AN: I totally blame ~RitzyCrackers for this. She made me feel all the angst so I had to write a fic based on what she said to me to make me feel better.
So here I am sharing it with you.
I'm sorry.
And in case the fic isn't clear: it's the 10th Doctor, with Donna showing up at the end.
If someone had told John Watson an hour ago that he'd be patching up a total stranger in his sitting room, a stranger with two hearts and a really odd air about him, he'd have laughed them out of London.
But that's where he was right now. The stranger was laid out on the couch, his beige coat spread out underneath him as John focused on the gashes criss-crossing his leg and torso. John tried not to think about all the times it was a black coat instead. The memories still flashed in his mind.
His patient gasped, and John forcefully focused himself on the present.
"So I can see why you didn't want to visit St. Bart's. They would've kept you more for your two hearts than your injuries." He finished off the stitches he was working on. "What's your name? I hate to say 'hey, you' when my hands are covered in someone's blood."
The man chuckled, wincing when his bandaged wounds were pulled. "I'm the Doctor. You wouldn't like grappling with my given name."
"The Doctor? You don't really look the part of one, but who am I to judge?" John said, examining the wounds. Only a few needed stitches; the rest were just grazes. "I'd prefer for you to stay while these healed, you know."
The Doctor shifted slightly to relieve the pressure on his neck. "And I'd prefer to leave. I don't have the luxury of staying for long."
It was quiet for a while. John tied off the stitches on a deep graze on the Doctor's thigh. He reached for the vodka and poured it over the man's leg. He would have had the proper supplies, but the man was bleeding too much for a side trip and he hadn't had to do a home patch-up job in a while (four hundred seventy-nine days, but who was counting?). But still, he'd been remiss in letting his supplies slip like this.
The Doctor was the first to break their surprisingly comfortable silence.
"You're a soldier, a captain. More than that, you were their doctor. You saved their lives."
John refused to let his hands shake. "Not always."
"No, I suppose not. You can't always win, after all. No matter how hard you try."
They simply stared at each other for a moment. "Sounds like you're talking from experience," John said as he wrapped up the wounds. That was the most he could do at the moment. "I want you to stay right here while I put the kettle on and whip up something quick. I'm not letting you go wherever you think is better than here without some food in you."
He stood up and went into the kitchen when he was sure the man wouldn't run off. He quickly made some sandwiches and tea before returning to the couch. He set the tray down and carefully helped the Doctor sit up. John grabbed the extra sandwich he'd made for himself before setting his best doctorly glare on his guest.
"Eat, and then I'll help you get wherever you're hurrying to go."
The Doctor smiled and took a large bite out of his sandwich. "You remind me of someone I used to know."
"Do I?"
"Yes, you do. She used to fuss over me just like you when I was injured."
"What happened?"
"I lost her."
John cast his eyes down, feeling like he'd been picking at a fresh wound. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm so glad she isn't dead. She could have been, you know. She could have died right in front of me. But at the last possible moment, she was saved, and I couldn't be more grateful. Even if living without her is the price I pay."
He sighed, putting down his half-eaten sandwich. John didn't have the heart to force him to eat it.
"I lost someone too," John said. He stared at the tea cooling in his hands. "Only he died. Right in front of me, since he made me watch. But I couldn't do anything, you know? No matter which way I look at it, I was too late to save him."
His hands started shaking, so he set down the cup. "But he's Sherlock Holmes, one of the greatest and smartest men who ever lived! And some part of me still hopes that he pulled one more act, one more trick, and he'll come back to m—home. Come back home."
The Doctor's eyes narrowed and John knew he'd caught the slip. "You never told him, did you?"
"No, I didn't," John sighed. "He was 'married to his work.' He'd never wanted that kind of relationship either. Not with anyone. I was protecting us both by denying everything."
"You didn't do a very good job, did you?"
John frowned at him. "What do you mean?"
"He fell off a building for you. If that's not love, I don't know what is."
John's hands clenched around his cup. He hadn't even noticed picking it up again. He took a few gulps, ignoring the sting of tears in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, John, but you needed to hear it."
