A/N: i know. I should work on what's online already. This idea wouldn't let me alone though. So don't loathe me too much, please. I'll try to return to the other ones soon, but for now, let me know what you think of this bit.
Thanks! Hope you enjoy. Please read & review! And now here we go!
1:
He was in the battlefield, shouts and people shooting... the adrenaline rushing... pain in the shoulder...
"He's been hit!"
Doctor John H. Watson sat up, breathing heavily from the dream. His heart was beating rapidly and he took a few more deep breaths, trying to relax. After a few moments, he knew going back to sleep wouldn't work, so he sat up and looked towards his cane, resting on a chair on the other side of the small flat. He hated feeling so... so... useless.
He sighed before reading for a bit until the gray light of dawn began to appear. Putting on his robe and making his way to his cane, he put on the kettle for tea. Soon, he was putting his mug of tea and the apple on his desk, taking out his laptop and glancing at his gun as he did so. He had been taught to stay on his toes and well, though it had been foolish to sneak the gun back from the war, he couldn't help it. He couldn't sleep without a weapon... Some security blankets were slightly more lethal than others.
He pushed the thought away and stared at his blog for a few moments, sighing. His therapist was not going to be happy...
And he was right. A few hours later, sitting in the woman's office, she asked, "How's your blog going?"
"Um... good," John tried. "It's going good."
"You haven't written a word, have you?" She jotted something on her pad.
John gave a slight look of irritation, "You just wrote, 'Still has trust issues.'"
The therapist glanced up at him with a smile, "And you read my writing upside down." She looked at him intently, warmly, "See what I mean?"
He just tapped the arm of the chair. What could he say to that?
"John," she said, making him glance at her. "You were a soldier. It's going to take you a while to readjust to civilian life. And writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you."
He said nothing for a few seconds before sighing and murmuring, "Nothing happens to me."
She sighed and soon, he was able to leave, which he did quite gladly. Once outside, he looked around. The park looked bright and inviting. He really should walk through it, it might make him feel better.
Except for the stares. John didn't feel like dealing with all of that, all of the looks at his cane, all of the pity people had for him. He turned right instead, walking through the streets of London after his appointment with Ella, his therapist. He was tired of feeling so... so... pathetic. He hit the ground harder than he needed to with his cane.
He would get some lunch... No, he couldn't really splurge like that. He could make a sandwich at the flat. He didn't feel like taking the Tube though. A nice long walk back to the flat then. He moved towards a crowded curb. It wasn't a busy street and a man in jeans and a t-shirt who was listening to music looked both ways before starting to cross.
It seemed to zoom from nowhere, the silver car. There was absolutely no reason for the car to be speeding that fast, the light was turning red. And John could see the driver... the driver was aiming at the man crossing the street, the man that was near the sidewalk now. The light was red, the man on the sidewalk, and now, so was the car...
Why would someone do that? The driver looked desperate, insane. The detail was noticed with the clarity and realization of a soldier recognizing an enemy and having only a split-second to react.
It was enough.
John didn't even realize he had shouted, had dropped his cane and was running. He tackled the man, knocking both of them into a building. They both managed to get a bit bruised and the man was staring with wide eyes at the car before turning to look at John.
"Are you all right?" John asked, panting, looking at the man worriedly. He was slender and about John's height, with dark hair and eyes, handsome enough, John supposed.
The man narrowed his eyes at John and back at the car that was speeding off. "Is this some elaborate plan to make me like you? Not working and pathetically obvious." There was an obvious accent to his words, one that John knew but couldn't really place at the moment.
"What?" John had no idea what the man was talking about.
The man stared at him intently for a few seconds, just stared, and said, "Oh, now let me guess, you weren't involved?" He rolled his eyes, drawling, "Riiiiight."
John just stared at the man with disbelief. What was he talking about? From the way he was staring at John, it made the doctor a bit irritated. He knew first hand people dealt with near-death experiences in different way and he shrugged it off before he tried to stand. Where was his cane?
Oh. Great. He sighed, seeing it smashed to bits courtesy of the car that had sped by. He limped to the shattered remains of the cane and shut his eyes. Money he didn't have would have to be used for a taxi.
"Really now, all of this? So pathetically elaborate," the man said, narrowing his eyes and dusting himself off. "Am I supposed to be lured in by this poor little army surgeon with a cane? A psychosomatic limp? What, are you trying to give me some sort of challenge, something to make me want to take an interest?"
Poor little army surgeon with a cane? John turned, having had enough, and snarled, "You know what? I'm sorry I saved your life. Next time a car comes barrelling away, I'll let it hit you since you're obviously not someone that cares. Good day."
Irritated that he hadn't even gotten a thank you, John left the area, getting a taxi and stopping at a store to buy a cheap walking stick and some things for his lovely new bruises (see if he saved anyone anytime soon...) before going to his flat. He groaned as he entered. The shower hurt his bruises but he knew it was better to be clean than comfortable to make sure he was okay.
Finally, glad that he was just bruised up, the tired doctor collapsed onto his bed, quickly falling asleep.
Across the city, a man stared at a group of dead people, all part of a conspiracy to try and kill him. He wouldn't have been killed by the car, he had determined from the footage of the area, but his ribs would have needed time to recover.
One body that wasn't here... was the one of the doctor from earlier, the army doctor.
He left the room and looked over footage of the event once again.
It was impossible for him to have just done that. There had to be a reason. But what? What did this man, this doctor, what did he want?
He would have to get more information, more data on this, to form a logical conclusion for the action. So first... he would have to learn more about the man. That would be easy enough with his network. Interested, the man began to type.