When he was young, he had wanted to be a doctor. So when the time came, that's what he did. He joined the military and became what he had wanted. Perhaps what he had liked best what he did was fixing people.
It sounded juvenile, but the ability to make people better pleased him. For some odd reason he'd had a knack for knowing what was wrong and how to fix it quickly. His patients often praised him for his abilities, unknowingly boosting his confidence.
But here and now, he'd lost that particular gift. He hadn't the faintest clue how to fix this; he was fairly sure it never would alright again. He looked down at the glossy black headstone in front of him. His laugh was somewhat strangled and dark.
Funny how the famous Doctor John Watson could fix anyone except the one person who needed it most;
himself.
A/N: This is the prologue, which is why it's so short. I promise my writing really doesn't suck this much, really. The more reviews I get the more inclined I am to write the chapters so don't be afraid to review! :)