The moon shone bright over London as the rain drizzled down like tear drops from the clouds. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson-Holmes were laying in bed. Sherlock was asleep and nuzzled against his husband, wrapped tight in John's arms as he stroked the younger man's dark curls absentmindedly, staring at the wall.

Only a month left. How am I going to tell him?

He himself couldn't believe it, though he had read the letter countless times. The letter that held his fate. The letter that told him he was going back to Afghanistan. He had to read it about four times before it finally sunk in. Then the fifth time brought tears to his eyes. Not because he was worried about himself, but rather Sherlock. He had often told John that he was the only person that understood him, and now he was leaving, and may not come back.

It took him a minute to realise he was crying, and as he wiped away at the tears rolling down his cheeks, Sherlock woke up. He glanced up at his husband, then sat up, putting his hand on John's tear streaked cheek.
"John, what's wrong?"
John sniffled and looked at Sherlock. His Sherlock. His Sherlock that he would have to leave soon. He gave Sherlock a sad smile. "Nothing, love. Just a bad dream."
Sherlock narrowed his sleepy eyes, examining John's. "I know that's not true."
"Sherlock, I don't really think now is the time to talk about it."
"But it's upsetting you. What's wrong? And don't lie to me again you know that I can see through your pathetic fibs."
John sighed, fresh tears gathering in his eyes. "I, I got a letter in the mail today."
"What kind of letter?"
"I, I've been… called back to Afghanistan."
Sherlock was silent for a moment, letting the words sink in even though he didn't want them to.
"You… what?"
"I have to go back to Afghanistan."
"But, you, they can't do that. You were honorably discharged. You were injured, they can't do that!" Sherlock too had tears in his eyes now, and it broke John's heart.
"They can, Sherlock. My injury has healed, and they need me."
"But so do I." The tears began to roll down his cheeks and it was now John's turn to wipe the tears away from Sherlock's eyes, refusing to let his own fall.
"I'm so sorry, love." He pulled the younger man into a loving embrace as Sherlock sobbed into the crook of John's neck. John rubbed his husbands bare back soothingly, trying to offer some comfort.

"Ssh, It's going to be alright love, I promise. It's going to be alright."

"You can't leave me."

"I have to, love. I am so sorry."

"How long?"

"At the end of the month."

"No," Sherlock choked out, and his tears became more frequent. That wasnt enough time. "Maybe, maybe Mycroft can do something about it."

"There isn't, Sherlock, you know that. There is nothing anybody can do about it." Sherlock began to shake harder and John pulled him into his lap and rocked him back and forth gently as he cried, wishing he didn't have to leave him. They remained like that for some time, John cradling and rocking Sherlock as he cried. John had never seen Sherlock so upset, he normally didn't let his emotions show. And though it may have just been because the consulting detective was half asleep, but it hurt for John to see none the less. Finally, after about an hour, Sherlock fell back to sleep, leaving John and his broken heart alone in the silence. John kissed Sherlock's temple gently and laid down, not once moving his arms from around Sherlock