Holy Shit! It's been so long since I've posted anything on here. Sorry, life happened.

So, I've been on vacation and this little plot bunny got in my head. Day later here you go.

All mistakes, and there will be many, are mine. I typed this out on my tablet which has its own idea what grammar and spelling is.

But please enjoy!

Another boring day at the clinic. John often wondered whether or not he'd ever find something a little less mundane. But then his words to Sarah at his interview came back his mind. And that brought back other memories to mind. His date with her, which just turned out to be another plot in Sherlo- No! Don't think about him.

John sighed and took out some left overs from a couple nights ago. It was the only thing going he would eat, if he ate at all, hence the leftovers.

The door to his neighbors flat slammed shut. It was the joys of living in the cheapest of cheap flats in London. He had moved out of 221 B as soon as the nightmares started to come back. Thus he was blessed with the ever so lovely perk of the seemingly paper-thin walls of his current residence. His neighbor, a woman he'd hadn't gotten to introduce himself to, was having an interesting conversation with someone named 'Mikey' and didn't seem to be too pleased with him. At least that's what John assumed, his French was unpracticed so he couldn't tell for sure.

It went on for about 30 minutes and stopped conveniently just as John sat down on his block of a mattress. He didn't know why though, its not as if he would be getting any sleep. Today was a bad day and it took all he had not to drop everything and run to the gravestone he'd visited countless times this year. John laid down and pulled the cover over his shoulder and pretended to himself that tonight he would get a sliver of rest. He was just about to close his eyes in his final act when he heard her.

It was one thing that the wall were thin. It was another that whoever designed the flats put the bedroom next to his neighbors shower. No, it wasn't the sound of running water that surprised him but the voice that began to sing. It was quite, a bit low in register for a woman, had small gravelly tone to it but was overall mournfully beautiful.

I thought I heard the old man say,

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

Tomorrow ye will get your pay

And it's time for us to leave her.

John rolled over, now facing the wall. The voice was captivating. Despite the edge of the singer's voice the notes were smooth, well practiced, and from the heart. This was a song the woman had sung many times.

Leave her Johnny leave her,

Oh, leave her Johnny leave her.

For the voyage is long and winds don't blow,

And it's time for us to leave her.

Now the good doctor hadn't claimed to be emotionally stable for several months, so it was no supprise to himself that the song brought tears to his eyes. It truley didn't take much these days. The smallest everyday accuracy John could find a link back to the detective Sherlock would have liked to hear this woman sing. Not that the prick (in the nicest since of the word [even in his best of times, it what he was]) would have actually voiced it.

John wiped away the stubborn drops that continued to fall, feeling childish for letting his emotions get the better of him. Sherlock could only be an excuse for so long, at least that's what his therapist said. He had missed some of the song while he wallowed in self misery.

We swore by wrote for want of more,

Leave her Johnny, leave her.

But now we're through so we'll go on shore,

And it time for us to leave her.

Leave her Johnny leave her,

Oh, leave her Johnny leave her.

For the voyage is long and winds don't blow,

And it's time for us to leave her.

The song ended.

The shower turned off as well.

The all surrounding silence returned.

John was once again left with his thoughts. And that alone was a dangerous thing.

But it didn't take long for the man to fall into the first decent amount of sleep he'd had since last June.

Until 4 AM when his alarm normally would go off. But it was Sunday and he had the day off. Begrudgingly John rolled out of bed with a frown on his face and set about to prepare a cup of coffee for the morning.

Mid stretch, tired sense awoke and the faint sound of a violin wafted through the walls. John's knees gave out on him and the war vet collapse back onto his bed. Thankfully not making it too far from it. The mattress may have been firm but the floor was harder.

Today was not going to be a good day. Elbows rested on knees, tears hit the bare wood floor. This was too much. He could not have a violinist as a neighbor!

The woman continued playing. The style was Renaissance-ish from what he could tell. But not something Sherlock would normally play. Thank God!

A flute joined in. This instrument louder than the violin, which had stopped at this time. John let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and listened a tad closer to the music coming from the neighboring flat. The violin could still be heard but the flute was most present. With straining eardrums John could make out other instruments playing along with the main melody. She was playing with a recording, she had to be!

