John is pissed

      

A short(ish) Sherlock fanfic :) The title tells all.

Disclaimer: John gets pissed

                                    

                                            #########

          
              “Attention, troops!”

          Everyone looked up from what they were doing as the lieutenant’s loud voice sounded in the large tent.  “Everyone in here,” He continued, “is to be out of this base by noon.” Some of the soldiers exchanged glances. “We’re heading for an outpost 80 miles northwest of here. So pack everything up. Is that understood?”

          Everyone nodded. I looked up at the lieutenant to find that he watched me.

          “That means you too.” He addressed me. “They need a doctor more than anything.” I nodded obediently and the lieutenant took a last look around before commanding, “Snap to it and pack up!”

           He turned and left the tent, and the other 20 or so around me began to stand and talk amongst themselves. Steven, on the cot next to mine, stood as well and murmured something under his breath.

         “Bloody work,” He grumbled loud enough so that only I could hear. "An outpost 80 miles from here.” I looked up at him.

           “It’s not that bad.” When he looked at me, I smiled. “’Least you’re not reassigned to Taiwan.” He didn’t laugh and studied me. “Reassignment make you happy, Watson?” I shrugged and grinned. “I haven’t left this post in at least a year. Somewhere new will be nice for a change.”

     Steve sighed. “I wish I could be stuck here for a year.”

     I laughed at the dejected face he was making and stood.

     “You signed up, didn’t you?”

     Steve groaned. “Stop being so happy.” He fell back on his bed. “You’re making me sick.”  Again I laughed and was happy to note that he gave a good-natured smile.

         30 minutes before noon, everyone was out of the tent and stood at attention, waiting for the lieutenant’s return. As we waited, some new recruits came up and began to move into our previously occupied tent that we stood next to, giving us awed looks as they ducked inside. As I was closest to the entrance, I took the most looks, especially directed at the white and red armband on my left sleeve. The last young recruit seemed to stare a long time, and I couldn’t help but grin when I caught his eye, and winked at him. He blushed, then smiled back and ducked inside.

       The lieutenant soon arrived, and so we all piled into 5 jeeps and were on our way. A while into the 10 hour drive, about 3 or 4 hours out, just when we were considering sleeping after much joking and talking, the jeep we rode in came to a very abrupt stop that launched us all forwards, then back into our seats. I peered into the driver’s seat and glanced at the long dirt road ahead.

     “What’s the matter?” I asked Jean, the driver.

     Expectantly we watched him as he scanned the road ahead, breathless. “I thought…. I thought…” He gasped for air as the other four transports passed us. A small silence ensued as we watched them drive away, then Will, in the passenger seat, probed, “thought what?”

    Jean’s breathing became even more labored and a sweat covered his forehead.

     I frowned.

    “Will.” I commanded, “Trade with me.”

     Obediently he climbed out of his seat to join us in the back, and as soon as he made room, I clambered up front.

     As I crouched in the passenger seat, Jean looked wildly up at me. “I saw something, Watson, I swear I did!”

     “What was it?” I asked calmly. He didn’t answer for a moment and just stared at the road. “Jean.”

     “I don’t know, John. It was something.”

     “John?” Hudson, in the back, sounded scared.

      I shook my head and placed my hand on Jean’s shoulder. “Hey, take a deep breath and calm down-” Before I could comfort him much, we heard a massive boom. I whipped my gaze left to see that a small mushroom shaped cloud rose from the road a good while ahead. Another boom sounded and a second cloud appeared beside the first.

      Tyler, in the back, swore loudly and as what looked like a third jeep blew up, I dropped back into the passenger seat and opened my door. “Everyone out. Now.” I ordered, and was hastily obeyed. I turned the Jeep off and we all closed the doors. 

      After they salvaged as many weapons and as much water as they could, I ordered them over to the nearest sand- dune. They took off, carrying Jean among them, and as they went, I took the machine gun that I had grabbed and began to pelt the Jeep with bullets. I popped the tires and fried the engine and did everything in my power to make it look like the Jeep had been abandoned for weeks. I took huge handfuls of sand and threw it over the car and smashed the windows before I finally turned and raced after the others.

