering all too clearly how they very barely avoided meeting a coffin rather than a wheelchair.

Vicki took control of the wheelchair from the flight attendant, and wheeled her husband closer to John.

Wiping the smile off his face, along with his tears, the soldier straightened as best he could in the wheelchair, snapping a salute. "Captain Watson."

Returning the salute with one of his own, John allowed himself to crack a smile, which his friend returned.

"Captain Murray."

"John." Bill Murray's smile widened and John drew closer. As Bill reached out, John wrapped an arm gingerly around him, well aware of his friend's extensive injuries.

"My God, Bill, you made it," he breathed. "For once, I am actually glad you are such a stubborn git." Even though he'd seen him earlier, he'd hardly dared to believe he was safe until he was back in London.

They both chuckled as they pulled apart, unashamed of the tears on their faces.

"It's good to see you again, John," Bill said. He looked briefly around the large, busy airport. "But, why do there appear to be undercover agents scattered all over?"

"Seriously?" John froze and his eyes narrowed.

Uh oh, whoever is behind this is in trouble now. I've seen that look before.

Bill smirked to himself as John wiped his face before he turned abruptly and walked over to the nearest CCTV camera.

He stood there and pointedly glared into it. Within moments, Bill noticed the agents slowly withdrawing and leaving their vicinity. He shook his head as John walked back to them and they started moving to leave the airport as well.

"What was that about? Who were they?"

John snorted. "My flatmate's big brother is a little over protective of him. It seems that over protectiveness extends to me, as well."

"Your flatmate… Sherlock Holmes?"

"The one and only," John smiled.

"Where is he?" questioned Bill. He'd expected to see him appear next to John as soon as he had greeted his family.

"I sort of made a deal with him. He practically threw a fit because he wanted to be here. I reminded him that there would be a considerable amount of sentiment. He was almost convinced, then attempted to tell me it wouldn't be a problem." John sighed. "The only reason he didn't come is because I told him he could meet you once you recovered a bit more. And… I might have threatened him with certain death if he interfered."

"He didn't like that, did he?" laughed Bill.

"Not one bit," John smiled back. "So far, I am very, very surprised at his restraint."

"Why would he be so keen on meeting me? It's not like I've done anything special." Bill looked at John with confusion evident on his face.

"Oh don't start, Bill or I'll start listing things," threatened John.

Vicki giggled when she saw Bill roll his eyes.

"Like I told you before, Sherlock seems to have taken an immense interest in my history the past four or five weeks." John suppressed a shudder, thinking of all that had happened during that time.

"You are part of my past, so by extension, he is interested in you, as well," John stated with finality in his tone.

Bill knew what that tone meant too. However, he also knew how to break through that. Once he got settled and rested up a bit, he and John were going to sit down and have a proper talk.

John was thankful when they reached the entrance to the airport. Getting through the doors, he closed his eyes momentarily and sighed, shaking his head. He should have known better.

Bill's jaw dropped for just as second upon seeing the long, sleek black car idling at the curb. Waiting outside the car, leaning against the door, was none other than the world's only consulting detective.

"Sherlock, I thought I told you…" John started to say, exasperation evident in his tone.

Sherlock scanned everyone, his eyes drinking in details only he could see.

"Sherlock," warned John. "No. Just no. Keep your observations to yourself."

A small smirk curling the corners of his lips, Sherlock turned and opened the door of the car. John could see there was enough room for all of them to get inside.

Sherlock gestured for Vicki, Will and Marie to get in. They looked at John with questions in their eyes, but slid into the car at his nod.

As John looked at him, puzzled with his uncharacteristic restraint, Sherlock walked around him to the wheelchair Bill was in. Very gently, he maneuvered the wheelchair around so John could more easily help Bill into the waiting car.

John caught Sherlock's eye, communicating his thanks wordlessly before he focused his attention on the man in the wheelchair.

"Come on, Bill. Let's get you situated." As Bill started to shift in the chair to attempt to help, John pulled back and glared at him. "Keep your arm tucked in and for goodness sake, let me do the hard work. It's going to hurt enough as it is. Don't be stubborn and make it worse!"

John heard Sherlock stifle a snort behind him, but chose to ignore it. John did the best he could to make it as painless as possible, but there was no way to keep from jarring Bill's injuries as he did the transfer. Even with Vicki helping, Bill was left gray-faced and breathless, his forehead and bangs damp with a cold sweat.

John felt Bill's pulse racing far too fast for his liking, and knew, without having to ask, how much pain Bill was in. Sherlock had disappeared around the side of the car with the wheelchair but reappeared momentarily with John's medical bag.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I was in such a rush to get here, I didn't even think about needing it." John knew Sherlock could hear the relief in his voice.

"I'll meet you back at the flat, when you are able to return. There is an overnight bag in the boot, should you require it," Sherlock said softly to John. Leaning in the door, he directed his attention to Bill and Vicki where they sat next to each other.

