John Watson's Blog
May 5, 2011

Finally, I find myself adjusting to life away from the war. I was initially concerned by my flatmate, but have managed to remain sane.

Sherlock is a unique model of a human being. Highly intelligent and resourceful, one would imagine him to be the perfect specimen of what we all strive to be. Yet, I find him seriously lacking in areas that the average person would take for granted. Social graces and tack seem out of his grasp, though purposefully so. I do believe he finds it a complete waste of time to be pleasant to anyone.

As I stated, I managed to remain sane, despite these idiosyncrasies. However, I am always nervous when introducing a friend, correction, anyone, to him. On this particular day, I had the unpleasant opportunity of doing just that.

I had met Emma through a mutual friend. We had met at a local coffee shop. I believe my friend had every intention of setting us up for a future date. After the introductions, she quickly excused herself, leaving me to sit uncomfortably across the table from Emma, not knowing what to say.

Emma was in her early thirties, with green eyes, brown hair. She was a rather average looking woman on first glance. She didn't wear much makeup, which was nice. Women who wear a lot of make up tend to look like...well...nevermind. She was a physician, like I, though at the time I was not aware of her exact specialty.

I struggled to keep the conversation alive. Emma offered very little help, responding with one word answers or short sentences. She did not appear to be rude, rather possibly shy or nervous. Of course, at that moment Sherlock, burst into the shop, grabbing a chair from another table. He would have sat between us, if it hadn't been for the table.


"John! I will be in need of your assistance tonight," Sherlock fired off quickly, with his usual level of energy. Sherlock had entered the coffee shop like a whirlwind. He was wearing his usual Belstaff Milford coat, unbuttoned and opened loosely. Outside, it was cold enough for the coat, but not so much so that it required the coat to be buttoned closed. Around the collar of the coat and down both sides was a rich blue scarf. Underneath his coat, he sported his customary dark suit and tie.

Emma sat, staring at Sherlock in confusion, eyebrow raised. John looked back and forth between them. "I...uh..." John stuttered, unsure if he should question Sherlock on why he required assistance, or if he should offer introductions.

Sherlock's impatience taking the better of him, his head whipped around and he gave Emma a once over. His observations made, he extended a hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Emma Herrington," she replied, though hesitant to shake his hand. She stared at his face for a while, seemingly analysing it. John assumed it was due to Sherlock's upfront attitude, which often times put people off making them uncomfortable or generally annoyed.

He nodded. "A bit far from home," he stated.

"Pardon?" Emma raised an eyebrow, confusion set in her eyes. She glanced over at John, who had shifted uncomfortably in his seat. John frowned. He's doing it again.

"You. Far from home," Sherlock stated slowly, the impatience quite evident in his voice. "Harrogate, if I'm not mistaken." Emma was about to respond, but was stopped when Sherlock held up his hand, palm facing her. "But that is merely where you are from now. New Zealand, though there is a hint of something..." he mused to himself. Her eyes widened as he spoke. Opening her mouth, she could not find the words to respond. Her face showed a look of what John thought was amazement.

"Sherlock..." John said in warning.

"What?" Sherlock snipped. Rolling his eyes, he continued, "Oh yes, right. Not very specific, is it? Alright then, you were born in Auckland, New Zealand, though you came over to England very young, perhaps two or three years of age. You are part of a middle class family, as you obviously dress the part. Unlike your family, you are slightly more educated and practice as a physician in London, where you currently reside. She is currently single, by the way, John."

Emma looked from Sherlock to John, who was doing his best to avoid eye contact at all cost. What his heart greatly desired was to be able to slip away from the uncomfortable moment. Emma's eyes returned to Sherlock, but the confused look had disappeared. It had been replaced by a cold stare. John stole a glance and groaned within. Though he had not had high hopes of securing a future date, Sherlock had just ensured that there would be no hope whatsoever.

"How..." she asked quietly.

Sherlock proceeded to point out the clothes she wore, though of good quality, were not particularly expensive, concluding that she knew the value of money. Her hands, though slender and smooth, showed slight calluses indicating she sometimes did manual labour. He had known of her occupation, as John had previously mentioned it.As for her birthplace, though masked by the Harrogate, New Yorkshire dialect, a subtle dialect from Auckland could be heard by the trained ear.

While Sherlock spoke, John noted Emma's fingers had tightened over the pair of gloves she held in her hand. She was clearly not happy. "You're rather confident in your observations and deductions." she hinted at a smirk. "Surely you've been wrong from time to time."