     They had picked a good sand-dune, and from behind it, we watched and waited as the smoke from the explosions vanished in the heat, and as the sun bore hard down on us, tried to tend to Jean.

     Sooner than I had hoped, Hudson pointed out quite a few army trucks not ours driving down the road, soon to pass our dune. Lined like ducks, they all came to a stop in front of our jeep. As we watched in anticipation, two figures emerged from the first and stepped around to examine our Jeep.

     After a few breathtaking moments, they yelled something to the others in the trucks, and soon more and more people climbed out of the trucks and, all armed, spread out in search of us.

     My heart dropped to my gut. No, no, no! I thought. Didn’t it look abandoned to you??

     My mind racing, I motioned everyone back behind cover. In silence, I thought. I wracked my brain for every option of escape. Why was it that I couldn’t come up with anything?

                                                 ######

        “Sherlock?” I took the stairs two at a time, nearly slamming into the wall as I rounded the corner, so great was my hurry. “Sherlock??” As I took the final steps to the flat, I slowed and sighed before stopping. Sherlock sat in front of the desk, safe and sound, his hands joined beneath his chin. “Sherlock?” I asked for the third time, “are you okay?”

         “Mmmhmm…” he took one of his hands from under his chin and slowly pressed a button on the computer in front of him.

          Now more relieved than anything else, I took a step in and placed my hands on my hips. “I was getting worried!” I exclaimed. “You weren’t answering my calls, you weren’t answering my texts….” He didn’t even look up. “Are you even listening?”

         “Mmmm…” Again he reached over to the computer and pressed the same button repeatedly.

        “What are you doing?” Out of curiosity, I stepped over to where he sat. “Is that my computer?”

        “Mmmmhmm.”

       “You have your own computer.”

       “In the kitchen.”

       I studied him, then leaned on the chair to look over his shoulder. When I saw what he was doing, my heart stopped dead in its tracks.

       “Oh no. No, no, no….”

       I lunged forward to close the laptop, but he was quicker than me and whisked it out of reach, to his right, looking at me as he did.

       “Why ever not?” He asked innocently.

       “Because… you’re not…” I lunged over his lap, but still my arm came short of the computer that he held aloof. “supposed to!”

       I pulled off of his lap, seeing my efforts useless, and looked at him.

      “Sherlock, give it back!”

       He made a face at me. I rolled my eyes.

       “Please?”

       “Mmm…. No.”

       “Sherlock!”

       Angrily I again lunged for the computer, now scrambling over his lap to reach it.

       Casually he reached over with his free hand and snatched it out of reach the other way. I went sprawling into the wall as he stood with the laptop in both hands and continued to read what I’d typed.

        “Sherlock!” I sagged pitifully against the wall. “Please!!”

        He looked at me innocently. “But I like it.”

        “No, no…” I clambered to my feet and again lunged for it. But he pushed me away with one hand and continued to hold the laptop aloof with the other.

         “Come on…” I gasped, and now out of patience, I grabbed his arm that he blocked me with and deftly twisted it behind his back. He let out a grunt and a gasp, and now behind him, I grabbed for the computer again. But he kept it ever out of reach, now around to his front. In now full-out anger, I twisted his arm harder and harder until Sherlock began to giggle at the pain.

        “John… John!” For as he laughed my fury build up even further in me, and I twisted ever harder.

        “Ow, OW!” He laughed, “That hurts, can you stop please?” I didn’t bother to reply, and, gritting my teeth, twisted with all my strength, furious.

        “Ah, ahhhhh! I’m sorry, what was it that you wanted??”

        “Put the laptop down.” I hissed.

        Rapidly he set it down on the desk, and after one last jerk to his arm, I wrenched him towards me and backwards, then watched him trip over my chair and smash against the wall as I stepped up and coolly closed the laptop. Behind me, he groaned, then giggled.

        “But, John….” He moaned, “I liked it.”

        I whirled and pointed at him. “No you didn’t.”

        He lay on his back on the floor and looked pitifully up at me. “I did.”

      I sighed. “Stop.”

      “Stop what?”

      “That face. It makes me feel bad for you when I’m not.”