"I am pleased to have had the opportunity to see you, however briefly. Don't be too stubborn to let John look after you, Captain Murray. He is quite proficient in overriding all protests to the contrary, as I have learned the hard way." Giving a small, but genuine smile, he said, "Good day."

With that, Sherlock straightened back up and nodded at John.

"Sherlock…"

"The car and driver are at your disposal until you decide to return to Baker Street."

"But Sherlock," John sputtered. He stepped away from the car and reached out, catching the sleeve of his coat. "Why… what's all this about?" he finally got out. "This is unusual, even for you. You can't tell me that you're doing this just to meet Bill, despite my protests."

Sherlock turned around. His eyes were alive with unfamiliar, unexpected intensity… and emotion.

"It was to meet Bill despite your protests." Sherlock smirked a little before he glanced away at the crowd moving around them. "I can't imagine getting him home in a taxi would have been very conducive to his health."

When he looked back at John, his eyes were shuttered, and John was unable to read anything.

"Go take care of your friend and his family. I will see you when you get back."

John must have imagined it, but he thought Sherlock's voice sounded a bit strained when he said "friend." He couldn't possibly be concerned that now that Bill is home, that… Not after our conversation a couple of weeks ago. John shook his head, dismissing the thought.

Sherlock gave John one more piercing glance, no doubt reading his thoughts, and then turned abruptly and disappeared down the crowded street.

Shaking his head in bemusement, he climbed into the car, shutting the door. He was warmed by Sherlock's thoughtfulness. And also a little worried. Though things had been getting back to normal and Sherlock had been giving him space when he'd needed it, this… this was definitely a step above and beyond for Sherlock.

Giving the driver the Murrays' address, John looked at his friend sitting slumped against the seat, his eyes closed. The doctor in him taking over, he noted the pain so evident in Bill's face, and Vicki's worry as she watched her husband.

He opened his bag, and withdrew a syringe.

"No, John. I don't…"

John cut him off before he could finish. "Bill you heard what Sherlock said, let me take care of you for once. This will be just enough to get you home and settled. We'll pull out the big guns later."

Bill just sighed and resigned himself to being fussed over for a while, not that he would mind it too much, after everything he'd gone through.

John watched his friend's face relax as the morphine took hold. He smiled at Vicki as he disposed of the needle and syringe in his bag, and settled back in his seat for the drive.

He pulled out his phone and started a text message.

Thank you for arranging this, Sherlock. J

…

How many cases is this going to cost us with Mycroft? J

Three. S

…

Four. S

Is there anything else I should know? Anything else we owe him? J

I don't want to talk about it. S

Really? J

…

Sherlock? J

Not now. S

…

You're welcome, John. S

John put his phone away with a sigh and a smile. Looking across the car at his friend, he was overwhelmed. He couldn't believe the amazing luck they'd had.

He turned and blindly looked out the window as they traveled through London and headed to the outskirts of town.

oOOooOOooOOo

Sherlock? You awake? J

…

…

What are you doing up so late? S

I haven't been able to sleep. J

…

Besides, I'm giving Vicki a chance to rest. She will need to take care of Bill on her own tomorrow night. I'll be coming home later tomorrow afternoon. J

You will? This is only the second night you've been there. S

Bill's really doing pretty well. He needed to talk. I needed to keep his pain managed. Now that both are accomplished I can come home. J

…

He will be seeing his own doctor on Monday. Vicki was a nurse and can handle his care tomorrow afternoon and night. J

I didn't anticipate you would return so quickly. S

Do you not want me to? J

No! I mean, I do… want you back here… that is. S

John smiled. He loved that he could tell Sherlock was fumbling for words, even through his texts.

So, what is really keeping you awake? S

…

Nightmares again? S

…

John? Was that one of the things I shouldn't have asked? S

No. It's fine. I… listening to Bill heightened my own nightmares a bit. J

I woke myself up once in the middle of the night last night, and decided I'd better not go back to sleep unless I wanted to wake the whole house. J

Ah. Well. Most likely a sound decision. S

How did you get through today? S

I took a nap for a few hours. As long as it's light out, I seem to be able to keep from dreaming too much. J

Maybe it's the noise of people moving around the house. It might keep you more grounded, even in your sleep. S

You might have something there. J

John set his phone on the arm of the chair next to him and tried to read. Eventually he gave up and rested the book on his lap, his head leaning against the back of his chair as he looked out the window. After hearing all Bill had gone through, and thinking through the past weeks since Baskerville, John decided he was really looking forward to returning home.

He smiled slightly at the thought. Home. His new normal. Living with the world's only Consulting Detective, solving crimes together. He wouldn't trade it for the world.

After a couple hour break, John's phone pinged with an incoming text.

