Dear Jim, please fix it for me. It's my wife, I couldn't stop myself. She just kept nagging and nagging-

Jim Moriarty flicked the radio off with a sigh. Without the inane babble filtering through his speakers, the thumps of protest from the boot were impossible to ignore. A low-level job, one his idiot employees should have been able to handle. They were to restrain an embezzler and bring him back into town for a little one-on-one interrogation time with Sebastian. Three men, three well-trained ex-military brutes, had somehow gotten their arses knocked out by a chubby businessman in a poorly-tailored suit. Imbeciles, Jim thought to himself, already contemplating their slow punishments. The banging was getting louder, and his patience was wearing thin. He turned to head his shout-

The car sailed through the fence and into a thick bank of snow. Jim slammed forward into the steering wheel, spitting curses as his nose bled over the leather. He had barely registered the deer before one collided with his grille, sending the sleek black car off the road. Jim yanked the door open and stomped into the snow. In the crash, the boot had popped open, and he glared at the retreating form of his pants-clad white-collar contract. With the windchill, he knew the man wouldn't make it back to town. The cold would do his job for him. Jim heaved a sigh and began his own trek into the city, leaving the car behind him.

John Watson sipped at his lukewarm tomato soup as the washer clanged and rocked in the basement. It was louder today; it'd been growing worse every week. Mary asked him again and again to call a repairman, but it simply wasn't in the budget. They were barely making rent as it was.

"Do you hear that?"

"It's just the towels, I'm washing towels, John. Don't forget, we're going to visit your sister tonight. Harriet said to bring roast beef. I tried to tell her it'd be faster- and cheaper- for us to bring some pudding, but she insisted! Apparently Clara's going to be making some fancy teas…"

He wasn't listening.

"It sounds… angry, today, don't you think?" he asked, giving a slight nod toward the basement door.

"Clara says Harry's always fixing things around the house. She's real handy, your sister. Never ever seen you lift a spanner. Oh! She said Harry just bought one of those all-in-one units, washes and dries. And last week? New surround sound system. I bet your Bond movies would sound incredible at her house."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad she can afford it," John replied, looking down at his half-eaten sandwich with disdain. How was this his life? He was a soldier, he'd killed men, he'd saved lives. How could he have left the thrill of the battlefield behind for a wife who loathed him and an uncomfortable place in the lower-middle class?

"Guess I married the wrong Watson," Mary teased.

John struggled to keep the fury off his face. Did she really need to be so rude about it?

"It's just been slow, at the shop…"

"Oh, John. That's what you always say," Mary cooed, offering him a small smile.

John stared at her a minute, spoon dangling from his fingers. It was 'what he always said' because it was true. He'd been unable to find work in the medical field upon his return. His hands shook too badly for surgery, and the clinics never called him back. Down on his luck and desperate for work, John accepted a job selling insurance. He wasn't a particularly good salesman, and he knew that, but he worked his arse off. Mary, for her part, wasn't contributing at all. She'd been unemployed since they met.

"Well… I'd better be off," John said with a forced smile. "Don't want to be late." He pecked her cheek as he headed toward the door.

"Salesmen make their own wins," Mary chirped, turning to face him. "That's what Harry says. You should smile, John, it won't kill you. Maybe wear a nicer tie?"

John scoffed and looked down at his worn navy suit. What was wrong with the tie?

"You bought me this tie," he answered, furrowing his brow.

"Well, if you were a better salesman, I would have bought you a nicer tie."

He turned away with a glower as she prattled on, asking him to take a look at the washer when he got home. Blood roared in his ears as he faced the basement door. God, why didn't she just shut up? Couldn't he have one bloody day where she didn't make him feel like a worthless piece of garbage? Without a word, he climbed down the stairs and took a tentative step toward the rattling washing machine. It rocked from side to side, almost as if it were trying to break free of its moorings. He cast a glance at the wall.

Maybe you're right and they're all wrong. No... I'm never right. He grabbed his coat and climbed back up to the ground floor. He'd been late too many times that month; John hurried to his car with a final half-hearted wave at Mary. He shuffled through the ankle-deep snow and dusted off his windshield, preparing for the day ahead.

They really are expensive, John thought, staring into the window of the appliance shop. The store carried the units Mary wanted, but they were a few hundred pounds out of his price range. Sleek and modern-looking, the dual units put his ancient washer to shame. He stood in a thick green parka, mittened hands stuffed into his pockets, completely oblivious to the world around. A new unit would make her happy, and get her off his back for a week or so. Was the purchase worth it?

"Well… Will you look at that?"

"What, dad?"

"Yeah, what?"

John looked up at the taller blond man who'd just approached. David Hess. He was immediately on guard, his soldierly instinct rising to the fore. David was a bully, real scum of the earth, but he had the whole town eating out of the palm of his hand. He ran a shipping business that brought in both business and money, and he had a lawyer to keep him out of trouble

But not today.