"Never." Sherlock replied. He opened his mouth to continued when John cleared his throat, succeeding at interrupting Sherlock's train of thought.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, looking at John. "You needed me for what, tonight?" John asked.

"Ah yes!" Sherlock proceeded to explain to John his plans for that evening. To Sherlock, Emma might has well have disappeared. His focus on explaining a case to John, she was now nearly invisible to him. He had made his observations of Emma and no longer found her of interest.

While listening to Sherlock, John glanced over at Emma, concern in his eyes. He was truly apologetic for his friend's behaviour. She was watching Sherlock, her eyes running over his face. At first, John was fearful that there might be some attraction.

As if sensing John's concern, she looked at him, gave a flash of a smile and began to stand. John stood as well, causing Sherlock to look back at Emma and slowly rise with a frustrated sigh. He always seemed put off by common courtesies.

Excusing himself from Sherlock, John escorted Emma outside the coffee shop. "I apologise for my friend's behaviour. I had no idea he would find me here." Actually, that was not entirely true. Sherlock seemed to know where he was nearly all of the time. He also seemed to show up when he was least expected or wanted.

Emma gave a small smile, yet her eyes looked back in Sherlock's direction. A flash of annoyance crossed her face. "Thank you. Perhaps we could try this again another time?" She looked back at John, a twinkle in her eyes.

John flashed a big smile. "Really? I mean...you aren't to...that is...yes! That would be lovely." he glanced back to ensure that Sherlock had remained at the table. "How about dinner tonight?"

Emma continued to look through the windows of the shop at Sherlock. "I believe you already have plans." her face was devoid of emotion, making it difficult for John to read.

John followed her gaze. "Right." he sighed, thinking for a moment. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow." she looked back at him and forced a smiled. Taking a small piece of paper from her bag, she wrote her mobile phone number down, handed it to John, then turned and walked away.

"Tomorrow then." John called out, giving a futile wave before returning to Sherlock in the coffee shop. Slumping down in his chair, John stared at his partially finished cup of coffee.

"Can you?" Sherlock asked. Receiving no response, he sighed dramatically. "You'll see her tomorrow. Though I can't imagine why you would want to."

John looked up. He was annoyed by Sherlock's interruption. Though he was not entirely attracted to Emma, it would have been nice to just have a conversation with a female. "I'll be there." he said, rather shortly.

Sherlock ignored the tone, but took the answer. Standing up quickly, he rushed back out onto the street and to his next destination.


John Watson's Blog
May 17, 2011

I still find myself amazed several weeks later. Despite the rocky start and the introduction to Sherlock, if one could call it that, Emma has still remained willing and interested in going out with me. We have gone out only for coffee at this point, but I'm hoping to take her on a more official date.

In the meantime, Sherlock has become increasingly...irritating. Honestly, what is the big deal of being bored? For me, I relish the time when I can simply sit and relax. Of course, being Sherlock's flatmate means I rarely have the opportunity to relax.

So, he's bored. So what, right? Wrong. Sherlock is mental when he's bored. He requires constant brain stimulation or he'll simply lose his mind. He seems to be escalating, as I found a bottle of medication in the flat that was not prescribed to him. Is he actually self-medicating? I find that hard to believe, considering how intelligent he appears to be. I will continue to monitor him. If he continues, I just might have to contact his brother for additional help.

I have to run off now, or I'll be late meeting Emma. Wish me luck!

Comment

Honestly, John, several weeks later? Clearly your math skills are lacking. It has been 13 days. That would be less than 2 weeks.

I'm mental? Of course I'm bored! I have no case, at least no interesting case. Haven't I explained this already?

Good luck with Emma. I give it one month, tops.

SH


Several weeks had passed. John had made every effort to go out with Emma. He was not entirely sure if his involvement with her was his personal desire or more to spite his friend in the hopes of proving him wrong. More often than not, she had declined his offer, always citing that it was due to work and not him. During those times, Sherlock seemed to be contacted often, though those cases never too much time for him to solve.

John was beginning to doubt Emma's reasons for declining when he was pleasantly surprised by her acceptance of a dinner date. He had found that absence from her had peaked his interest. Initially, he had not been immediately attracted to her; however, over the course of time and their few dates, he found himself longing to see her.

While dressing, John heard a dramatic groan from the other room. His shoulder's immediately tensed at the sound. Not again, not this time. Another loud sigh sounded from the other room.

