Disclaimer: Sherlock is the property of the BBC, Stephen Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and is based off of the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Title: Capt John H Watson, MBBS
Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, Sergeant Sally Donovan, Mr Robert Anderson, and half a dozen other volunteers from Scotland Yard walked into flat 221B on Baker Street. The landlady of the aforementioned flat, a Ms Martha Hudson, was out of town visiting her sister in Chelsea. The tenant of Ms Hudson, a Mr. Sherlock Holmes, had not been seen at the Yard for nearly 8 days nor had he responded to any of the 9 texts that the Detective Inspector had sent. So, naturally, the fine officers of Scotland Yard assumed that Sherlock Holmes had either (a) been attacked and/or killed by any one of the numerous enemies he had inevitably acquired or, (b) relapsed and had once more taken up the somewhat harmful and dangerous habit of cocaine usage.
It was because of these (erroneous, though entirely understandable) assumptions that it was a surprise to the Yarders when they discovered, upon entering the flat, not a dead/bleeding/intoxicated Sherlock Holmes, but rather a short, tan, jumper-clad, and quite muscular man with sun bleached, military cut hair. The man, entirely unaffected by the entrance of 9 officers, merely glanced up at the intruders and finished pouring his cider into a glass (Strongbow Original, thank you very much) before addressing the crowd with a polite, "May I help you, officers?"
The officers, all slightly discomforted by the presence of the man, remained silent, sending glances towards the mystery man and amongst themselves. The Detective Inspector, who was the most level-headed of the officers, decided to take charge of the situation.
"Errr... Yes. First, who are you?" Lestrade asked bluntly of the unidentified man.
The man appeared quite amused and with a small, but kind smile and an arched eyebrow, replied, "I'm John. John Watson. Who are you?"
Lestrade looked around the messy flat and said, "We're officers. With Scotland Yard..."
The man allegedly called John Watson released a huff of laughter and his smile widened as he returned, "Yes. I can see that. But I still don't know who you are."
"Oh," Lestrade replied, "I'm DI Lestrade."
Mr Watson's head lifted in recognition.
"Cor. So you're Lestrade. I've heard a lot about you. Have you got a first name, Detective? 'Cause Sherlock's never mentioned that," he said with a nod.
"Yeah. It's Greg," the Detective Inspector shared uncomfortably.
Mr Watson nodded once more in acknowledgment and then drank from his glass until there was nothing remaining except the unavoidable ring of fizz.
Then he mumbled, "Well, then. I think I'll need another drink."
He walked (well, limped, really) to the refrigerator, opened it, and pulled out another Strongbow. Then he turned back to the group of Yarders.
"So how can I help you?" He asked kindly.
"I was under the impression that Sherlock Holmes lived here," Lestrade stated, finally regaining his composure.
"Your impression is correct. He does. Live here, that is," Mr Watson retorted.
At this point, Sergeant Donovan saw fit to enter the conversation, "So why are you here, then?"
Mr Watson, who had already limped back to the sofa, said, "Well, I live here too, don't I?"
It was then that Anderson inserted, "So the freak's found himself a flatmate now, has he?"
Mr Watson's genial smile froze on his face and became much less genial and much more forced. He then answered, despite the impropriety of the question, "Yes, something like that. I presume you are Anderson?"
All of the Yarders froze.
"How do you know that?!" Anderson demanded.
Mr Watson answered, "Sherlock's mentioned you a few times."
"And what did the creep have to say about me?" Anderson inquired.
Lestrade rolled his eyes and said, "Now's not the time Anderson. Look, Mr Watson-,"
"Doctor," Mr Watson interjected.
"Sorry?" Lestrade asked.
"It's Doctor Watson, not Mister Watson," Dr Watson explained.
"Dr Watson then," Lestrade said, "We haven't seen or heard from Sherlock for more than a week. So I figured we should check on him. It's not like him to disappear. He's usually bombarding me with texts, begging for cases."
"And you decided that when you went to check on him, you'd bring along 8 of your closest friends? For moral support?" Dr Watson cheekily replied.
"Ah. Well, I thought... with his history of, well, you know... behaviour... It might turn into a drugs bust...," Lestrade trailed off as the boards on the floor above creaked.
"Er... well, he's not using drugs. And he's fine. He's just been busy. So, Ta, and, er, I'll tell him you stopped by. Give us a ring tomorrow and I'm sure he'll be ready to take a new case," Dr Watson said.
"So you've seen him recently?" Lestrade asked.
"'Course. I live with him, don't I? He's upstairs having a kip. Poor bugger's completely knackered," he said with an inexplicably smug sort of grin.
"When exactly was the last time you saw him?" Lestrade inquired.
John paused, glanced at his watch and thought for a moment before answering, "About an hour ago. I saw him just before I left."
"Before you left?" Donovan posed.
"I only just arrived back 10 minutes before you lot came in," John informed the officer.
"Came back from where?" Donovan continued questioning.
"I ran- well, walked, actually- down to Tesco's 'cause the lazy sod can't be bothered to go to the store himself and I won't drink tea without milk. And what sort of Englishman would I be if I didn't have a cuppa in the morning? Course, the milk might not be here tomorrow. The prat might just wake up in the middle of the night to do some blasted experiment with it," John retorted.
Before Lestrade or any of the Yarders could reply, Sherlock descended the stairs dressed in only a blanket and as he did, shouted, "John! Why have you gotten out of bed? And why are you wearing clothes? It's unacceptable. I was positively dying of boredom."
