Breaking Point
Everyone has one. A moment when they cannot put up with whatever life or someone has thrown at them. We call them breaking points. Some are just more patient than most. And if there is anything one can call Dr John H Watson, flatmate to Sherlock Holmes - You know body parts in the fridge? Experiments on the kitchen table? Violin at 3am Sherlock Holmes?-, it is that he is most definitely patient.
However as I said all reach their breaking points, so in the time period just after "The Pool Incident" and the interesting affair with "The Greek Interpreter" Dr Watson reaches his. It's actually rather impressive, most break much earlier and usually it's one of the more obvious -shall we say- quirks of the World's Only Consulting Detective that finally push them over the edge. Such as Raj, Sherlock's flatmate after he left university, who finally blew when his cat mysteriously disappeared at the same time as some tests were conducted in the effects of arsenic in various types of food. Now Terry he coped for five months, which before John was the record (not that DI Lestrade or the elder Holmes brother counted or anything), but when Sherlock commented about his girlfriend Cheryl's scent smelling rather more like the postman's aftershave than Terry's, let's just say he rather deserved the broken nose and the key left angrily on the side in the morning.
But when Dr Watson broke it was not over such inconsequential things as this. Not a silly cat. Not a mundane poisoning attempt. Not a brutal yet pointless break up. No it was something much more important - something crucial to very fibre of his society. The elixir of life in this damp cold country; the lifeblood of a nation; the reason that 61 million people made it through each day. What all craved, needed and desired at least every two hours and especially at four o'clock in the afternoon. What every good true British man valued across the land. The final straw was due to his habit that had been drilled into the good doctor -if we're perfectly honest- from conception. It was not over the fact that there was no milk for his tea. That in itself was not an unusual thing and Dr Watson would have rallied forth because as we all know dear readers tea can be drunk without milk -not enjoyably but that's an issue for another day. No what finally did it was when Dr Watson opened the cupboard and not only was there no milk (which as I have already mentioned could have been endured) but there was…
No. Tea. Bags.
That was it. That was when Dr Watson blew. And may I say for the record that Dr John H Watson most definitely keeps one hell of a bull pup. In fact Mycroft is rather tempted to give copies of the recording as a warning to anyone who dares threaten national security with a little note saying: This man was in the British Army and has a gun. Please rethink hostile action. MH
Now if the good doctor had been given time his iron willed control would have returned and he would have just popped around the shop. However his unfortunate flatmate chose to return home at that exact moment.
The worst bit? He was completely oblivious. Yes! I know the most observant man in the world oblivious? But he always was an oxymoron that ignorant genius and never was he more ignorant than when those complicated emotions got involved. So he rattled on about his latest case while the demons of hell themselves were currently at liberty in his kitchen spewing from deep within his flatmate.
"Honestly so obvious. The blood splatter proved that it had to be a rabid poodle released by a left-handed circus trainer. Surely Anderson could have worked that out? Absolute idiot. Couldn't observe his way out of a paper bag…" And other such insults were flowing freely from Mr Holmes' mouth until he observed the death of his beaker full of -he swears important- scientific solutions.
Hesitantly beginning to pick up on the vibes after watching everything fly everywhere at John's arm's movement, he asked softly: "Anything wrong John?"
"Wrong? Wrong? No why should my perfect little life be wrong? My happy running after you like a nutter, suffering ruined first dates, being threatened by mad men life? No whatever could be wrong?"
Taking the answer on face value the fantastically, obliviously, observantly, ignorant genius replied: "That's good John! I was just wandering if you knew the treatment for rabies… It's just I fear I may have suffered a bite from the murder weapon."
The genius turned his head in interest when he saw his flatmate place his head in his hands and shut his eyes tightly, muttering lightly about tea. His desperate need for tea. Then the doctor had an eureka moment.
Smiling deviously he replied: "You know the only treatment for rabies? Tea. Only PG Tips. Though Tetleys would work. Unfortunately we are currently out of this so you can die quietly or…"
He didn't even have time to finish the sentence before a swirl of incredibly fashionable coat tails and a bang of a door indicated one higher functioning sociopath really didn't have a death wish. Dr John H Watson smiled to himself and thought that it wasn't a complete lie as the facts did indicate that tea would save Sherlock.
1. Without tea Dr Watson didn't work.
2. As Dr Watson was the only doctor Sherlock trusted he would not see a doctor.
3. Therefore rabies may take hold.
Thus in conclusion tea was the only method of treatment.
Dr Watson then realised how valuable the science of deduction truly was.
A/N
A bull pup was an archaic way of saying a temper (in the original stories)
I would like to stress not everyone is a tea junkie here in Britain but Watson most definitely is (as am I).
Oh and the four o'clock in the afternoon thing? Look up Everything Stops for Tea by Jack Buchanan. I sincerely recommend it.
If you wish to read of Sherlock at the shop or if you wish to hear of the other character's breaking points do review.