Study of a Soldier 6jemisardNovember 2 2010, 11:55:22 UTC
To further put John at ease, Sherlock announced they were going out for lunch. There was a Greek place that he could eat free at, so he took John down there and eventually agreed to eat one of John’s dolmades to stop him from fretting about how much Sherlock wasn’t eating at the moment.
The case was solved but needed all his wits to pick apart what had happened between Geoffries and John eighteen months ago when John was shot. He was sure that must be it, he wouldn’t have had much contact with others once he was hospitalised.
Why was Geoffries transferred six months later into another unit? Who were the other two men in the unit and what had happened to them?
His phone buzzed. He pulled it out and looked at the message.
Why aren’t you at the meeting? M.
He sighed and dropped his phone into his pocket. “Come on.”
“What?” John looked up, frowning slightly as Sherlock stood.
“Mycroft wants to see me. I’m not going on my own, I’ll end up doing him physical harm with that umbrella of his.” He pulled his gloves back on while John finished his drink and stood, putting his coat on.
They took a cab over to the office that Mycroft ostensibly claimed as his own and was probably just an empty set of rooms where he sometimes met with people. Not-Anthea was there, she waved them through with barely a glance up from her phone.
Sherlock walked in first, hiding his smug smile that Mycroft had worked perfectly to plan. The three men were in here already.
He spun around and threw himself into the seat and watched for the moment that John and Geoffries saw each other.
It was perfect.
John’s back stiffened. He lifted his chin, almost standing to attention, feet drawing together. His face went stony in the next two seconds, expression dead and locked out, and his right leg trembled as the psychosomatic pain hit him.
But those two seconds before he gained control to shut down told a world of information. Hurt. Anger. Resentment. A senior officer, he didn’t go to salute, he outranked Geoffries. John Watson had a lot of old anger towards Peter Geoffries.
As telling was how Geoffries reacted. He went to stand automatically, not necessarily indicating anything, but the way his hand raised and stopped spoke a volume. He still had respect for John if his instinct was to salute him.
He was shocked. Not really surprising, he hadn’t expected to see him. But after the shock came the really interesting emotion.
Shame.
And then he closed off and stood more slowly. “Watson.”
“Geoffries,” John said quietly.
“Ah, so you do know my associate. John, this is Peter Geoffries, whom you know, Shang Andrews and Desmond Parkman. This is my associate, Doctor John Watson.”
Andrews and Parkman didn’t react much, polite interest and nods.
Geoffries glanced at John’s lower body. There was another smothered flash of shame.
More interesting.
“John, take a seat, won’t you?”
“No, Sherlock, I don’t think I will. I’ll wait outside with Anthea,” John said stiffly, turning and leaving.
Study of a Soldier 7jemisardNovember 2 2010, 11:56:03 UTC
Sherlock looked back to the three men as the door shut. “Frankly, I have limited interest in your activities. I already know which of you did it, I know the other two of you know and have stayed silent to protect a comrade. I don’t care.” He leaned forwards. “I want to know about how Geoffries came to serve in this unit. from anyone, I don’t care whom.”
They all exchanged looks. Parkman broke the silence. “Why... What does it matter?”
“It matters to me. What happened to the rest of your unit, Geoffries?”
“Retired,” he said curtly.
He was lying.
If they were killed in action, he would’ve been proud to say it. “They were probably dishonourably discharged.”
His breath caught.
“Or worse. Tell me, have you always been ashamed of looking at John Watson, or did it only start after he was shot? Was it the fact that you were helpless to stop it or that you allowed it to happened?”
Geoffries was going redder in the face. “You don’t know anything about it, you sick bastard! You don’t get to ask questions about that, it was eighteen months ago, I was cleared of any misconduct!”
“Shut up, Geoffries,” Parkman hissed, but Sherlock was already smiling.
“Misconduct... The rabbit hole goes ever deeper. John certainly doesn’t believe you were clear of any ‘misconduct’,” Sherlock purred out.
Geoffries lurched forwards, only to be caught by Parkman and Andrews before he got out of his seat.
“What the hell’s wrong with you,” Parkman snapped. “We’re not here to discuss this bullshit.”
Sherlock stood up and opened the door. “Parkman did it, but probably to protect Andrews and Geoffries from doing it themselves. Do be kind with him. Or not.” He strode past where John sat, to the door and then paused, looking back. “Coming?”
John was red with anger. But he stood and limped after Sherlock silently.
Study of a Soldier 8jemisardNovember 2 2010, 11:56:41 UTC
“You had no right!”
John had managed to wait until they were back at 221b Baker Street before rounding on Sherlock. “You had no right to do that me, Sherlock. None at all.”
