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Seven days.
He’d been coming to this beach for seven days after being released from the hospital. It was the perfect place to get the sterile stink off his skin and out of his lungs, and it had given him such peace that he kept returning. In that time he hadn’t seen another soul so he was mildly surprised and a bit annoyed to see another man slowly pacing the shoreline. John would gladly leave him to it except he seemed lost. Not just in thought, but… adrift somehow.
John stood, brushed the sand off and approached him. As he drew closer, he noticed the man’s eyes. They mirrored the sage tones of the sea beside them and they darted across the horizon. He seemed to be looking for something, his demeanor bordering upon agitation.
“Can I help you with anything?”
The pale eyes stopped darting and slowly swiveled toward John. The man’s frown deepened and he glanced about them. “Are you speaking to… me?”
“Yes…?” John smiled gently, concerned about the man’s discombobulation.
“Why?”
“Well the sand crabs don’t tend to answer me. Thought you’d be a better bet,” John joked in response. The man only continued to stare intensely back at him so John cleared his throat and further explained. “You seem like you’ve lost something-”
“Yes.”
“Okay… Maybe you can tell me-”
“No.”
“No?”
“No… I don’t know.” Seeing John’s confused expression, the man grimaced and looked past him to the sea. “Yes, I’ve lost something but I am hoping that if I keep watch here, it will reveal itself to me.”
“Oh… okay.” John wasn’t sure what to make of the man but he didn’t come off as an escaped mental patient. Something about the man drew him in and John didn’t want to leave him alone. “Would you mind company while you watch then?”
The man studied him silently before answering. “The damp air doesn’t bother your shoulder?”
John startled at the question, so direct and knowing. He inhaled sharply but then composed himself. “The air’s good for my mind… that’s good for my shoulder… How did you know?”
“You continually twitch and roll it, and you keep flexing your hand. Indicates discomfort. Not arthritis though. Your gait is also off slightly which would point toward your arm having been immobilized for an extended period of time… so likely a wound. Your grooming and the fact that you’re standing at parade rest tells me you were a soldier so I’m assuming a gunshot. Healing soldier taking solace in water? The one thing I can’t tell is whether you were stationed in Afghanistan or Iraq.”
John’s mouth had fallen open by the third sentence. He held the man’s gaze in stunned silence for a long moment before stammering “Afghanistan… My God, that was… brilliant!”
“Really?”
“Yes! Bloody amazing!” The man’s expression softened as John held his hand out in greeting. “Name’s John. Formerly of 5th Northumberland Fusiliers. Put out of service, nearly completely, in Khandahar Province.”
The mysterious man gazed at his hand only briefly before looking back up. “Sherlock. Nice to meet you… doctor.”
“You got that from looking at my hand?”
“It’s quite obvious, John.”
“Not obvious to me! Incredible…! So tell me what you’re watching for.”
Sherlock merely smiled and shrugged. “I’ll know when I see it.”
________________________________
They continued to meet at the beach for nine days. They sat amiably together as Sherlock kept watch, though he wouldn't tell John for what. They didn’t do a lot of talking, each seeming to simply value the presence of the other. It was with heavy heart that John appeared on the ninth day.
“You won’t be back for some time,” Sherlock stated. John didn’t know why he was surprised. Sherlock could read him plainly.
“No, I’m sorry, Sherlock. I won’t,” John muttered. “I took a job in London at a clinic and need to move my things… Army pension doesn’t cut it alone, unfortunately.”
“Obviously.”
“Once I get settled, I can come back on the weekends if you’re still keeping watch.”
“I suppose.”
The silence made John’s heart ache. “Sherlock, maybe you should come visit London. Maybe a break from this would do you good.”
“I might miss something, John.”
“You don’t even know for certain what it is you’re looking for. A change of scenery could help your perspective,” John reasoned.
“Perhaps,” Sherlock hummed noncommittally.
When John finally stood to leave, he turned to Sherlock and held up his hand. “Think about it. If you change your mind you can find me at the clinic… otherwise I’ll be back in a couple of weeks hopefully.”
“Perhaps I’ll see you then,” Sherlock nodded, not appearing convinced of anything. Frankly, it broke John’s heart. He seemed so adrift again and, if John was honest with himself, he felt a bit adrift also. Keeping watch with Sherlock wouldn’t pay his bills or keep a roof over his head though.
__________________________________________
The time passed quickly as John settled into his flat and job, but it didn’t keep him from thinking of his mysterious new friend. While he hoped Sherlock would finally find whatever it was he was searching for, John had to admit that he’d been captivated by the lanky, brilliant man and missed spending time with him. Two more days and he’d be free to return. This time he would insist that Sherlock come to London. He truly felt in his gut that it was the right thing for the quiet man.