"Oh, hello, David," John said, squaring his shoulders.

"That there, boys," replied David to his two sons, "is a coward."

"... He doesn't look like a coward," the eldest answered.

"Yeah, dad, he doesn't," the youngest parroted back. "More like a squash."

John gritted his teeth and forced himself to look up into the man who had made his life hell when he was a teenager. John was always smaller than the other boys, with his nose buried in a book, and David? David was captain of the rugby team, with a penchant for building himself up by tearing others apart. John was an easy target, until he got accepted into uni and moved away. Until then, he was David's favourite punching bag. He hadn't seen much of him since he moved back home, but the day was going badly enough that John wasn't entirely surprised he'd popped up again.

"John Watson."

"Yep."

"How've you been, then, John?"

"Real good."

David scoffed. "Heard you were overseas, doing doctor shit. What happened?"

John sniffed. "I was, yeah. Enlisted after I got my degree. Army doctor. Captain, actually." He hoped David would pick up on the underlying threat- I'm not the pushover I used to be. Want to find out how good I've gotten? He wanted a reason, just a single reason, to release the fury that was growing within him, and David was a good enough target for him. the bastard had it coming, after all.

"Figured you would have been laughed right out of the Corps," David replied with a predatory grin. He approached John and clapped an arm around his shoulders. "Hey," he said, glancing to his sons. "Do you remember the story of the boy I stuffed in the oil drum and rolled out onto the freeway?"

Of course. Of course he'd tell his sons that story. It was one of the worst from John's childhood. He could still recall the loud screech of tires and the screams of the furious drivers. John knocked his head during one of the rolls, and had been barely conscious when the police came to rescue him. No one else was hurt, thankfully, though a few cars had a few dents and scrapes afterwards.

"Yeah! Is that him, dad?"

"Yes, yes it is."

David laughed and stepped away, giving John the space he so desperately wanted. He was coiled tightly, just waiting for the right trigger to release the tension.

"You know… I heard you were dating Mary Morstan. What happened?"

"We got married," John answered cautiously.

"Wow, really? You know, we dated for a few years. Must have been while you were off getting shot at, before you knew her… She gives a great tug, doesn't she? Such soft hands… And nice tits, too. Loved the way my cock felt between them."

While the boys behind David cackled, John drew in a slow, steady breath. He was in control. Letting David get under his skin would be as good as admitting defeat, as admitting he hadn't change at all from the quiet bookworm who wore second-hand jumpers two sizes too big. John couldn't let that happen.

"You know I used to beat him up every day in college? I'd make him write my name on my fist with a Sharpie, so that everyone knew who'd hit him. Remember that, John?"

"Yeah," John growled. "Yeah, I remember."

David's fist was hovering inches away from his face. He drew back, and John let go- he couldn't choke back the rage threatening to drown him. He sprung, tackling David into the glass wall behind them and slamming his fist into the man's face. David was just as fast, though, and brought his head up with a sharp jerk. He collided with John's nose, send blood flowing down his face. John snarled through the pain and punched him again. His arm was wound for a third blow, but David's sons grabbed his arms and hauled him back.

"Nice to catch up," John spat, his stormy eyes heavy with the promise of more violence.

The hospital was packed with people, mostly nursing frostbite injuries and the damage from slipping on ice. John leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling.

"Oh what a day," he breathed as he pressed an ice pack to his swollen nose. David had clearly broken the bloody thing. He was still wound tightly, with rage boiling in his gut, but that moment? That primal urge to fight he succumbed to? That helped. God, he felt better. Except for the broken nose, of course.

"Excuse me?" he asked the nurse sitting at reception. "Miss? Just, um… Will it be much longer? This thing hurts like the Dickens."

"We'll call your name."

"Yeah, but, I've been here for an hour already…"

"We'll call your name," she repeated sternly.

John sat back with a sigh and cracked open the can of Coke he'd purchased from the machine. As he tipped it up to take a sip, the pain in his skull grew worse. The can pressed against his nose and he winced in pain. It was just a can, he could manage a few lousy drinks, couldn't he? He tried again, and again, only making the pain worse. John cursed and lowered the can. Could this bloody day get any worse?

"Can I have a sip?"

The man sitting two chairs down was looking toward John. The first thing John noticed about him were his large russet eyes, dark enough to glint black under the fluorescent lights. His hair was neatly gelled, eyebrows delicately arched, and his was draped in a heavy black peacoat. He was pale, with a soft Irish lilt that was both pleasant and blood-chilling. He radiated wrong.

"Oh… Hell, take the whole can." John passed it to him, giving the soda one last glare. "Can't drink the bloody thing without a straw."