"Bored!" Sherlock shouted.

Placing his hands on the edges of the sink, John slouched his shoulders and hung his head. At that moment, it felt as if the weight of the world had been placed on his back. That weight was Sherlock. Before he could stop himself, John called out, "Are you alright?" Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! he shouted in his mind while repeatedly punching a nearby folded towel.

"If I was alright, would I be in this state?" Sherlock called back.

John rolled his eyes and looked up at the mirror in front of him, gritting his teeth. Taking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment. He needed to relax and stay that way for the dinner with Emma. Finishing up quickly, he headed out to the other room. Sherlock was lying on the sofa, his arm crossed lazily over his eyes, his breathing slow and steady.

John leaned against the frame of the door, watching his flatmate. He was afraid to ask what was wrong, for fear it would open up into something more time consuming. Having known Sherlock for a time, he did not need to ask. Boredom. Swallowing the question down, he walked towards the desk to retrieve his wallet.

He will not ruin this for me, not again, John thought.

Sherlock remained lying on the sofa, arm over his face, his breathing slow and steady. Next to him, on the table, was a glass of water and a few medicine bottles. John picked up one bottle after the other, reading the labels.

John frowned. "What the hell is this?" He asked, grabbing the medication. "Where did you get these? Does Mycroft know about this?" He looked at Sherlock, who raised his arm and rolled his eyes. "You know what? Never mind. You don't need these," he took the bottles and shoved them into his coat pocket.

Sherlock gave a ghost of a smile, looking at him through half closed lids. "I'm fine, John," he waved a hand lazily in the air, then turned onto his side, facing away from him.

John stood for a moment, debating whether or not it would be a good idea to leave him. It was obvious Sherlock was trying to self-medicate in an attempt to manage his boredom. The method was dangerous and could very likely kill him. John was beginning to understand that Sherlock's mind was so active, the best thing for him was a case, a puzzle to solve. He was like an addict going through withdrawal until the next case, desperately wanting to dull his mind in the lull. He had spoken to Emma, but she had no suggestions on how to deal with the problem.

"Going somewhere?" Sherlock asked, though he remained curled up, facing the sofa cushions.

"Going somewhere?" John replied incredulously. "Emma. I'm going to have dinner with Emma." he said hotly, not bothering to look at his friend. "You know that."

"Do I?" Sherlock responded with an air of innocence as he moved to take a glance at John. "Emma...Emma..." he repeated quietly while looking up at the ceiling, as if trying to recall. "Ah yes, the Auckland girl." Then he added in a mumble, "I'm surprised you're still seeing her."

"Yes, Emma. I'm still seeing-" John stopped, realising what Sherlock had said. "Now what do you mean by that? Of course I'm still seeing her," he snapped.

"Have a good time." Sherlock gave a quick patronizing smile.

John stood there, coat on, glaring down at Sherlock. His flippant attitude was so grating at times. "Right. Well then, good night," John said in a huff.

"One thing, though," Sherlock began, causing John's shoulders to tense again.

John turned around to face him. "No. Not one thing more. I'm going out. I shall see you in the morning."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Now that is rather confident. Morning." John groaned and growled, hoping Sherlock would understand the clues. If he did, he merely ignored them. "I don't believe you are a right match. She's too...dull."

John stared at him a moment. "Are you actually trying to insult me or her, right before my date?" Then he raised a hand to stop Sherlock from answering. "You know what? Never mind. I'm going. Good night."

"Good night," Sherlock called out, though the tone did not express the sentiment.

John stormed out of the building, furious at Sherlock. While walking to meet Emma at her building, John gave Mycroft a ring to discuss the seriousness of the situation.

"Hello, Mycroft? It's John," he began.

"Yes, I'm aware of who you are. Hello, Dr. Watson," Mycroft answered.

John took in a breath to gather up the courage. He was less comfortable with Mycroft than his brother. "Look, sorry to bother you. It's about Sherlock." he paused.

"Of course it is about my brother. And if you were sorry, you would not have called. What has he done this time?" Mycroft asked with a quiet sigh.

"I, uh, yes well, I am sorry just the same. I...I found Sherlock next to several medications. I believe he's self-medicating. Some of the drugs are habit forming and could prove dangerous, even fatal." John glanced around to gather his bearings. He still had a few more minutes before arriving at Emma's address.

