It was a windy fall afternoon when John Watson decided to take a walk. He needed some time to clear his head. John was deep in debt. And on an army pension. He needed a job and fast. He was walking through the park when he heard his name being called.
"John!" said person turned. It was John's old mate Mike that was calling him. John stopped as Mike caught up to him. "John Watson. Haven't seen you in ages! Heard you'd been abroad getting shot at. What happened with that by the way?" John sighed, taking in his friend's speech.
"I got shot." he merely replied. Mike nodded.
"Well, it was nice seeing you." and off he went. John sighed and continued walking to his heart's content. He walked down a hill to see a tree with bright red leaves gently falling from it in the cool breeze. By the tree, he noticed a man, roughly the same age as him, dark haired and mysterious. John studied him perplexedly. The man was reading a book, graciously holding the paperback with long fingers. He looked to his face next, his hair obstructing part of it. His eyes were a fierce blue-grey that pierced through the doctor's very existence. The next thing that John noticed was the man's cheekbones, as sharp as they were high. His lips were full and pink; John found himself staring at them, mesmerized by their delicateness. The man looked up from his book, taken aback by John's sudden presence. His eyes looked John over.
"Can I use your phone?" he asked. John took out his phone.
"Uh..sure." he handed it to him.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" the man typed away at the keyboard, sending off a text.
"What?"
"You're an army doctor. Sent home. Wounded in action. You're in debt, no doubt from the low earnings of an army pension. You've got a brother who's worried about you, though you won't go to him for help. Most likely because you don't approve of him; alcoholism perhaps? More likely 'cause he just walked out on his wife. Your therapist thinks your limp is partially psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. So, Afghanistan or Iraq?"
John looked at the man. He had just told him everything that's been going on in his life up to this point. He felt completely exposed. For a second, John thought of not answering, but the man meant no harm, so he replied:
"Afghanistan...you got that from just a look?"
"And your mobile." Mobile? John wondered. Nevertheless he disregarded the fact.
"That was absolutely amazing." The man looked at him with a hint of happiness.
"That is not what people normally say." he said, solemnity creeping into his voice.
"And what do people normally say?" John asked, curious.
"Piss off." John broke out into a smile. It was a smile then a small laugh. The laugh that led to the both of them laughing in unison.
"I've been looking into a flat. You can meet me there tomorrow at noon." the dark haired man had suddenly said. Everything for John went by too fast.
"A flat? But I have a flat."
"Not for very long. How much can you really do with no job and an army pension?" John stayed quiet, unsure of what to say. The man stood, almost towering over him.
"The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." he extended his hand to John.
"John...Watson." he said, shaking his hand. He paused a moment before continuing. "It's my sister." Sherlock looked at him, momentarily puzzled.
"'Don't have a brother."
"Oh...sister yes of course. There's always something." John's mobile made a sound and Sherlock replied to the text. "I'm afraid I must be off now, Doctor Watson. I shall see you tomorrow." John nodded. Sherlock grabbed his book and left the area. So John took it upon himself to take a taxi back to his flat. He went up the stairs, getting his keys out when he noticed a red paper on his door. 'EVICTED' it read it big black letters. John sighed. What was he to do now? He no longer had a place to go back to.