The strange man lifted it to his lips and began to drink, taking slow swallows. He drained it in one sitting and discarded it on the table beside him. John couldn't help but peek at him from the corner of his eyes. His nose was a little swollen too, and there was a gash over his temple.

"Obliged," he said, inclining his head. John waved it away and rubbed his brow. There was a headache coming on, brewing behind his eyes. It was certainly the last thing he wanted to deal with right then.

"What happened to your nose?"

"Oh, this? It's just a, ah, a misunderstanding."

"... Now, was this you misunderstanding the other fellow, or him misunderstanding you?" The stranger's eyes glittered as he leaned closer to John.

"I… p-pardon?"

"Who misunderstood whom?"

"Oh… No, it's… What I mean is, it's no use dwelling on these things," John answered.

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why is it not good to dwell on these things?" The brown-eyed man was smiling coyly, watching John with obvious interest. "Especially not things that put you in the emergency room at five in the evening?"

John considered him a moment. Venting to strangers was not something he was in the habit of. Trust issues, Ella had written on a small yellow notepad three years prior. It still held true. But who else did he have? Mary loved to make him feel inadequate, Harry lorded her success over him, and he barely had friends.

"I was, um… Settling an old score, if you must know. If I was any kind of man, I would have stayed and showed that bastard David just how much I've changed. But his kids… I didn't want to emasculate him entirely. Or get arrested."

As he spoke, the man stood up and moved to the empty chair that had been between them. He was close enough that John could see the mole just beneath his right eye, hidden beneath black lashes.

"David?" he asked.

John looked around a moment before leaning in to answer.

"... Hess. He was a bully in college, he's a bully now. But he's… He's untouchable. A 'pillar of the community'," John said with a sneer. "The city needs him. I'm lucky he hasn't sent that shark of a lawyer after me for hitting him. He could make my life hell- Christ, what was I thinking?"

"In my experience, if you let a man break your nose… Next, he tries to break your spine."

"David? … Well, I mean, he might. I sort of, um, embarrassed him. In front of his sons. I struck first, I thought he was drawing back to punch me. So I hit him."

"You embarrassed him? Well, I'm sure he'll let you live it down, then."

"It's not like that. He was… He used to date my wife, before I got back."

"Back?"

John nodded. "From Afghanistan. He was talking about her breasts, and her hands, saying that she…"

"Wait, wait wait wait… This man slept with your wife, and you're feeling guilty for embarrassing him?"

It was feasible. They'd dated for a few years, and John knew that. Mary had told him as much on their first date. Of course they had sex. That wasn't why it had infuriated him. That wasn't why he saw red. It was the disrespect David showed her, it was the way he talked about her- as if she didn't matter, as if she was just a means for pleasure. Coupled with the intended hit, that was why John had lunged at the giant prick.

"He was talking about… My wife, she has soft hands, and-"

"Mmn, mister, I'm not your friend, though maybe I will be someday. Even so, I've got to say. If it were me, in your position? I would have killed that man."

John blinked. The Irish stranger was leaning close, barely speaking above a whisper. Kill David? He was an arse, sure, but not… Not worth a murder charge. He turned back to the man, studying his expression.

"What? No. You're joking."

The look on his face clearly started the opposite. He fixed John with his heavy brown gaze, sitting as still as a statue. This man was clearly not joking, not about murder. There was a weight to the stare that sent chills down John's spine.

"You went to college together?"

"Yeah, for, um… For a few years. Shoved me in an old oil drum and rolled me into traffic once. Got a concussion, almost got hit, caused a few minor wrecks…"

"Seriously?"

John nodded.

"And now he tells you he had relations with your wife? This isn't a man who deserves to draw breath."

"I… well, yeah, but… What am I supposed to do? I can't touch him. If you're so sure about it, why don't you just kill him for me?" John was only half-jesting. A dark part of him wanted David dead, for all the years of abuse, for daring to talk about Mary's breasts, for making him suffer in front of David's family. For wearing him down. For being an all-around prick.

"You're asking me to kill this man," the stranger cooed.

"No! No, I was just… I was joking." John flashed him a small smile to reassure him.

"Mr. Watson?" The nurse approached with a chart in her arms.

"Uh, yeah, just… Just a mo'." He turned back to the other man, whose name he still hadn't gotten. "We're just two blokes talking, that's it. Just blowing off steam?"

"Sir, it's really busy tonight, will you please-"

"I said just one second, please!"

"... David. Hess."

"Sir?"

"Just one word, Mr. Watson. Yes. Or no."

"Sir, I'm going to give your spot-"

"ALRIGHT! Jesus, I'm coming!" John grabbed his parka and followed the woman back. He cast a final glance over his shoulder, only to find those dark bourbon eyes tracking his every movement. The man stared after him with something akin to longing. He didn't blink, he didn't breathe. All he did was watch John until he rounded the corner and disappeared from his vision.

I didn't even get his name.