"But it's the Solar System!" John yelled.

Ugh, not this argument again.

"Oh, Hell! What does it matter? So what if we go around the Sun, or around the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear? It wouldn't make any difference! None of it matters. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots. Put that in your blog. Or better still; stop inflicting your opinions on the world."

John was just about tired of this argument and the stubborn man before him. No, not 'just about'; he was tired of this. Granted, there was something spectacular about Sherlock, but his attitude was just getting progressively worse as the days went on with no cases or anything to entertain him.

"I'm going out. I need some air." John said gruffly. Anything to be away from there.

Sherlock started to sink down further into the couch, but instead got up and grabbed John's arm.

"Wait." Sherlock called, surprising himself and the ex-army doctor.

John looked up at Sherlock and quelled his temper. Patiently, he asked,

"What?"

Now that Sherlock had John, he didn't know what to say. He didn't even know why he stopped the doctor in the first place. Something came over him and moved him to get the doctors attention.

"I was out of line with that last comment." Sherlock stated as he backed away a couple of steps.

Sherlock knew that he should have said more, but for once he had no clue what to say to the shorter man before him.

John was slightly taken aback by what seemed to be an apology. The good doctor then calmed himself and nodded.

"Uh, yeah. It's fine." John replied while sitting back down in his chair. He was completely unsure of the change of atmosphere and didn't know what to do.

A few seconds later, there was a knock at the door and the sound of sweet old Mrs. Hudson walking in with bags of groceries.

"Yoohoo. You boys alright? It's awfully quiet." Mrs. Hudson said as she placed the groceries in the kitchen.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. Everything is fine." John replied while opening his laptop to do...something. He didn't know what to do anymore. He needed something, but what? He looked over at Sherlock and got an idea.

"There's an exhibit at the museum on anthropologic findings in the Middle East. Want to go?" John suggested to the detective.

Sherlock, at the time, was trying to think of a way to get his gun back from John so he could shoot the walls some more when he heard John's suggestion. He opened his mouth to reply "dull" but stopped himself. He had already angered John once that morning, and didn't have any intention of repeating that.

"Fine. Sounds intriguing." Sherlock replied instead. He couldn't help but allow his sarcasm to seep through his words.

John chuckled to himself as he grabbed his wallet off of the desk and his jacket off of his chair.

"We're off, Mrs. Hudson." he bid farewell to their landlady.

John couldn't help but feel a little excited. He was going to finally see the positive, resourceful, historical side of the Middle East, rather than the war. The fact that Sherlock was joining made him a little bit happier to know that he wasn't going to relive old memories alone.

Sherlock looked at John and a small smile slid onto his lips. John seemed so happy at the thought of going to this exhibit. Sherlock started to follow the doctor, but then realized that he was still in his pajamas and dressing gown.

"John, I may need a moment to change, unless you'd rather I went like this."

John turned and realized the error. A very faint blush rose to his cheeks at the thought of someone going to a public place in their pajamas. It just simply wasn't done. It may have been found at the grocery stores in America, but not at the museums in London.

"Er, sure. Go change, please." John replied while wondering to the kitchen.

"I'll be back in a moment." Sherlock said while walking to his room. There, he changed and was back in the kitchen in a matter of minutes.

When he came into the kitchen, Sherlock stopped and watched John for a couple of moments. Sherlock stared at John and thought quietly to himself. Was he really sure about this? He and John didn't do much in public together that didn't involve a case. Why should they start now? Doing things in public with someone was odd for Sherlock – especially if it didn't involve a crime scene. Sherlock looked over John and began thinking about his latest experiment. He hated whatever feelings he was experiencing. Honestly, he didn't know what they were. John was sort of staring into space before he realized that Sherlock was in the room again.

"Ready to go?" he said, slightly startled when he noticed the taller man.

Sherlock simply nodded, grabbed his coat, and started for the door. This took John out of his sluggish daze as he followed in suit of the detective towards the museum. The skies outside were bleak and promised rain and cold temperatures for the rest of the day. John frowned a little but appreciated the consistency of London.

"Lovely day, isn't it, Sherlock?" John declared with mirth in his voice.

Sherlock just shrugged. He didn't see any beauty in the skies above that would appeal to John's senses. It was only then that it occurred to Sherlock that John was being sarcastic. He looked over to the doctor with a questioning look and John nodded and looked ahead in response. Apparently, to John, Sherlock's sarcasm skills only worked on Sherlock. That thought made John sigh a little as they rounded the corner and took in the sight of the museum. They looked up at the columns and observed. The grooves were almost large enough for a man to squeeze between.