      “But there was more!” He groaned up at the ceiling. “You never ever tell me what went on over there and I almost had all of the story! Would you…. Just…”

      I moved to the desk and shifted some paper around aimlessly.

      “…Tell me the rest of the story?”

      I tilted my head back and groaned up at the ceiling.

      “Just at least if the soldier was good or bad.”

      “He was the enemy, of course.” I looked over at Sherlock, who sat upright now.

      “And?” He probed.

      “And what?” I snapped.

      “What happened then?”

      “You don’t care and you wouldn’t like the story if I told you.”

      “No?”

      “NO.”

      I glared at him, the word almost coming out a yell.

      Sherlock studied me, then cocked his head slightly.

      “Don’t ask again, please.” I forced my tone to be neutral. “If I find you in my word documents again, I swear, I will destroy this laptop.”

      He studied me in silence for a very long time.

      I returned his look until it made me feel guilty, then I picked up the computer and turned into the kitchen. I set it down on the table lining the wall, then set to making a little lunch. I had been hungry before, but now had mostly lost my appetite, still I set making grilled cheese for something to do.

      I heard Sherlock shift where he sat, and when he spoke his voice was quiet.

      “John?”

      I sighed.

      “My Physical Therapist,” I began, “told me that if I wrote about everything that happened in Afghanistan it would help me to forget it.”

      “Did it work?”

       The answer came out short and fast before I could stop it. “No.”

       There was a short silence.

       “I am sorry for being nosy.” His voice showed that he hadn’t moved. “Do you forgive me?”

        I thought. “Maybe.”

        In the long silence that followed, I finished cooking my grilled cheese, and after plating some up, stepped back into the flat. I looked at Sherlock, who hadn’t left from where he’d previously sat. He noted my gaze, and looked up.

      “Since I started it….” He began cautiously, and as he did I stepped over to the desk. “Would you let me finish it?”

      I nearly dropped my plate, but managed to contain the wave of choking emotions from all directions by closing my eyes. “Sherlock.” I fought to keep my voice even. “I don’t want to yell at you again. So there’s grilled cheese in the kitchen.”

       He thought for a moment. “But… John… Please?”

     I set my plate on the desk and turned away. “I will hit you.” I choked. “I’m sorry now, but I will if you ask once more. Please help yourself.”

     “John-”

     “William Sherlock Scott Holmes!!” Again I yelled, clenching up with all my strength, trying to contain the urge to turn and punch the flatmate staring in confusion at my back.

     “Stop. Please, stop.” And before he could say another word I grabbed my plate and moved to the door.

     “John!” An alarmed Sherlock exclaimed, but I paid him no heed and stepped through the landing. I stomped up the steps, fighting down every emotion as I went on my way to my room.

     I could barely make out any emotions any more except for maybe an intense and boiling anger. Those were the worst years of my life. Could he take anything truly serious seriously? I wanted to throw my plate of cheese out the window as hard as I could and run back downstairs to throttle Sherlock. But I didn’t. I resisted my instincts and counted slowly to 10. By that time, I had calmed somewhat, and though still tormented by my experiences in the field as if I was still there, I took a deep breath, relieved that I wasn’t quite so angry.

     By this point Sherlock had wisely held in any comments from downstairs, as that would push me over the breaking edge no doubt, and before he could even consider it, I pushed the door to my room open and stepped inside, resolving to hit him once I had myself figured out.

                                                    #######

     I came downstairs after an uneventful afternoon on my computer to an empty flat. I searched for my flatmate for a while before noticing the piece of paper sitting on my armchair. I picked it up, turned it over just in case it was from someone other than Sherlock, and unfolded it to read:

     

      John,

     I am a truly inconsiderate friend and am sorry.

     What happened in Afghanistan was serious and real and I apologize for making light of that fact. I hope you will forgive me. I bought milk to make up, if only a little.

     Off on a case, call if you have an emotional breakdown.

    SH

    

     I smiled, grateful for the apology. It had made me feel a little better. And milk? Well, I must have been mad for him to go there. Milk was reserved for the severest apologies. I re-read the note, smiling still. I was grateful. But he should have left out the part about me having an emotional breakdown.

     I was still going to hit him.

                                                     (End)

Happy Fourth! Photo creds: Piper Kunst