"Obviously he is self-medicating. Out of boredom, no doubt. Keep an eye on him, Dr. Watson. You can remove what medication you'd like, but he will find a way to obtain more." Mycroft stated, no emotion in his voice.

He almost sounds...bored. John rolled his eyes. Is no one in this family normal? "Right, well, what else should I do?"

Mycroft paused for a long moment, causing John to glance at his phone to ensure they had not been disconnected. Finally, he said, "Find him a case. He needs something to keep his mind occupied."

"T-that's it? Emma thought you might know- " John asked, hoping there was more.

"Emma?" Mycroft interrupted.

"Y-yes, Emma, my girlfriend for over a month." John answered. "Sherlock must have mentioned her to you. Brown hair, green eyes, a physician. I met her through a mutual friend." Then mumbled, "What am I saying? You two never talk."

"Hmmm. Emma, was it?" Mycroft paused in thought, then continued. "I never thought her to be your type," he mused. "At least, I never considered you her type. Interesting."

"I-" John again found himself insulted.

"Dr. Watson," Mycroft interrupted with a sighed. "You know Sherlock. A challenge, a puzzle, that is what he needs."

"Right." John answered, feeling hopeless.

"Goodbye, Dr. Watson." A faint click could be heard as Mycroft hung up.

John's pace slowed as he thought of the brief, and odd, conversation with Mycroft. Where am I going to find a case?

Looking up at his surroundings, John realised he was nearly at Emma's place. Rounding the corner, he stopped suddenly. Remaining in the dark shadows, he watched as a tall hooded figure seemed to be involved in a heated discussion with Emma. He assumed, based on the body shape, that the figure was that of a man. What he found odd was, though the man was clearly upset, Emma remained perfectly still. She seemed to watch him, without emotion, detached.

The man moved closer to her, in what John thought was a threatening manner. John quickly moved out into the lamp light, heading directly for Emma. The man turned, possibly seeing John's movements out of the corner of his eye. Turning back to Emma, he leaned in close to her, then turned quickly and ran off.

John jogged over to Emma. "Are you alright?" He asked, now more concerned for her safety.

Emma gave a nod, but said nothing to explain what had happened.

Sensing that she might not be comfortable discussing the man that had just left, John nodded, "Good. Well, shall we?" He offered her the crock of his arm, but she did not appear to see it, walking past him. "Right," he gave a slight frown, his anger with Sherlock still festering. Not the best start to the date. He did a quick jog to catch up.


John stared at the menu. The waiter had approached the table three times already and still, John had been unable to decide. He was fuming. The question was whether he was angry at Sherlock in general, or that Sherlock was right. Was she dull?

John looked over the menu at Emma. She sat, elbows on the table, finger twirling a long strand of hair as she stared blankly out the window of the restaurant. Outside, it was dark, making it difficult to see anything at all. Yet, there she sat, staring. The weather forecast had predicted a storm and, as usual, it was accurate. The skies had opened up, soaking the streets, cars and passersby.

She had been acting peculiar. After witnessing Emma's encounter with the man, John had tried to talk to her. She did not appear to be comfortable with speaking about it and had remained silent during the walk to the restaurant.

John looked back down at the menu and frowned. The waiter again approached the table. Emma continued to look out the window, seemingly oblivious to all that was going on around her. John finally made a half-hearted decision. After multiple attempts to gain her attention, he reached over and placed a hand on her arm. Startled, she withdrew her hand and looked at him. She gave a shy smiled.

"Sorry," she apologised, giving her order to the waiter, who then quickly left. Her eyes drifted down towards the table.

"So..." John began, but fell short of beginning the conversation. "You look beautiful, by the way." He had hoped the compliment might put her at ease, but it seemed to make matters worse. She would not give him eye contact.

"Thank you," she said quietly, fiddling with her cloth napkin.

Taking a deep breath, John tried again. "You're a physician?" She nodded. "What specialty?"

She looked up at him to reply. "Pediatrics, originally."

"Really? How nice...that's...nice." John replied, giving a faint smile. "I work in a clinic. See all types you know. It's...it's rewarding, I think." As he was about to opening his mouth to say more, his phone rang loudly. Glancing down he noticed a text message had come through.

"Have case. Need you. SH"

John sighed, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He was on a date. The dead body would no could wait. He gave a quick smile to Emma. "It's nothing," he said as he noticed her eyes glancing down towards where the phone had been.

"How is he? Still self-medicating?" She asked quietly.