“You didn’t have to come in.”
“You told me you were meeting with Mycroft. He wasn’t even there.”
“Details.” He waved his phone at John to show him the message. “He did tell me to come. I wasn’t to know he wouldn’t turn up.”
“But you knew those men would be there.”
“Yes. Well, I presumed.” He waved his hand. “He shows shame when he looks at you, especially your leg. Well, I assume your leg, given how he reacted when I asked him about the circumstances under which you were shot.”
John was tense again.
“And you’ve started limping again. The pain has been coming and going since this started, but it got much worse after you saw Geoffries in person. He said he was cleared of misconduct, but clearly, you don’t feel that way about it. You’re angry at him still for whatever he did.”
John was silent, jaw tight and watching Sherlock.
“You feel no shame for what happened, but it causes you considerable psychological pain. Not in your shoulder, which means while you were shot twice, it was two different incidents on the same mission. Geoffries didn’t look to your shoulder, which also confirms that he feels no emotional attachment to that injury. You were shot, he is ashamed of that fact, you are angry at him about it. It is possible that he shot you accidentally, that doesn’t account for the two other unit members who have been removed from service-”
“Stop.”
John’s voice was soft but firm. “Just stop. I didn’t want to go back into this. It’s gone. I’m readjusting. It isn’t relevant to the case. Just leave it alone, Sherlock.”
John took his computer and his cane and headed for his room.
Sherlock decided to nap until John had finished updating his blog.
Study of a Soldier 9/10jemisardNovember 2 2010, 11:57:34 UTC
He napped for a while, maybe two hours, and then checked John’s blog, but all that was posted was that he thought Sherlock was a bastard and that he didn’t know why he had to dig up everything he could just for the fun of it.
Sherlock lay back to think about it.
He needed data. Facts. Information. He needed to know what happened eighteen months ago.
He grabbed the laptop and started to search.
Afghanistan. Eighteen months ago. Military operations. SAS operations that went bad. Civilian casualties. Two disgraced SAS soldiers.
And he started to put things together. Two soldiers in prison. Unexplained deaths in custody. Official investigation.
“Have you dug it all up yet?”
He straightened from the laptop, wincing as his back protested the movement. It was dark. John was standing in the doorway in his pajamas and robe, looking worn and haggard, his hair unkempt.
“I believe so. What time is it?”
“Nearly four.”
He cracked his neck and stood, trying to shake warmth back into his legs. “Why are you- Ah. Nightmares.”
John didn’t bother replying and dropped onto the couch, arm across the back.
“No doubt about the incident I’ve been investigating. When one of your unit shot you.”
The hand on the back of the couch went tight.
“I haven’t managed to identify which of the other two did it, but I have no doubt that it was due to your attempting to stop them from interrogating a prisoner.”
“That wasn’t an interrogation,” John hissed.
“As a doctor, you could not stand by and allow a violation of human rights. And for some reason, one of them shot you. Perhaps as a lesson. Or to stop you from interfering with what they were doing.”
John closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Sherlock slid in close to him on the couch, watching his face.
Study of a Soldier 10/10 FinishedjemisardNovember 2 2010, 11:58:24 UTC
“But... I have no doubt that you were shot while attempting to defend human rights and individual lives. Because that’s what you are like.”
John still didn’t open his eyes. “I... was the team medic. But unlike a lot, I was a doctor first. We were deployed with another unit to go and subdue insurgents in a village. We took them, but we lost two men and I was shot through the shoulder. The other team medic was killed, so I was out for a two days after I removed the shrapnel.
“When I came to... They were torturing people. For information, they said, but I recognised the injuries on those people. Five young women, two young men had been raped. One boy died from internal damage and infection. They were torturing the men and would rape their daughters, their nieces and granddaughters in front of them.
“Two of my unit and one of the other men with us were involved. I told them I wouldn’t allow it to continue and stood in front of the hostages they were threatening to shoot.
“I was shot in the leg. And the other two useless bastards finally radioed for extraction because shooting on of our own was just too much for them.”
Sherlock was quiet a moment longer. “Geoffries did nothing to stop them. That’s why he was ashamed. You defied them. He did nothing until you were shot.”
John opened his eyes and looked to Sherlock finally. “He should have been court marshaled with them. He did nothing.”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” he said softly.
John sighed. “Yes?”
“... why on Earth didn’t you just tell me?”
“I didn’t want your pity for poor John and trauma based, psychosomatic injury from where his teammate shot him,” he replied quietly.
Sherlock sighed. “You really can be just as stupid as everyone else sometimes. Now, do you want some tea?”
John looked up, shock fading to gratitude to a small smile of relief. “Yes. Tea would be nice.”