When John could convince himself that his dead flatmate wasn't playing in some duet with the neighbor he'd yet to meet, he stood back up, squared his shoulders and made his way to the kitchen. The music growing fainter the further he got from his room. But this wasn't Baker Street, the kitchen was only a hop, skip and jump from the bedroom.

The coffee maker dinged and John mechanically grabbed a coffee cup and poured the dark liquid into a cup. He sipped hot coffee from the top, wincing as the scolding sip made its way down his throat. Then the thought hit him.

"Who plays the bloody flute at 4 in the morning!?"

The music stopped before John realised he had said that out loud

Well that's one way to meet your neighbor. But then again. It was 4 in the morning. There must be other people the the complex that were sleeping. Not everyone was up the early. John took another sip. The music from next door was absent. The only person John had ever know to play at this hour was Sherl- Nope! John stopped himself from making any comparisons between these two people.

The military man glanced over to the week old newspaper setting atop the microwave. Taking the paper John made himself comfortable at the table and opened the paper. Glazing at everything and yet nothing, he passed time. Between political scandals and the increasing crime rate there was nothing of interest.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Someone was knocking on his front door and it didn't take a genius to guess who. According to the microwave it was now 04:52

"Well, only 17 hours to fake normality" John thought standing to answer the door.

John's hand hesitated on the handle. Not that he wanted to dress up to meet his neighbor, but the ratty t-shirt and lounge pants weren't very presentable. Not the best first impression material. With quick thinking a dress robe was grabbed and went over the rest of the get up.

Forcing a fake smile the door was opened and John greeted... nobody. There wasn't anybody at the door. He took a step, looking down the short narrow hallway. Nothing. But his foot hit something.

A basket to be exact. With a napkin, one of the fabric ones not the paper, hiding the contents. And there was a note with his name scrawled out in an elegant hand over the top. With one last look down the hall, John took the bundle inside. Underneath the napkin was 3 muffins, still warm judging by the bit of steam coming from them. That and they smelled good. It gave John memories of being near Speedy's when they did all their baking in the morning.

Nope.

John turned to the note. How did she know how name? Curiosity aside John opened the note.

John,

Sorry about the rude awakening neighbor. Didn't really plan for this to be the way we first spoke. From now on I'll make sure to keep my practicing to more normal of an hour. To make it up to you here is breakfast. Also, I'd like to have a more formal meeting. Let me know when you're next available. If I'm not home just slide a note under the door.

Best regards,

Liz

PS: Sorry about the wake up call again.

More questions then answers John put the note back inside the basket. The note was hand written in the same flowing script. It was like someone took calligraphy fonts and copied over them with a water pen. the handwriting was that perfect. And it was written formally. And she, Liz, wanted to meet 'formally'. That means he'd have to act like a human being in public and possibly for dinner with his next door neighbor, that practices early in the morning... sounds like a repeat disaster waiting to happen.

John took a muffin wrapper and peel it from the treat. Took a bite. Chewed a few moments. They were good muffins. Great maybe. It had been ages since he had anything homemade.

John didn't respond to Liz until Tuesday after his therapist all but told him to accept the human contact. It was amazing, the man had been to war, gotten shot, ran the streets of London with Sherlock Holmes, but struggled to knock on his neighbors door. Squaring his shoulders John knocked twice on the door.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

Nothing, again.

Well at lease he came prepared. John had written out in his neat military font a simple day.

Thursday?

Sliding the note under the door John made his way back to his flat. He had two days to prepare to appear normal. Two days before he would probably have to explain way a military doctor like himself was living in one of the shittiest flats in London.

John didn't sleep much that night, or the next for that matter. Today was the day. He was going to meet his neighbor. The one that liked to sing in the shower (she had done it last night and the night before) and that tended to practice early in the morning (she'd waited until 7 yesterday after John had dropped one of his coffee mugs).

And there had been a new note in an envolope that morning too,

John,

8pm at the Jazz Cafe in Camden?

Feel free to dress casual, or formal, your choice. Dinner is my treat.

Liz

There was a printed ticket in the envelope too. Apparently the Jazz Cafe was a nice place. One that would pull from the lowly army pension and meager salary from the clinic. But she did say it was her treat.

John pocketed the note and ticket and retreated back into his flat where he did a quick internet search on the Jazz Cafe. Yep, it was a fancy place. One had to have a reservation placed at least 3 months ahead. There was live music and great food. The army doctor had to remind himself, it was her treat. But that had gone against his morals. He was an English gentleman and should pay for a lady's meal.