John nodded. While he was in the middle of taking a drink, the phone rang again. Pulling it out, he read the message.

"NOW"

John clenched his teeth, feeling his anger rising. Sherlock seemed to have a knack for ruining perfectly good things in his life. He looked up at Emma.

"You have to go," she said, not as a question, but rather a statement.

"I...I don't think so, no. It can wait." John said, tilting his head while giving her a confused look. How could she possibly know? The phone rang again.

"SHE can wait. Need u now."

John looked up from the message. Emma was not angry, nor was she disappointed. She actually was not showing any particular emotion at the moment. She was simply staring at him. After a moment of silence, he said, "I'm sorry. I should go."

She gave a faint smile and nodded in understanding.

"Make this up to you? Tomorrow?" John asked as he stood up. She nodded again. "Tomorrow then. Thank you for understanding." As he was heading towards the door, he stopped, bent down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, to which she gasped. Having no clue as to why he had just done that, he hurried out the door before either of them could acknowledge it.


John stepped out of the cab to find Sherlock pacing impatiently back and forth in front of the museum doors. "You're late!" he snapped, hurrying towards the doors and rushing inside.

John gave him a dirty look, which was lost as it was to Sherlock's back. "I'm not late. You just texted me."

"15 minutes ago." came the curt reply.

"But, I...I was just..." he began, sighing with exasperation.

"Never mind that. Come with me." Sherlock interrupted, leading John towards the scene of the crime.

They entered a small office full of books as well as odds and ends. The room smelled of dust and mold. As John looked around, Sherlock circled the perimeter. "Notice anything missing?" He nearly hissed the last word.

John tried to observe as Sherlock observed, but he, admittedly, was not quite as good, or as clever. "My patience," he mumbled quietly. Unfortunately, Sherlock heard him quite well.

"She can wait, John." Sherlock snapped. "What...is...missing." he stated again.

Finally looking down, John frowned and glanced back up at Sherlock. "I though this was a murder." Sherlock gave a smirk. "Well, where's the body?"

The response was a head jerk towards a gentleman wearing an overcoat, standing in the hallway just outside of the office. The man, though balding, was no more than thirty five years of age. Currently on his cell phone, he gave a quick glance at Sherlock and John before walking out of sight to continue his phone conversation.

"Where's Lestrade?" John asked, brow furrowed as he looked in the direction of the stranger.

"Interim inspector until Lestrade returns," Sherlock replied. "Name is of no importance. He was apparently called by the Superintendent and instructed to process the scene, without me." Staring at the floor, he sighed in frustration, mumbling to himself, "Idiot."

"Without you? The Super actually called him? That's hard to believe. Everyone there knows you, knows the value of your observations." John stood, waiting for Sherlock to respond. He said nothing, did nothing, but stare at the floor, eyes darting back and forth. "Sherlock. Sherlock. "John could not gain his attention. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock looked back at him, his anger subsiding. "Sorry." Gaining composure, Sherlock stepped close to John and instructed quietly, "Find the body. Give me cause of death."

"Pardon, what? Did you say find the body? You mean, you don't know where it is?" John asked, slight amusement in his voice.

Sherlock was anything but amused. "John," he began in a warning tone, then lowered to a whisper. "Our friend there." he nodded in the direction of the temporary inspector. "He had the body moved. Sent it to the morgue, though I highly doubt it was the Super that had called."

"You think he was lying." John stated, glancing towards the doorway.

"No. He believes he spoke with the Super. No doubt someone with a talent for voices." Sherlock frowned, pacing around the room, searching for any clues. Stopping suddenly, he looked at John, annoyance written all over his face. "Well? I need you to visit the local morgue. Call if you find anything. I'll join you later." he resumed his pacing.

At first confused, John nodded quickly, "Right. Of course, the morgue. I'll head over there first thing after work, tomorrow." He was tired and, thanks to the interruption of the date, he was not in the mood for investigating a death.

Sherlock rushed towards him, grabbing his shoulders to gain his full attention and taking John by surprise. Looking him directly in the eyes, he whispered quickly, "Now, John! I need you to begin now!" he insisted. "Time is of the essence!"

"Sherlock!" he said incredulously, glancing at his phone. "It's nearly midnight. I have work in the morning. I cannot spend all hours of the night in the morgue."

Sherlock gave him a look. With a sigh, as typical, John conceded. "Fine." He headed out the door and hailed a cab. His next stop would be the city morgue.