Sherlock smiled and nodded, retreating to the kitchen and starting the kettle boiling.
He pulled out his phone and sent off a quick message to Mycroft.
I didn’t need your document to tell me John Watson is a hero. SH.
*~*~*
a/n: Pardon a lack of html, I did this as a rich text file and was not converting it all up. The whole story can be found at Archive Of Our Own
Re: Study of a Soldier 10/10 FinishedjemisardApril 1 2011, 01:55:14 UTC
I've read this fic practically a bazillion times, but I don't think I ever reviewed to let you know how much I loved it. So... I really really liked it. Gah! This is why I don't review usually, I suck at these kind of things. Anyways, you're a fantastic writer and I enjoyed your work.
The case was solved but needed all his wits to pick apart what had happened between Geoffries and John eighteen months ago when John was shot. He was sure that must be it, he wouldn’t have had much contact with others once he was hospitalised.
Why was Geoffries transferred six months later into another unit? Who were the other two men in the unit and what had happened to them?
His phone buzzed. He pulled it out and looked at the message.
Why aren’t you at the meeting? M.
He sighed and dropped his phone into his pocket. “Come on.”
“What?” John looked up, frowning slightly as Sherlock stood.
“Mycroft wants to see me. I’m not going on my own, I’ll end up doing him physical harm with that umbrella of his.” He pulled his gloves back on while John finished his drink and stood, putting his coat on.
They took a cab over to the office that Mycroft ostensibly claimed as his own and was probably just an empty set of rooms where he sometimes met with people. Not-Anthea was there, she waved them through with barely a glance up from her phone.
Sherlock walked in first, hiding his smug smile that Mycroft had worked perfectly to plan. The three men were in here already.
He spun around and threw himself into the seat and watched for the moment that John and Geoffries saw each other.
It was perfect.
John’s back stiffened. He lifted his chin, almost standing to attention, feet drawing together. His face went stony in the next two seconds, expression dead and locked out, and his right leg trembled as the psychosomatic pain hit him.
But those two seconds before he gained control to shut down told a world of information. Hurt. Anger. Resentment. A senior officer, he didn’t go to salute, he outranked Geoffries. John Watson had a lot of old anger towards Peter Geoffries.
As telling was how Geoffries reacted. He went to stand automatically, not necessarily indicating anything, but the way his hand raised and stopped spoke a volume. He still had respect for John if his instinct was to salute him.
He was shocked. Not really surprising, he hadn’t expected to see him. But after the shock came the really interesting emotion.
Shame.
And then he closed off and stood more slowly. “Watson.”
“Geoffries,” John said quietly.
“Ah, so you do know my associate. John, this is Peter Geoffries, whom you know, Shang Andrews and Desmond Parkman. This is my associate, Doctor John Watson.”
Andrews and Parkman didn’t react much, polite interest and nods.
Geoffries glanced at John’s lower body. There was another smothered flash of shame.
More interesting.
“John, take a seat, won’t you?”
“No, Sherlock, I don’t think I will. I’ll wait outside with Anthea,” John said stiffly, turning and leaving.
The limp was back.
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They all exchanged looks. Parkman broke the silence. “Why... What does it matter?”
“It matters to me. What happened to the rest of your unit, Geoffries?”
“Retired,” he said curtly.
He was lying.
If they were killed in action, he would’ve been proud to say it. “They were probably dishonourably discharged.”
His breath caught.
“Or worse. Tell me, have you always been ashamed of looking at John Watson, or did it only start after he was shot? Was it the fact that you were helpless to stop it or that you allowed it to happened?”
Geoffries was going redder in the face. “You don’t know anything about it, you sick bastard! You don’t get to ask questions about that, it was eighteen months ago, I was cleared of any misconduct!”
“Shut up, Geoffries,” Parkman hissed, but Sherlock was already smiling.
“Misconduct... The rabbit hole goes ever deeper. John certainly doesn’t believe you were clear of any ‘misconduct’,” Sherlock purred out.
Geoffries lurched forwards, only to be caught by Parkman and Andrews before he got out of his seat.
“What the hell’s wrong with you,” Parkman snapped. “We’re not here to discuss this bullshit.”
Sherlock stood up and opened the door. “Parkman did it, but probably to protect Andrews and Geoffries from doing it themselves. Do be kind with him. Or not.” He strode past where John sat, to the door and then paused, looking back. “Coming?”
John was red with anger. But he stood and limped after Sherlock silently.
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John had managed to wait until they were back at 221b Baker Street before rounding on Sherlock. “You had no right to do that me, Sherlock. None at all.”
“You didn’t have to come in.”
“You told me you were meeting with Mycroft. He wasn’t even there.”