John looked over at the exhibit poster and groaned inwardly. There was a speaker from his past that was at the exhibit that day. John looked over to Sherlock and wondered if there would be some way to get away from the old dogged past that haunted him like ghosts.

Sherlock looked down at John as they walked towards the exhibit and wondered what made the usually calm doctor so tense. He seemed perfectly fine until they walked into the museum. As the men rounded the corner, John found sight of the speaker. Not wanting to make eye contact, he quickly turned to walk briskly away, not wanting to grab any attention, but instead rammed straight into Sherlock.

"John, what's wrong?" Sherlock asked the shorter man. John's face was pale and his eyes were dilated. Sherlock took a hold of both of John's arms and steadied him. John looked terrified.

John glanced at Sherlock's hands on his shoulders and was thrown off guard. Sherlock never touched him for more than a second at best. Not wanting to make a scene, John just shook his head.

"Um, nothing. I just need some-" he was cut off by an all too familiar voice.

John closed his eyes and remained calm, but on the inside he was in a riot against having to face an old demon. Instead, he gently turned out of Sherlock's grasp and faced his old commanding officer.

"Hello, Major Griffin." John greeted coldly. The men then exchanged salutes.

John went completely stiff from head to toe as the man before him completely relaxed without any qualms.

"Watson, it's good to see you. Who's this?" the Major asked, looking at Sherlock with a hint of skepticism in his countenance.

"Sherlock Holmes, a friend." Sherlock said.

He studied the man with a glance. Military, judging by the tan and hair. Just got back from either a holiday or from deployment. No tan above the wrists. Deployment then. High ranking officer judging from his stance and the way John addressed him. He'd been John's commanding officer. Mustard stain on his left lapel, which showed that he was not an extremely careful man. Finally, judging from John's stance and uncharacteristic tone, Sherlock deduced that this Major Griffin was somewhat responsible for John's injury.

"Ah, nice to meet you Mr. Holmes." the Major greeted, holding his hand out as a friendly greeting.

John remained still and tried to keep himself in check. Memories of this man were not ever welcome company, and he tried to forget them.

"Major, how did you come about lecturing for an anthropological study?" John asked politely, wanting to make small talk. He didn't exactly favor the idea of Major Griffin becoming too chummy with his friend. Surprisingly enough, Sherlock, who loved attention, did not take the Major's hand. Sherlock had it settled that since Major Griffin caused John's accident, he did not want to show this man any acknowledgement.

John noticed Sherlock's lack of interaction and relaxed a little.

"They needed someone to talk about the war in the next exhibit over. Why don't you join? We could use your experience." the Major suggested with a little too much mirth in his voice. Griffin then clapped John on the back and John felt a pinching pain against his bad shoulder. Thinking nothing of it, since it was his bad shoulder, he kept a straight face.

John glanced over at Sherlock to see what his response would be on the matter. He was considering telling Griffin that he had to visit with an old friend soon and couldn't when Sherlock spoke up. With an expression of ice, Sherlock placed his hand back on John's arm. John jumped a bit.

"Don't we need to get back to the case, John?"

Of course! A case!

"Oh, yes. Yes we do. Sorry, that I couldn't assist you, Major." John said.

The Major smirked at John as they exchanged a farewell salute and walked on his way. John sucked in his breath and grabbed Sherlock's sleeve and walked swiftly in the opposite direction. Sherlock stopped them when they reached the outside of the museum. Knowing that something was hidden from him, he turned to the doctor.

"What did he do to you?" Sherlock asked bluntly.

John shook his head and walked with the detective, "I wasn't supposed to be on the field that day. He pulled me to the side and demanded I go. At that point in time, I didn't have much choice then, now did I?" John paused to scrape gum off of his shoe. Bloody teenagers.

"He also neglected to tell me when he first spotted the enemy out there. A few minutes later..." John made a pew noise with his mouth and sighed, "Never really liked the bloody man either."

"Moron." Sherlock mumbled, "Well, if it helps, he didn't sign up for this position."

John laughed a little, "No, I guess not. So have you heard from Lestrade?"

John was trying to change the subject. He didn't like what pictures were trickling back to his mind like acid.

"Nothing. Did all the interesting criminals go on holiday?" Sherlock sighed, as if it were the worst thing in the world. He didn't want to leave John's story though. That was interesting to the detective at that point, since nothing else reached out to entertain him.