John? S

Yes? J

Did I wake you? S

Nope. J

What are you doing? S

Reading and checking on Bill every couple of hours. J

Oh. S

Did you need something? J

…

Sherlock? J

I'm fine. S

What's wrong? J

…

Tell me or I'm going to call you. J

I'm fine. It's all fine. S

I will send Greg over there, or call Mrs. Hudson… J

…

I'm not kidding. If I call and you don't answer… J

NO! I said I was fine. S

…

Fine. It's too quiet. S

Are you bored or lonely? J

…

Sherlock? J

… both… S

It's ok. I am too. J

…

…

Even there with Bill and his family? S

Yes. I told you earlier home is Baker Street, with my mad flatmate and friend. J

Oh. S

…

Thank you. S

John raised his eyebrows at the screen on his mobile. Did Sherlock Holmes just say 'thank you?'

Sherlock, if you don't have a case, try to get some sleep. J

I suppose. Only if you will be home tomorrow night. S

I will be. I promise. J

John smiled again to himself, imagining Sherlock pacing the sitting room, worrying and driving himself insane. He was like a little child in some ways, needing constant reassurances. John found he didn't mind providing them.

oOOooOOooOOo

Later the next day, Sherlock sat in his chair across from John. He was trying to look through a cold case file, but found himself unable to concentrate. His eyes kept straying to study John's face and posture as he settled in to read a book.

He was relieved to have him home again. Sherlock had watched his reunion with Bill Murray and his family. He'd even made it easy for John to go home with them, but as they'd pulled away from the airport together, Sherlock felt something inside him sink. Logically, he knew that Murray had needed John, but he'd been extremely relieved when John texted him that he'd be home Sunday night.

He had so many questions for John. He wanted to know what he'd talked with Murray about that he hadn't shared with Sherlock yet. He wanted to know if he was right… that during that six month gap in his service records, John had been captured like Murray and… tortured. The nightmares John had when he'd gotten home from the rescue mission, along with the things John would and wouldn't say all pointed in that direction.

John glanced up at him from his book, a knowing smile on his face. Sherlock looked back down at the file in his lap, not fooling John one bit.

"No questions right now, ok Sherlock?" John requested, reading him perfectly.

Sherlock stifled a sigh of frustration, though by John's snort, he hadn't done very well with that either. He rolled his eyes, still pretending to look at the file on his lap. When he looked back up, John had gone back to reading, his posture relaxed and his face open and calm in the firelight.

Sherlock studied John a couple of minutes longer. He detected nothing that hinted at deception on John's part. He was content. John was able to unplug from all that had happened. So, Sherlock forced himself to let go of the rest of the tension he'd been holding in. It was distracting.

Besides, he had a cold case to look at. Flipping through the paperwork and pictures with new energy, he suddenly spotted it. Jumping to his feet with a shout of triumph, he threw the file on the floor minus the pictures and spread them out all over the desk.

"Sherlock!" John griped at him. "Stop bounding around! And stop throwing those photos. I don't want to have to clean it all up when you're done."

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand at him as he texted Lestrade. When he didn't answer his text immediately, he dialed his number, grumbling.

"Lestrade! It's the cat! What? No… no! The Porter cold case. The maid has a cat. Of course it's important. There is cat hair all over the crime scene. No. Fine! I'll bring it by in the morning."

Dropping his phone on the desk in disgust, Sherlock flopped back into his chair.

"Greg didn't think he needed to know the information at ten at night?" John asked.

"No, he said it could wait until the morning since it had waited nearly eight years."

At John's laugh, Sherlock glared at him. "I just solved the case for him, and now I have to wait until tomorrow!"

Silence fell in the room as John chuckled and settled back into his book. It was broken only by the sounds of a crackling fire, an occasional rasp of a page being turned, and the muted hum of traffic outside. Sherlock sprawled in his chair, his eyes half closed. He consciously put aside all his other concerns for the time being. He could pick those up tomorrow.

For once, Sherlock let himself sink into the peace of the moment and actually enjoy it.

oOOooOOooOOo

He didn't know that in just over a week, Moriarty would close his web around him.

He didn't know he would end up on the roof of St. Bart's, forced to say goodbye to his first and only best friend.

He didn't know he would have three years of hell to endure before he would finally find himself returning home.

a/n: Below is the promised timeline. I will only do Series 2 and later, as all my stories fall in that area. It will have some extra details in there. Be aware, I actually looked at a 2012 calendar, and between that, John's blog (by BBC) and a friend's timeline (Lady Sam Mallory) put this all together.

The Hound of Baskerville (early March 2012)

Break-ins and Moriarty Trial (Early April, 2012) - as shown in The Reichenbach Fall

Afghanistan Comes Home (April 23-26, 2012)

Returning Home (April 28-June 3, 2012)

***Captain Evans' funeral (April 28, 2012)

***John in Afghanistan (May 3-18, 2012)

***Murray comes home (June 1, 2012)

***John stays weekend with Murray Family (June 1-3, 2012)

The Reichenbach Fall (June 2012)

***Called in on Kidnapping case (June 10, 2012)

***Sherlock jumped (June 12, 2012)

In Between (June 12, 2012-August 2015)

Power of Music (January 2012)

I hope that makes sense. If you have any questions, just PM me and I will be glad to answer them! :)