At 7 o'clock John hailed a cab dressed in slacks and a pressed dress shirt, ticket in the inside breast pocket of his coat. It was loose fitting on him now, then again mourning did that to you.

It was a 30 minute ride to the venue. There was already a queue forming around the entrance. A bit of panic surge through him. That last thing John wanted to be was late. He was never on for being tardy. The doorman was quick though, sorting through those who had and hadn't made reservations for the evening. John was able to make it to the door in nearly 15 minutes. John was thankful for remembering his cane, all the standing would have killed him, he couldn't wait to be seated.

The doorman took his ticket and directed him to the maitre d'.

"My apologies for the wait Sir, here is your seat here. Is there anything I can get you while you wait for your companion?" The man asked John as he was brought to his seat.

"Erm," John looked around. It was most likely the best seat in the house. Center of the room and not too far from the stage. And he didn't have to go up the stairs to the terrace.

"No thank you."

The maitre d' handed him a single page menu with instructions to ask if he needed anything while he was waiting. It was 7:50, he was still early, now all he had to do was wait.

The band was nice. As the name of the place suggested, they played a wide variety of jazz music. Even a few singers joined in. Not really his type of music, but John couldn't help but enjoy the tunes.

There were not many things that made John Watson nervous. Especially after his time in war. But it was now a quater after 8 and his date... no this wasn't a date. He was meeting his neighbor, his female neighbor at a fancy, reservation only restaurant in the middle of the city.

"Oh God, is this date?" John thought and took another glance at his watch. 'Not a a date' repeating like a mantra in his head.

"Sir?" The maitre d' had returned, forcing attention away from his watch.

He had a bottle of wine and was already pouring. John gave a slight noise of panic, it was going against him with having her pay for dinner, let alone possibly very expensive wine.

She was late though... but she could also be out in that crazy line.

"Wine on the house Sir."

"Thank you"

"Of course Sir" the maitre d' responded. " Also, your date would like to inform you that she is running a few minutes behind and wishes to apologise."

"Uh," Shit, it's a date. "Thank you"

"Of course, anything else Sir?"

"No thanks, thank you"

Not that John didn't want it to be a date, it just wasn't something he'd prepared for. Trying to keep composed he turn his attention back to the band. Currently they were half way through a cover of 'Careless Whisper'. A female singer dressed in a deep blue and gold dress taken straight out of the 1920's. The sequences caught the light at every movement in a way that stole all glances from all who were listening. She was a brunette, hair styled back with a face of classic beauty. Eyes done up with liner and red lipstick. It was like the person herself was taken from the era and placed on the stage to sing for them all.

And there was something familiar about her voice...

When the song was done the singer and saxophonist went front stage and did a few quick bows while everyone clapped. It was a good cover John thought, joining in on the applause.

One of the members announced that there was going to be a short break, the maitre d' returned to John's table.

"Your date will be in shortly Sir, are you ready to place your order?"

"I'd rather wait, I'm not sure what she'd like to order." John hated ordering for his dates. Heaven forbid he order something they hated, not a good way to start off.

"Ms. Marie said that she'd not mind if you wanted to order and has told me what she wanted should you choose to order now."

John in all accounts was going to tell him he'd wait, it was the gentlemanly thing to do, but another server walked by, the meal smelled godly and the doctors stomach let out a rumble.

"Alright, if she doesn't mind then..." he gave the man his order, the menu returned and John was left with the chatter of the people around him.

8:25, John was taking his third sip of wine and was watching the band set back up when someone sat down across from him. He put the wine glass down and took a good look at the woman in front of him. His mouth froze open, mid greeting when he saw just who was there, immediately glad he dressed on the more formal side then the causal.

"Sorry I'm late, I had to finsh my set before I could leave." The singer in the blue dress who had been up stage not ten minutes ago was apparently his date. "I hope you weren't waiting too long."

Taking a second to return go his senses, "Oh no, I wasn't. Besides I was so rude the other morning. It takes a few hours before my filter works" That made her smile. Internal hi five. Five Contenants Watson still had it.

"Well, my schedual hasn't given me many opritunities to practice. Like you I don't sleep a whole lot." That comment made him give a quick frown.

