For The First Time

by TheConsultingVulcan

There's a first time for everything! Involves mentallyunstable!John, a bottle of milk, and tea in the kitchen. A oneshot meeting scene I thought up reminiscent of the original books. Not the most original idea I know, but I hope that the writing is creative enough to make up for any creative lack elsewhere! :)

For The First Time

My first fic of hopefully many. Comments are always welcome, as are new friends. I hope you enjoy! ~ Lilly

It was slightly too warm in the flat, and dust flickered through the sunbeams hitting the floor. If John had been able to think past the numbness he might've thought they were exceptionally audacious for shining on his floor at a time like this. Instead he shuffled his feet at the mat and carried the milk to the kitchen, carefully not expecting body parts as he put the bottle in the refrigerator. This was his first week home after rehab and his first bottle of milk since Sherlock... and it was tea time. Tea is good; tea is solid and warm and comfortable and very very British. A suitable companion for a time like this. John didn't particularly want to sit in his chair and stare at the empty one across from him, but he certainly didn't want to sit in the empty chair (that's what it was to him, now, just an empty chair), and he certainly didn't want to examine WHY he didn't want to sit down in the living room. So he made tea instead.

The tea was good, but it felt all wrong to drink it in the kitchen. It also felt wrong to sit at the table and have room to set his tea things, although he wasn't going to go so far as to think about the cluttered paraphernalia that weren't there to annoy him. He was just going to drink his tea and then perhaps watch some crap telly or go for a walk. Perfectly normal, perfectly fine. Tea and telly, or tea and a walk. Telly or walk. His mind puzzled over that decision for far longer than it had any right to, and then suddenly shuddered to a stop. There was a tiny creak from the door of the flat. John stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stopped being alive for one minute. He was hit by a flash of terror. He tried to figure out why, then gave up, as the memory of what he might be horribly afraid of was bound too tightly to the memory of something he didn't want to remember. So he shook off his fear and marched resolutely around the corner to confront the intruder. He found himself staring into sea grey eyes he never thought would open again.

For the second time in under a minute, John found that his brain hadn't a pre-programmed process for what it was suddenly feeling, and this time what he hadn't been able to bring himself to remember was standing right in front of him. Pale lips quirked upward at his utter inability to do anything other than gape. "Hello, John."

And for the first time in his life, Doctor John Watson hit the dusty, be-sun-beamed floor in a dead faint.