John sighed. "Yeah, I suppose I did. I've been avoiding that for too long, I think. Hurts less that way, but I owe it to him to acknowledge it."
The Doctor gently reached over and squeezed John's hand. John balanced the cup in one hand and used the free one to squeeze the Doctor's.
"What about you, Doctor? Did you tell her?"
John felt like this was something private, but sometimes you just needed to get something off your chest. The Doctor needed someone to talk to just as much as him.
God, look at them. Two maudlin old soldiers opening half-healed wounds made from missed chances and loss.
The Doctor coughed slightly and removed his hand from John's grip. He picked his cup up and took a few sips before speaking.
"I didn't get the chance to tell her. She knew, I'm sure. Some part of her always knew. But I never actually told her, and now she'll never hear it. That's the only thing I regret."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It wasn't your fault."
Silence fell again, and for a while they sat there quietly drinking tea. John couldn't take it.
"God, why are we doing this? Opening up to each other, I mean. We're total strangers!" John said, abruptly standing up.
"Sometimes strangers are exactly who we need."
John thought that over for a moment. "Hmm, I think you're right. Sometimes all we need is a complete stranger to talk to."
"Well, since we're in agreement, sit back down and finish your tea and sandwich. I'd hate for them go to waste."
John did as he was told, sitting down and enjoying the light meal. This time he let himself enjoy it without question. Maybe it was the company, but he felt less fractured than he had for a while. It was a good feeling.
Yeah, there was definitely something to be said for talking to strangers. He'd prefer that they didn't fall into his lap bleeding, but it turned out all right in the end.
The Doctor finished his meal and tea before finally standing up. "Well, it's time for me to go! If you could point the way to Dorset Square, I'll be on my way."
John froze in surprise for a moment before realising that he was serious. "Now just a moment! I'm putting my own morals in jeopardy by not getting you to a hospital and then letting you go off after I've just stitched you up. There's no way I'm letting you walk that far on your own so soon. As a matter of fact, the only reason I'm letting you go at all is because you say you've got medical equipment where you're going! So until you get there, you're stuck with me."
John crossed his arms and stared him down. Despite his shorter stature, his glare was still just as effective now as it had been when he had focused it on a more stubborn man. The Doctor folded under it.
"Fine, you can escort me back to my TARDIS."
"Your what?"
"My vehicle."
"Oh, okay. Anyway, just put your arm around my shoulder so I can support you. I don't want you to put too much stress on those stitches. Let's hope we get lucky and there's a cab we can catch."
The Doctor huffed but did as he was told. They carefully made their way down the stairs and out to the street, and John was glad that Mrs. Hudson was out of town. He'd hate for her to see the state they were in.
As it was, they did get lucky, and managed to hail a cab only halfway down the street. They drove the rest of the way to Dorset Square. John paid and they got out, mindful of the Doctor's stitches.
"Which way?" John asked. The Doctor pointed and John supported him again as they made their way to an alley. At first John didn't see anything, but then they rounded a building and John saw the police box. He stopped and blinked.
"So... is that it?"
"Yes, that's her. C'mon, I'm not getting any younger and these stitches are annoying me."
"Hey, no need to be bossy! I'll get you there."
With a bit of cursing on John's part and a fair amount of wincing on the Doctor's, they managed to make it to the doors.
"Would it kill them to clean out this alley?" the Doctor complained as he fished the key out of his pocket. He quickly unlocked the door and John helped him inside. He stopped dead two steps in.
"Well, that was unexpected," he said.
"I so love the faces you people make. It's one of the best parts."
The Doctor started limping toward one of the hallways, and John moved forward and supported him again as the Doctor told him which way to go. Soon enough they found themselves in the medical bay. John laid him down and followed the Doctor's instructions exactly, and soon the Doctor was good as new.
"Not bad, John! I feel like a new man." The Doctor hopped off the bed and ushered him back to the console room. John figured it was better to go along with the madness than argue.