"Oh, where are my manners?" She brought out her hand for a handshake. "Liz Marie, your neighbor who has very unheathly sleeping habits and works one too many jobs."

John took her hand, "John Watson, doctor when I'm not setting at home."

Liz smiled and took her hand back, moving it to grab her water glass that had seemingly appeared by magic. "I know." she sipped her water.

John stopped breathing.

"The landlord told me"

John released the breath he was holding. It was completely normal for another tenet to ask about their neighbor right? John had met the guy, once, when he signed the lease.

Putting that info away John asked the first of many questions, if this was a date it was time to get questions going. "So, how long have you been working here?"

Liz put the water glass off to the side. "Oh gosh, maybe six months after I got back in London, almost a year now. What about you? How long have you been working in civilian life?"

'Since I've been in London?' John could hardly pick up a foreign accent. She was speaking French the other day. 'Was it too early to ask where she was from?'

"Oh it's been close to five years. Had to get something mundan after being shot at. "Do you only sing here, or do you get to play too? You're quite good." 'Compliments. Good job Watson!'

A smile broke out on her face, "Not many jazz songs have a flute part but when it presents itself, yes."

Friendly banter continued until the good came. Liz thanked the server by name and he went on his way as he had other orders as well. The food was great, worth the wait and the public appearance. Questions went back forth while eatting too. Overall Liz was great company, and John was glad he put doubts aside.

By the time Michelle, the maitre d', brought the cheque and had cleared the table John felt that he had meet up with a long lost friend. A good sign for a first date. That was until he sign for the bill. She was left handed, that wasn't it though. It was the silver diamond ring on her finger that made his stomach drop. Married. And it had started so greatly. It was amazing how a little bit of metal could change your life.

John's face fell into a frown. Something Liz had noticed. "Everything alright John?"

The hand underneath the table clenched in a fist. Now John had never been that great about learning people, definitely not near the ability of his previous flatmate, but he could tell the kind of person most were. Liz didn't seem like the type to cheat. But John also didn't think Sherlock would be one to kill himself either. Fuck. His jaw was clenched now. The night had turned on him.

"John?"

She had placed her hand on the one he'd left on the table, effective taken John out of the place in his mind he had gone to. It was her left hand. John couldn't miss it now.

"Are you alright, you've gone a bit pale? Do you need anything?"

Before he could say anything she'd waved a waiter down and had taken a water from them. They frowned but had let her do it. Liz removed her hand and put the glass down near his.

John took one sip, trying to calm himself before he made a fool of himself. Michelle had come back to the table with another glass and a pitcher of water.

"Sorry Liz, I thought you and your date where finshed." He said setting the things down.

To John's supprise and his relief she quickly corrected him.

"John is not my date, he's my neighbor. I owed him dinner."

John watched the guy all but run away.

He took a long drink from the water glass. He couldn't decide how he felt about that bit of new information. Glad that Liz wasn't cheating on an unknown husband, but sad that this wasn't a date. She could be a friend then.

The doctor set the glass down but kept his hand on it. Liz's covered it again.

"You alright? Better now? You've got some color back in your cheeks." It was nice to see someone worried about him. He didn't like the looks of pity he's been getting for the past year.

"I'm good yeah. Sorry my mind wandered for a bit." He finally said.

She gave him a lopsided look. Not quite believing him. "I know the feeling."

There was a round of awkward silence.

"Did you think this was a date?" Liz asked.

John had to stop himself from out right saying yes.

"The server, Michelle?" He paused watching her face for any reaction. "He kept calling me your date. But in the beginning I hadn't assumed it was.

"And I mean this in the nicest way possible." John continued. "But I'm glad it wasn't, I didn't know you were married and that's not really my thing." He thought of Harry and Clara. "Not many happy thoughts with that."

Liz removed her hand and with her thumb fingered the inside of the wedding band. John watched as her expression went from concern to forlorn... John knew that look.

"Oh," she forced a smile. Something John had been doing for a year. "I'm not married. My...uh... fiance..."

No... he knew where this was going.

Yeah, the night had turned on him. This is not what John had planed at all. And as bad as it sounded he was glad to have found someone who had lost someone dear to them.

It was John's turn to place a hand on her's in comfort. "You don't have to say anything more.."

She shook her head, "It'll do me good to say it... My fiance killed himself last year. While I was out of country. I didn't know until I got back."

