Remembrance Sunday
The day that everyone commemorates all those that have died for Queen and country, and it hits John hard.

John lay in bed early that morning, and he quietly got up, careful not to disturb Sherlock. He slipped on his clothes, and pulled on his shoes and coat before taking his phone and keys as he left the flat.

He arrived twenty minutes later in his army flat. He checked his watch, almost 9:30am, as he unlocked the front door to his army flat. He pulled out a box containing the remaining of his good friend Mark's belongings. He looked at the dog tag: "Mark, full of joy and love." the message on the dog tag necklace read. John pulled his out from under his shirt. The engraving was simple: "Doctor John Watson, the man that will happily give his own life for others." John let his fingers trace the engraved letters as he pulled out his own box full of Afghanistan memoirs. John let his dog tag necklace hang loose as he pulled out a photograph of him on his last visit home. It was taken the last time he came home on leave, weeks before he was shot. In the picture, John doesn't look like him; he looked dull and lifeless.

John slipped off his jacket and continued to look through all of the pictures, ones of him with all his friends when they were all alive, just a week into their army career. John wiped away a loose tear as he remembered that night after a week in Afghanistan; they sung and joked with each other. The next day, the first of their group died. It hit home just how hard being a soldier was, and how no one was safe.

John checked his watch; he'd been gone 45 minutes. John placed his photo album back in the box, and pushed it back under the bed. He hung his head, and let another tear fall.
"Out of fifteen good men, I had to be the one to survive..." John muttered to himself and let tears fall down his cheeks.

Two minutes to eleven, and John is at the graveyard near the army flats. He placed down his wreath of poppies in front of the Afghanistan memorial, which was continually having names added. Names of the brave, the young and old soldiers.

At eleven, he whispered. "We will remember them." And as he paid his respects, he began to cry once more. For months, he'd been distracted from the truth, the truth that he was just a vulnerable ex-army doctor that missed his good friends that had died in front of him. John staggered backwards at the power of the memory, the sound of bullets flying past his ear. He looked at one friend, who had just been killed. He turned to his other friend to warn him, but he was dying. John had to keep moving, he couldn't even say goodbye.

He started to sink towards the ground, overpowered by Afghanistan. The smell of blood and sand crowding his senses. Strong, long arms held John upright, and pulled him into his chest and stroked his light brown hair, trying to comfort him.
"John, it's ok. You're not in Afghanistan anymore." Sherlock held John close and he didn't care that people were staring. John looked up at Sherlock, tears streamed down his face and his eyes red. Sherlock gently wiped away John's tears and kissed his forehead.
"It's ok; you're not in Afghanistan anymore." John nodded slightly and shook in Sherlock's arms and whispered.
"How did you know I was here?"
"John, it's not that hard. It's Remembrance Sunday; do you think I would've forgotten? This is the closest graveyard and war memorial to us, and to your army flat." Sherlock kissed his forehead again.
"They shouldn't have died."
"No one should die at the hand of war." Sherlock pressed their foreheads together and read out the engraving on the dog tag necklace.
"Doctor John Watson, the man that will happily give his own life for others... Don't ever give up your life for anyone, and that includes me. We go down, we go down together."
"Sherlock..." John gently kissed Sherlock, and entwined their hands. "Thank you for coming after me. I need you." Sherlock squeezed John's hand.
"I will always come after you. You're my heart and my oxygen." Sherlock stroked John's cheek to brush away loose tears.
"The last person that said that was my previous girlfriend. She never came after me..." John looked away slightly and back at the Afghanistan memorial. Sherlock held John's cheek and looked into his eyes.
"I'm not like anyone else. I promise you, I will come after you. Always." John smiled and rested his head against Sherlock's chest, listening to his heart beat for comfort as he remembered his fellow soldiers, before him and Sherlock slowly left the memorial and caught a taxi back to their flat, their hands never letting go of each other.

Short fic about Remembrance Sunday for John, as today is Remembrance Sunday. May all those who died rest in peace.

Olivia xx