"John, what else happened? That can't be all of it."

John looked ahead and walked in step with Sherlock, "There's not much else that happened." He replied swiftly.

Suddenly, John heard a loud sound that came from Baker Street. Startled and concerned, the men ran to the source of the problem and saw what mess they were in this time.

There was rubble everywhere and the flats across the street from theirs were completely destroyed. John hoped that there were no people in the flats at the time of the explosion.

"John?" Sherlock asked after a minute of shock.

By that time though, John already had Sherlock's arm and was running to their flat to find Mrs. Hudson. As they came to the door, John saw her inside Speedy's. A sigh of relief escaped him as he let go of Sherlock's arm and surged forward to see if Mrs. Hudson was unharmed.

"I'm alright, John. There was a gas leak apparently. I was in the back of my flat, so I didn't see what exactly happened." she assured them both.

John nodded and proceeded towards the door to their shared flat. Walking up the stairs, he could already smell smoke, but gasoline wasn't a proponent of the scent.

"Sherlock, do you smell that?"

"Yes I do. It wasn't a gas leak. No gas would cause that much damage. Someone did this on purpose."

John walked through the flat and suddenly felt dizzy. Groping for his chair, John buckled onto his right knee as images of the war shot though his mind and his head was spinning. The smell got a little stronger before John laid himself flat on the floor, army crawling to the door slowly.

"John?" Sherlock knelt down beside him, "John, what's wrong?" he put his hand on the doctor's shoulder.

John looked up at Sherlock, "Cover...nose...drugged..." John managed to squeak out before grabbing onto Sherlock, "Out!"

John hoped that Sherlock would be able to drag him out of the room. Something caused him to become disoriented as he relived his army days in his mind...that specific day at least. Sherlock knew what was going on and covered his nose as precaution as he dragged the doctor out of the room. He pulled him to the stairs and shut the doors of the flat. After pulling John up into a sitting position, he placed his hands on either side of John's face.

"John, are you alright? Are you alright!?" Sherlock was panicking. John looked absolutely dazed and horrified.

John cleared his head as best as he could and gave a thumb's up. He could feel Sherlock's hands on his face and felt a blush rise to his cheeks. At that moment another memory flashed though his mind and he flinched towards Sherlock, trying to protect himself. John tried his best to breathe steadily and calm himself. He had no clue what drug was in his system or how Sherlock wasn't affected. All that the doctor knew was that he needed someone to stay with him...preferably someone who was six feet tall with a brain the size of a watermelon. That last thought made John giggle a little.

"Sh..Sherlock. I'm fine...Just need some water." John replied. John then lost his balance and dropped his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around his doctor and held him close. John was trembling from his vivid "day-mares" and held on to the detective. Sherlock was more shocked at his actions than John, but then again, he wasn't. Even Sherlock Holmes was not exempt to surprising himself occasionally. John then flinched and let out a sharp cry of pain and horror, which caused Sherlock's focus to hone in on the man he was holding.

"John, I'm right here. Whatever you're remembering isn't real. You're not there, you're here. John, I'm here." Sherlock soothed.

John breathed out and pushed his head towards Sherlock's neck. The warmth there and the stability that Sherlock provided made John feel somewhat better. The memories weren't going away, but he wasn't as terrified when Sherlock talked to him. John breathed against Sherlock's collar and gripped onto his shirt.

"Sherlock...don't stop talking...please." John whimpered, and then flinched when he saw the butt of a gun coming straight for his head.

"John, you're at Baker Street in London. It's been a year since you were in Afghanistan. You've been solving cases with me for several months. You saved my life and I've saved yours. You are brilliant. You amaze me, John." Sherlock murmured into John's ear.

John would flinch every so often from the horrors of his mind and every time Sherlock would hold his doctor tighter to his chest. John eventually calmed down when the room stopped spinning. Even though his horrors were fading away, he didn't want to leave the comfort of Sherlock's arms. By the time the drug was supposedly out of his system, he felt fatigued and hungry. John slowly sat up and looked at the detective.

"Sherlock..." John rasped.

Frankly, the poor doctor had no idea what to say. Did Sherlock really hold him and comfort him? Joy, terror and shock shot though him like a rocket as he came to a silent realization...John felt a spark of attraction for the detective. A spark that had been deep seated in him since he'd met the man, but denied to himself and to everyone else. The spark was real and very prominent now. John sort of half smiled and realized this: he'd fallen for the great Sherlock Holmes.