Both happened a year ago. Well there was another thing they had in common.

Liz rotated her hand so she could hold his. John squeezed lightly and she returned it. Smiling, just barley holding back the tears in her eyes.

"Come now, none of that. You'll ruin your make up." Charming John, doing great (you idiot).

He briefly regretted his words until she started to chuckle.

"Thanks John." She used her other hand to wipe a few stubborn tears away.

"Not a problem." They shared a watery smile. "Are you done for the night?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to share a cab?"

Liz nodded, "No sense in both paying to go to the same place."

The two made their way through the crowd of the dinning room. Liz saying good bye to some of her co-workers. As it was London, the night was chilled and John's new friend was wearing a dress, one that was kind of short. He would have to be dead before giving up the most basic of English kindness. She took his coat after he refused to put it back on. They had to wait a bit before an available cabby as there others waiting. Generally John had little to no luck hailing a cab. Something that had never changed in all his years in London. Liz however, who was wearing heels several inches tall (and was probably taller then John even without them on) had no problem. The moment her hand was in the air a cab rushed to the curb they were occupying.

"What is it with you tall people?" John asked opening the door for Liz.

"Huh?" She had been giving the address to the cabbie.

"You tall folk have better luck hailing cabs. I never seem to get one very quickly." He explained. Sherlock, also much taller then John, had a knack for getting a cab.

"The height helps, but the trick to getting a taxi is how quick you raise your hand. The faster movement catches the eye better." She looked at him with a familiar look of 'how could you not know?', one he was very use to seeing from Sherlock.

He should really stop comparing them.

"You're kidding?"

She broke out in a grin, "No idea."

The frankness cause John to start laughing. Liz joined in not long after. Not caring about the look the driver was giving them the pair shared a laugh for several moments. This had been the first real laugh he had been able to manage since Sherlock died. It felt wonderful. It felt human.

'She called it a taxi, maybe she's American?' John wasn't as incompetent as Sherlock always believed. He could pick up on somethings.

The rest of the cab ride was spent in mutual quite. Liz would hum a short tune while looking out the window, occasional talk, but that was it. There was a small fight over who would pay the fair and it finally was agreed upon to split. They walked to their repected doors getting to Liz's first.

"Thanks for meeting with me tonight John. It was nice and I had a great time."

John nodded, "sounds like how a date would end, you sure this isn't a date." John joked.

Liz laughed, lifting her left hand. "I'm sure John, though you would be a fine catch. I'm sure you'll make some lucky girl very happy one day."

"Well..."

"Some day, when you've gotten over them"

John's head shot up at that. How'd she know!?

"Back at Jazz, when you saw my ring, I know that look. I've had that look for the past year." She leaned doen just enough to place her hands on his shouldets and look into his eyes.

"Whoever they were I'm sure they loved you very much. And I'm a hypocrit for saying this, but they'd want you to move on and be happy."

"... he was my best friend. And he always found a way to sabotage my dates." John managed.

The woman gave a brief chuckle. "Just wanted you all to himself it sounds like."

John would not cry, but that caused him to laugh. "Yeah he did, the prick."

"Thanks Liz"

Once again they shared a grin. "Anything I can do John, I know how it is."

Well then, "good night Liz."

"Good night John." She gave him a friendly peck on the cheek before turning towards her door.

Just before the door closed, "wait, Liz?"

The door opened back up. "Yes John?"

"There's one thing you can do for me."

"Yeah?"

"Keep singing in the shower. Helps me sleep."

The woman turned beet red in a matter of seconds. But held a straight face.

"Will do John. Have a good night."

Liz closed the door slowly. After it had closed John unlocked his door and entered his own flat. After tonight he was emotionally drained. There had been a rollercoaster of ups and downs, and he wanted nothing more then to go to bed. Feeling tired and unafraid of what his dreams could bring him. Sluggishly he changed into bed clothes and fell into the bed. It wasn't long before before his eyelids began to drop. Just before dreams took him he heard the water next door turn on and a solitary voice begin to sing...

Leave her Johnny leave her,

Oh, leave her Johnny leave her.

For the voyage is long and winds don't blow,

And it's time for us to leave her.

I will say this once. This is not a John/OC. If this continues it'll be another pairing. A slow build to that pairing, but it'll not be a John/OC story.

What did you think?