Back To The Start (Sherlock fanfiction #Wattys2016)

Chapter Twenty: John

Abigail arrived at the hotel her brother was staying in. She got his room number and raced up, taking the stairs as they were faster. She came to the room and knocked repeatedly until someone answered the door. Someone who looked like a familiar stranger to Abigail. John.

John Watson was roughly 39 years old, but he didn't look it. He looked older, like Afghanistan had aged him in decades. His usually sandy hair was graying. His face was scarred from worry. His eyes were tired and he had a cane, but still walked with a limp. This was not the John Watson that left, but at the moment, Abigail didn't care.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she threw herself into her brother's arms. John winced, but hugged her back.

"Abigail," he said. "What-how did you-"

"Harry," Abigail replied.

"Of course," John muttered.

"Now don't you start," Abigail snapped. "She cares for you, that's all. Would it have killed you to call? To let me know you were home. To let me know you were shot. Would it have killed you to let baby sis know if you were okay or not? For God's sake, John, I thought you were seriously injured or something!"

There was a beat. The two Watsons just stood there in the silence.

"You done?" John asked. Abigail nodded. "Come in."

•

John limped into the room that somewhat resembled a living room and passed Abigail a cup of tea. His was already placed on the coffee table, waiting to be drank by the eldest Watson. John sat down next to his sister, placing the cane across the floor.

"You were shot in the leg then," Abigail said. It wasn't a question as much as a statement.

John shook his head. He shifted and moved the sleeve of his jumper down his arm to show her the big white bandage with a round stain of red blood in the middle of it. He was shot in the shoulder.

"The shoulder?" Abigail questioned. "Then why do you have a cane?"

"Hurt my leg," John replied.

Abigail knew this was a lie. She knew her brother. She just needed to figure out the truth. Why does he need a cane? Why does he limp?

'Come on, Abby. I thought you were better than this,' she heard Sherlock's voice say.

Even when he's not here he's nagging me, Abigail thought. I'd like to see Mr. Smarty-Pants here, trying to deduce why the hell my brother is limping when he has not injured his leg in anyway possible.

But that's when she figured it out.

"It's psychosomatic," she spoke, unaware that she did until John gave her a look.

"That's what my therapist says," he replied. "How could you possibly know that?"

"I didn't know, I noticed," Abigail quoted Sherlock. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened?"

John launched into his story of how he got shot in the shoulder. He was helping to get an injured solider off the battlefield when an enemy soldier took this chance the fire. John shielded the nurse that the bullet was intended for and got shot in the shoulder. He was brought back to the medical to get bandaged up and was sent home right away.

Abigail listened carefully. Her brother's war stories were always fascinating, but this was the first time he was telling her one face to face. She was usually reading them in one of his letter. To actually hear her brother tell it seemed...amazing.

Once he finished, Abigail said, "Wow."

John chuckled. "That's all you have to say? That long story and all I get is 'Wow'?"

Abigail smiled at her brother.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to get worried. Mum said you had a job. I didn't want you taken away from that. It's your first real job since you graduated college."

"Wasn't working today. More like waiting," Abigail shrugged. John's eyebrows knit together.

"What is it you do?"

"Hard to explain."

John seemed to like this answer. He took another sip from his tea only to notice it was gone. He bent to grab his cane, but Abigail stopped him.

"I'll get it," she told him and got up to go to the kitchen.

"Abigail, I can get it myself."

"It's alright. I can get it. Mine is empty anyways. You just...rest your leg and I'll get it."

"I can get my own damn tea, Abigail!"

Abigail stopped. John never raised his voice at her. She had heard him and Harry yelling before, but it was never directed towards her. It turn a little bit. She bit her tongue to keep back her tears.

"Sorry," she said, her voice small.

John got up and limped over to his baby sister. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close. Abigail was around the same height as her brother. She buried her head in his shoulder and let her tears slip from her eyes.

She wasn't upset because John had yelled at her. She just missed her brother. Ever since he left, she dreamt he'd never return. Every day was constant worry that he'd be injured too badly or that he'd be killed. She couldn't be happier now that he was back.

Abigail finally pulled away, wiping the remainder of her tears from her face.

"I missed you," she told him.

"I missed you more Squirt," he replied. "Although, you've grown since I left. I won't be calling you squirt much longer."

Abigail laughed. "I have to go. Promise me you'll call and we'll make plans to catch up soon. I won't tell Harry, I promise."

John smiled. "I'd love that."

Abigail smiled back and hugged her brother one last time before heading off back to 221b. She knew something was wrong from the moment she arrived at the door.

The place was empty. Mrs. Hudson was still at her sister's and Sherlock must still be at St. Bart's or on a case. Abigail decided to ignore whatever feeling she was having and just make herself at home, as usual.

She climbed the stairs, humming a tune she had in her head and wanted to see if she could figure it out on Sherlock's violin. As she entered the flat, a rag was placed against her mouth. She struggled and thrashed against the intruder, who held her down as the chloroform slowly rendered her unconscious.

As her vision began to spot and her head began to spin, she heard a voice say, "Good job, Sebastian."

*******

A huge happy birthday to Andrew Scott, aka Moriarty!!