Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners, not me.
Not beta-read or brit-picked
Prologue
John's life had been pretty straight forward.
He enjoyed his childhood, went to kindergarten, later to school, then to university, afterwards to training and war.
John hadn't liked the war per-se.
It was hard to like death and injury, interwoven with the cries and pleas of his patients. There was nothing likeable about the situation when he had to shoot an Afghani youngster in order to get to his comrade, who was bleeding out and needed a medic.
But as a fan of extremes and paradoxes, John had been fascinated with Afghanistan.
The heat of the desert turning into the cold of nights and mountains.
Silence enveloping the camp, only to be interrupted by the sound of gunfire and alarm.
Feeling small as part of a campaign bigger than any man, while knowing that it was him saving lives, making a difference.
The rush of empowering adrenaline and the crushing hollowness when the only thing he could do, was administrating morphine to ease pain.
The discrepancy between holding a gun and a scalpel, one to end the other to preserve life.
No, John Watson hadn't liked the war, although he had liked his life amid the danger, the excitement. Life had a purpose, valuable because it could be lost in the blink of an eye.
And then it all went to hell.
Captain Watson was shot in the line of duty, got an honourable discharge on medical grounds along with an intermittent tremor in his dominant hand and a psychosomatic limp.
The civilian Dr. Watson found himself in London without purpose, work or suiting accommodation. What he had gained, was a therapist, a gun, an empty blog.
It was sheer luck that he met Mike Stamford in a small park.
Mike's character hadn't changed that much from their university days. He was jovial with a dry sense of humour and a helping hand. Therefore he was quick to advice John to visit 221 Baker Street.
Apparently, the landlady was willing to rent one of her flats out at a low price.
That was how John found himself standing outside a nice house in the middle of London several days later.
Not quite believing that a flat in that location would be inside his budget, he knocked on the door. It opened to reveal an older lady, displaying a motherly air and a colourful dress.
Granting him a beatific smile she confirmed his identity, while inviting him in.
John immediately liked her. It was hard not to. She was the embodiment of a charming, slightly peculiar, English lady.
Mrs. Hudson kept on chattering and gossiping about the neighbourhood as she showed him around 221C.
Beside being entertaining it was also informatory: A small, private clinic in the neighbourhood was searching for a part-time GP.
The doctor couldn't wrap his head around such a lucky coincidence. If he could get the job and the flat two of his most-pressing problems would be solved.
Cliché as it was, John wondered if this was too good to be true. The flat had a slight mould problem. However, it was not sever enough to rent it out at the low price Mrs. Hudson had stated. There had to be catch to the deal.
"Oh, if you're seriously interested in the flat, I should explain about Sherlock!", Mrs. Hudson remarked.
So the name of the catch was Sherlock. Quite exotic sounding.
"He's the tenant in 221B. He's such a nice, young man, though quite quirky. Not everyone's cup of tea, a neighbour like that, you see? He has this trait of playing violin at all hours of the day and night. Especially, 3 AM, don't ask me why, dear, he just does. And sometimes he has some experiments going, that have a terrible odour. He also tends to be pace loudly or use my poor walls to throw things at. That can all be trying on his neighbours, but he is usually a dear boy, so very smart and observant, reminds me of my late husband...", she trailed off, seemingly lost in memories.
Well, John's choice was leaving London or take a flat with a neighbour, who seemed to be slightly mad.
"If you don't mind I'd love to take the flat, Mrs. Hudson."
Startling a little bit, his new landlady beamed at him, as though she had feared scaring him off.
John couldn't comprehend why. He had survived a war – his new neighbour couldn't be worse, could he?
Author's note: I hope you enjoyed the beginning and setting of my very first AU. As always, feel free to criticise and comment.
English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes on my part.