“Details.” He waved his phone at John to show him the message. “He did tell me to come. I wasn’t to know he wouldn’t turn up.”
“But you knew those men would be there.”
“Yes. Well, I presumed.” He waved his hand. “He shows shame when he looks at you, especially your leg. Well, I assume your leg, given how he reacted when I asked him about the circumstances under which you were shot.”
John was tense again.
“And you’ve started limping again. The pain has been coming and going since this started, but it got much worse after you saw Geoffries in person. He said he was cleared of misconduct, but clearly, you don’t feel that way about it. You’re angry at him still for whatever he did.”
John was silent, jaw tight and watching Sherlock.
“You feel no shame for what happened, but it causes you considerable psychological pain. Not in your shoulder, which means while you were shot twice, it was two different incidents on the same mission. Geoffries didn’t look to your shoulder, which also confirms that he feels no emotional attachment to that injury. You were shot, he is ashamed of that fact, you are angry at him about it. It is possible that he shot you accidentally, that doesn’t account for the two other unit members who have been removed from service-”
“Stop.”
John’s voice was soft but firm. “Just stop. I didn’t want to go back into this. It’s gone. I’m readjusting. It isn’t relevant to the case. Just leave it alone, Sherlock.”
John took his computer and his cane and headed for his room.
Sherlock decided to nap until John had finished updating his blog.
Reply
Sherlock lay back to think about it.
He needed data. Facts. Information. He needed to know what happened eighteen months ago.
He grabbed the laptop and started to search.
Afghanistan. Eighteen months ago. Military operations. SAS operations that went bad. Civilian casualties. Two disgraced SAS soldiers.
And he started to put things together. Two soldiers in prison. Unexplained deaths in custody. Official investigation.
“Have you dug it all up yet?”
He straightened from the laptop, wincing as his back protested the movement. It was dark. John was standing in the doorway in his pajamas and robe, looking worn and haggard, his hair unkempt.
“I believe so. What time is it?”
“Nearly four.”
He cracked his neck and stood, trying to shake warmth back into his legs. “Why are you- Ah. Nightmares.”
John didn’t bother replying and dropped onto the couch, arm across the back.
“No doubt about the incident I’ve been investigating. When one of your unit shot you.”
The hand on the back of the couch went tight.
“I haven’t managed to identify which of the other two did it, but I have no doubt that it was due to your attempting to stop them from interrogating a prisoner.”
“That wasn’t an interrogation,” John hissed.
“As a doctor, you could not stand by and allow a violation of human rights. And for some reason, one of them shot you. Perhaps as a lesson. Or to stop you from interfering with what they were doing.”
John closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Sherlock slid in close to him on the couch, watching his face.
Reply
John still didn’t open his eyes. “I... was the team medic. But unlike a lot, I was a doctor first. We were deployed with another unit to go and subdue insurgents in a village. We took them, but we lost two men and I was shot through the shoulder. The other team medic was killed, so I was out for a two days after I removed the shrapnel.
“When I came to... They were torturing people. For information, they said, but I recognised the injuries on those people. Five young women, two young men had been raped. One boy died from internal damage and infection. They were torturing the men and would rape their daughters, their nieces and granddaughters in front of them.
“Two of my unit and one of the other men with us were involved. I told them I wouldn’t allow it to continue and stood in front of the hostages they were threatening to shoot.
“I was shot in the leg. And the other two useless bastards finally radioed for extraction because shooting on of our own was just too much for them.”
Sherlock was quiet a moment longer. “Geoffries did nothing to stop them. That’s why he was ashamed. You defied them. He did nothing until you were shot.”
John opened his eyes and looked to Sherlock finally. “He should have been court marshaled with them. He did nothing.”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” he said softly.
John sighed. “Yes?”
“... why on Earth didn’t you just tell me?”
“I didn’t want your pity for poor John and trauma based, psychosomatic injury from where his teammate shot him,” he replied quietly.
Sherlock sighed. “You really can be just as stupid as everyone else sometimes. Now, do you want some tea?”
John looked up, shock fading to gratitude to a small smile of relief. “Yes. Tea would be nice.”
Sherlock smiled and nodded, retreating to the kitchen and starting the kettle boiling.
He pulled out his phone and sent off a quick message to Mycroft.
I didn’t need your document to tell me John Watson is a hero. SH.
*~*~*
a/n: Pardon a lack of html, I did this as a rich text file and was not converting it all up.
The whole story can be found at Archive Of Our Own
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Sherlock can be such a horrible twat when he doesn't realise but you ended it really sweetly ^_^
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He is a horrible jerk but he also has a lot of admiration for what john did.
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