John trudged back into his flat after his shift and shrugged off his rain-dampened clothes before taking a hot shower to ward off the chill. He hadn’t even dried off completely when he collapsed onto his bed in utter exhaustion. The clinic fatigued him in a way even the Army couldn’t manage. Doldrum fatigue his fellow soldiers called it. The inability to deal with the tedium of civilian life after discharge or while on leave. He longed for something more exciting than a case of whooping cough or scabies.
It was far too early to sleep so John hauled himself from the bed and made himself some tea. He microwaved some take out from the previous evening and sat down with the paper. He was halfway through his curry and on page five when a heading caught his eye.
Man shot at Camber Shores remains in a coma.
John took a leisurely sip of his tea but then nearly choked upon it when he saw a particular name associated with the crime. He read through the article again but focused upon the date of the incident. It had happened one day prior to John’s arrival at Camber Shores.
_____________________________________
John navigated the halls of National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery battling tunnel vision as his heart continued to race in his chest. He was finally directed to the correct room once he showed his credentials but was stopped at the door by a guard.
Beyond the guard, John saw Sherlock.
His stunning friend wasn’t upright and scanning his surroundings as he should have been though. He was lying prone with his head bandaged and a ventilator in place. Everything about it was wrong and John couldn’t figure how it was possible. Even with those pale eyes hidden behind swollen lids, John recognized Sherlock. He could clearly see the dark curls at his nape and the impossibly sharp cheekbones.
“Please, you have to let me in. He’s my friend!”
“Sherlock doesn’t have friends.”
John turned to the tall man behind him and shook his head. “We are friends. We met in Camber.” John took in the vague resemblance and the intense, studious eyes. “Mycroft? You are his brother, yeah?”
Mycroft Holmes’ eyes flared then narrowed. “He spoke of me?”
“Yes.”
“Fondly?”
John shifted but held Mycroft’s piercing stare. “Not really, no… unless you enjoy being called an arrogant bastard.”
Mycroft eyes actually softened at that.
John held up his hands and shook his head again. “Look… just… tell him John was here. Many of us believe they can hear in this state so just tell him. I… I think I know how to help him…”
Mycroft looked understandably dubious but he gave a sharp nod. “I will tell him.”
_______________________________________
“Sherlock?”
John scanned the shoreline but saw no sign of the swirling coat or dark curls. “Sherlock!”
“John.”
Relief swelled through John as he spun toward the resonant voice. “Thank God,” he breathed, causing the pale eyes to squint with concern. “Look, Sherlock… I don’t know how this is happening but I think I know now what it is you’re looking for. I believe I can help you, but I really need… no I really insist that you come back to London with me. Can you please do that? Can you please just trust me?”
The eyes studied him again. “Have I frightened you somehow, John?”
“I’m only frightened by the thought of you not following me back, Sherlock.”
________________________________________
Seven days.
That’s how long he’d been sitting with Sherlock, quietly reading to him and telling him about the weather, the things he sometimes overheard between the staff and how utterly horrible the hospital coffee was. He yawned and stretched before folding the medical journal and setting it aside. There’d been no noise or movement so he was startled to look up and see pale eyes staring back at him. Thankfully the ventilator had been removed three days prior when they determined Sherlock could now breathe on his own.
Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a weak smile. John thought it the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “You did it, Sherlock. You found your way back.”
“John-” Sherlock’s voice was barely a whisper but his name was clear enough to send shivers through John’s body. John got Sherlock ice chips and slipped one into his mouth to ease his throat.
“I don’t get any of this, Sherlock,” he whispered, wary of being overheard, “but I’m going to stay here with you until you’re well enough to be released.”
Sherlock frowned slightly as though building up the strength to speak. “Stay… longer,” he rasped. The flutter that it caused in John’s stomach was a welcome change from the emptiness he’d felt after being discharged. He remembered how he’d felt waking up alone in the hospital, how sterile and cold it had been. He could never allow Sherlock to feel what he’d felt then.
“Of course,” John smiled. “As long as you need me, I’ll be here,” he reassured. He glanced about the room then smiled again at his friend. “Sherlock… as incredible as all this is… I think it might be wise if we come up with a different story of how we met. I start telling people I was hanging out with your apparition and I’ll have a bed alongside you complete with restraints.”
The full lips quirked into a full smirk. “Astral… projection.”
“Oh right, yeah,” John chuckled, enjoying that Sherlock’s eyes refused to leave him. He no longer looked lost. “I’ll remember that.”
They stared at one another, both having far too many things to say yet knowing somehow that none of it was necessary. Finally John cleared his throat and spoke again.
“I believe I might be good for you, Sherlock Holmes. I believe you should most definitely keep me around.”
Again Sherlock smirked back at John.
“Obviously.”