To Make Life Worth Living

~15~

"It was over a year since I'd returned from Afghanistan and we decided to have Hamish since Richard would be finishing too in a few months. Hamish arrived on time thanks to the surrogate but things got complicated with Richard. It's hard to explain but things got nasty out there so they had to extend his deployment another year. We were lucky we still got him home every few months because there was always the risk of him not being allowed to leave... He was far more important over there then me." He gave a weak chuckle, "Anyway, it was about 4 months before he was coming home for good when it actually happened. It was- it was a car bomb." John raised his shaking hand to cover his lips.

His grey eyes turned into leaking oceans. He coughed, clearing his throat.

"The worst thing is... He volunteered to go. One of the soldiers was sick so Richard stepped up and offered to take the patrol. It's just so stupid. He'd do anything for anyone." Anger pierced him. "He would have still been here. Still alive."

The tears were silent. John stared into the corner as they fell almost as though he wasn't even aware of their existence. Sherlock's eyes, however, were glued to these tears, foreign objects on a brave man's face.

"I'm sorry." The detective's voice rose just enough to match the intensity of the silence. "I'm sorry." He pulled John into him again for the second time in a day and gently held him. He knew John needed security and protection right now and he was going to try his damnedest to offer that.

There was a sniffle from the smaller man and Sherlock released him, "Last year... It was different. I was still grieving so I didn't -couldn't- do what I did this year. I wasn't strong enough to do it so this year was the first time since I'd started to feel more stable about it. It felt like I'd betrayed him by being happy."

"Betrayed?! I have never met Richard but from what I've heard he would be livid to hear you've been living in guilt due to you being actually happy. Do you really think he'd want you to spend the rest of your life unable to actually live?"

John shook his head weakly.

They sat in silence for a little while. It was getting late but it didn't matter to them. They needed this, both of them. The rain patterned against the window pane.

"How did you meet him?" Sherlock mused eventually.

"Well..."

-Memory-
The steady beeping was the first thing that broke through and into his consciousness. It was a sound he knew all too well to ignore and it's rhythmic beep eased him back from the darkness of sleep.

He opened his eyes slowly, only seeing a slit of his surroundings for a while. He recognised the faded yellow of the ceiling well enough to know the walls also matched. He shifted slightly to hear the tell-tell rustling of crisp, clean(but over washed) hospital bedding.

He was about to make more observations when a voice, steady like an incoming tide, stopped him.

"I see you're awake, Watson." The voice, powerful and smooth spoke as though it's owner had great knowledge.

"Yes..." John answered uncertainly. He couldn't remember what happened or what he did to end up inside one of the hospital rooms on base.

There was a laugh, "I'm glad you are because last time I said that you were still unconscious. I'm glad I was alone otherwise I would have appeared to be a great lumbering fool." There was the noise of a heavy boot moving closer, "Do you need anything? Water? Help sitting up?"

"Yeah, both if that's alright." John admitted, trying to shuffle himself up. Strong but gentle hands helped him to prop up against the stiff pillows which allowed John to peer at his helper.

A tall, tanned, brown haired man stood close to his bed. A smile decorated his open face which had a minor case of stubble. John instantly liked the man due to his friendly manner. He seemed to be waiting for questions but, when John didn't start asking, he began to give the answers anyway.

"There was a minor explosion during the retrieval of one of the trucks from up the mountain where they had that stand off last week. But don't worry, I can see you're already panicking, nobody got hurt apart from you and you were only really knocked unconscious when you fell from the blast. We were worried about concussion." He smiled, "Needless to say, I was scared to death when I'd only been on base a few days and the best medic in the whole of the British army got carried in on a stretcher. Thought perhaps this was your desperate attempt to get out of my base!" He chuckled. "Anyway, Sarah and I ran up and got you while the boys fetched the truck." John knew Sarah she was the other medic here.

John couldn't help laughing too despite the man's explanation being littered with compliments. He blushed, looking down at the blanket covering him. A plastic cup of water appeared in front of him. The soldier was holding it out and John took it shakily.

"Don't worry, you'll be right as rain real soon."

"How do you know? Are you a doctor?" John laughed, smiling at the man.

"No but I just have a good feeling. Let me go and get Sarah to confirm my diagnosis!"

---

Sarah walked in moments later with the soldier. She raised her eyebrow upon setting eyes on John.

"Nope, he definitely has concussion." She said.

"How can you possibly tell from over here?" In awe, the other man cried.

"Because he appears to have taken to you and who in their right mind would like Major Nice-guy?"

He laughed sarcastically, "Hardy har har! Stick to the day job." He grinned like a boy up to mischief. "Anyway, I'm off! I'll come and visit soon, Dr Watson."

The man was just about to walk out the door when John stopped him, "Wait! What's your name?"

He beamed, smile completely straight, unlike the cheesy romance novels, but it still came across roguish, "Major Richard Basett at your service." He did a minor bow before leaving swiftly.

It was merely seconds later that Sarah spoke, "John, if you could have hearts in your eyes you would."