John raised an eyebrow and said, "You were not bored. You were sleeping."
"Irrelevant," Sherlock proclaimed dismissively.
"Either way, we needed some milk. So I went and bought some," John retorted.
"Well now you're back and you are still dressed. It's unacceptable. Remove them," Sherlock explained.
John rolled his eyes and indicated to the bewildered Yarders, "We have guests, Sherlock. It's a bit rude to go around starkers when there are strangers about."
Sherlock huffed and threw himself into a kitchen chair before dramatically exclaiming, "Boring! You know social rules bore me John. They're immeasurably tedious and so very, very dull."
"Clearly," was John's simple reply.
He then turned to the officers and said, "I'll be with you presently. It'll just be a mo'."
The Yarders, who were still staring, astonished and entirely confused, gave no indication of comprehension.
"Cider, Sherlock?" John offered.
Sherlock looked over to John's glass and sniffed.
"Strongbow?" he scoffed.
"No need to be rude, Sherlock," John commented patiently.
"I certainly won't drink that. Strongbow can hardly be considered potable, let alone a palatable beverage. The thought that Strongbow is quality beer is completely ridiculous. Honestly, John, how can you even drink that poison? It's appalling," Sherlock exclaimed.
John rolled his eyes and said, "I bought Magner's as well, you sod."
"Oh," Sherlock said, "Then, yes, I will have a drink. In a glass, John."
As John prepared Sherlock's drink, he asked, "How did you even know I was drinking Strongbow?"
Sherlock threw him a condescending look and said, "It was simple. Can't you see the size of the air bubbles in the fizz on the glass rim? Or the opaque colour and the level of clarity of the liquid? It's entirely obvious."
John shook his head, reluctantly impressed, and said, "Completely brilliant, of course. You always are," before he gave the man a gentle kiss and handed him his glass.
Sherlock preened at the complement and the kiss. John rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated smile.
Lestrade was the first of the officers to gather his bearings.
"Wait. So you're... I mean, you... And him... He's your...?" Lestrade exclaimed.
John turned away from the Yarders with a smile and Sherlock condescendingly arched an eyebrow.
"Now really Lestrade, I am well aware that you are an idiot, but I thought you were at least capable of forming sentences," Sherlock murmured.
Lestrade huffed and glared at Sherlock who in response only further raised his eyebrow. Luckily, Donovan had finally overcome her shock and turned to John.
"You're dating this Freak?" She demanded of him.
"Dating him? No," he said, and before Donovan could voice her relief, he continued with a smile, "Married to him? Yes."
Donovan's jaw dropped as her eyes flew to the simple, silver ring on his left hand.
"But that's only just become legal!" One of the Yarders exclaimed.
"Well we've only just gotten married," John retorted.
"When?" Lestrade demanded.
"Six day, four hours, and twenty-four minutes ago," Sherlock inserted.
"Six days ago?!" Lestrade said.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Yes, as I've just said."
"So this is your... honeymoon?" Lestrade inquired with a look of bemusement.
"Yes," John said succinctly.
"You stayed in your flat for your wedding holiday?" Donovan posed incredulously.
"Indeed," Sherlock stated sharply.
"Why?" Anderson could not prevent himself from asking.
"We would have gone abroad, but John's only just returned and much preferred to stay home. And it made no difference to me, whether we were here London or away in Vienna," Sherlock explained imperiously.
"Returned? From where?" Lestrade couldn't help but ask.
John answered simply with, "Afghanistan."
Donovan's eyes widened, and then she asked, "You're a soldier then?"
"He's an army doctor. With RAMC," Sherlock answered.
With a tight smile John added, "Captain John H. Watson, MBBS of the 54th Northumberland Fusiliers, honourably discharged after being wounded in action, at your service."
No one knew quite what to say in response, though several eyes were drawn to the red wristband adorning Sherlock's right arm and another several to the cane resting against the table.
Lestrade, brave man that he is, broke the silence and said, "I...we... thank you for your service, Dr Watson."
Lestrade's statement was affirmed by his officers who mumbled and grumbled agreements and nodded their heads in deference. John, entirely uncomfortable with the recognition, gave a stiff nod in acknowledgement of the comment but otherwise gave no response.
Once again, an uncomfortable silence engulfed the room.
"I think that... er... we'll be going now," Lestrade stated as he directed his officers toward the door.
"It was nice to finally meet you, Detective," John said as he offered his hand and a smile to the man, who offered his own hand and a smile in return.
"Yes. Nice to meet you too. And sorry for interrupting. It won't happen again. I'll let the others at the Yard know to give Sherlock a break for a while, so you don't get anymore interruptions from us," Lestrade said.
Sherlock froze but remained silent. John noticed his husband's shift and gave an indulging smile.
"That won't be necessary, Detective. Sherlock's already becoming restless. He's been away from the work for more than a week. I'm sure he'll be ready for a case whenever you next need him. Don't keep cases from him for my sake," John said.
Sherlock gave a warm smile to his husband who returned it with an exasperated roll of his eyes.
Lestrade opened his mouth to respond but decided against it. Instead, he turned to follow his officers out of 221B and grinned to himself, quite pleased that Sherlock had found someone to tolerate his madness. As he walked down the stairs, he muttered, "Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson."
But before the officers could drive away, Lestrade's phone rang.
"Lestrade," he said into his mobile.
After the conversation ended, he turned to his officers and said, "There's been a murder."
fin