Quicker than John would have thought possible, considering the time it took to find the medical bay, they were shaking hands and saying goodbye on the doorstep of the TARDIS.
"Thanks for everything, John. I might have fainted of blood loss before getting here."
"No problem; I am a doctor, after all. Consider my door open if you ever want to visit."
The Doctor's eyebrows rose. "You'd invite an alien into your home?"
John really should've expressed some kind of disbelief or disgust at this, but he'd had to deal with worse. Besides, alien was the only explanation for everything he'd seen tonight.
"As long as the alien is a good man, yes, I would."
The Doctor smiled. "You're really something, John Watson. I'm tempted, but you're better here than with me."
John chuckled. And God wasn't that a weird thought? John Watson chuckling with an alien on the doorstep of his spaceship after stitching him up. He thought he'd seen it all, but he was wrong.
"Save that spot for someone who needs it more."
"I'll keep that in mind. Goodbye, John."
"Goodbye, Doctor."
With one final handshake John turned and stepped out of the TARDIS. He only made it a few steps before the Doctor's voice made him stop.
"Oh, and John?"
John turned around. "Yes?"
"Don't give up hope. You're not the only one who believes in Sherlock Holmes."
With that, he disappeared inside his box. A loud whirring noise filled the air, and John watched with wide eyes as the box disappeared. When it was gone he moved forward and felt the air, not quite believing it had left, but there was nothing there.
"Well, that's not something you see every day," he said to the empty alley. Then he turned around and walked away, feeling lighter than he had in months.
Almost three years later, John spotted the blue police box out of the corner of his eye, tucked away in an alley. Sherlock was inside the shop behind him, taking care of something for their case, and thankfully momentarily out of John's hair. He wasn't sure he wanted him around for something like this.
He thought about crossing the street, but before he could decide the door opened and out stepped the Doctor. He smiled and waved at John, and he returned the gestures.
John moved forward, intending to cross, but a shake of the Doctor's head stopped him. He returned to his place, and the Doctor didn't go any farther than the mouth of the alley.
The Doctor pointed at the shop, raising his eyebrows in question. "Is he in there?" he mouthed.
John smiled and nodded, and the Doctor's smile looked like it could break his face. John licked his lips and glanced back at the shop to make sure Sherlock was still occupied. He was, so John turned back to the Doctor.
"Thank you," John mouthed as well, following the Doctor's lead.
"For what?"
"For giving me hope."
"You're welcome. Thank you for listening."
"My pleasure."
The shop door jingled and John whirled around, but it wasn't Sherlock. It was just an elderly woman exiting the shop. He turned back around and saw the Doctor had turned and was walking back to the TARDIS.
John opened his mouth, about to call him back because he had one last question, one very important question, to ask him. But before he could, a red-headed woman poked her head out of the door.
"Oi, you're making me nervous, forcing me to wait in here! Bad things happen to you when I'm not around to save your arse."
The Doctor said something John didn't catch, and the woman went back into the TARDIS, yelling something that John didn't understand, distorted as it was by the TARDIS walls and the distance. The Doctor laughed, loud and full.
John realised his mouth was still hanging open, and he shut it with a snap. He supposed he had the answer to his question now.
The Doctor was happy.
And that, quite honestly, was all he could have asked for him.
The shop door chimed again, and this time Sherlock was the one who stepped out. John glanced back to the alley, but the TARDIS was gone.
"John, are you coming?" Sherlock called over his shoulder, already halfway to the corner.
John jumped and rushed to catch up to him. He fell into step next to him, grabbing his free hand and giving it a light squeeze. Sherlock squeezed back with a slight smile.
"Who were you talking to?" Sherlock asked, mostly focused on his mobile.
John didn't bother asking how he knew he'd been talking to someone. Instead, he smiled and tightened his grip. He felt the metal of Sherlock's ring dig into his hand and remembered the night a stranger had bled on him and then talked with him over a plate of sandwiches and tea.
"An old friend."
AN: I hope you guys liked it (even though I butchered 10). Reviews are much appreciated. :D