Dr. John Watson was never a man for surprises. He had the reflex to attack anything that jumped in front of him since he was a child, but it was only discovered at his 13th surprise birthday party, which ended with his then best friend carrying a black eye for two weeks. Therefore, it is safe to say that when Mycroft Holmes requested the doctor's presence at his office, and John found himself standing across a table looking into the eyes of (the supposed to be dead) Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson had all the right to jump across the table and send his fist ruthlessly toward Sherlock's face.
Soon they found themselves in their usual seats in 221B Baker-Street, shoes tapping on the floor, mouths shut and eyes fixed on anything but each other. Sherlock held a cold cloth to his red cheek and waited for some sort of conversation to sprout.
How in the world would one begin a conversation like that?
'So, how were you in these three years?'
'Oh fine, fine. Suffered miserably since I had to watch my friend die but it's all fine. You?'
'Eh, the usual, running across the world, hunting down criminal that were supposed to kill you…'
John shook his head and held back a smile, it sounded just like them. God, did he miss those days.
"Care to explain?" John asked.
Sherlock smirked and began to tell the tale.
"Where are you going?" John asked as he entered the living room with the fourth set of tea for Sherlock and himself, only to find the detective slipping into his coat.
"Well," Sherlock sighed while wrapping his signature blue scarf around his neck "back from the dead, things to do, places to visit," he took his cup, sipped from it and returned it to John's hand "people to see…"
"People?" John asked.
Sherlock merely smiled, and slipped out of the room.
Dr. John Watson was never a man for surprises. But even though his reflexes were not controlled (and if he was surprised someone would walk out of the room injured), there were times that he was either too shocked or managed to control himself enough before causing too much damage.
John Watson thought it was simply a miracle that he did not snatch the first thing around him and throw it across the laboratory when he walked into the room and found Sherlock Holmes pressing Molly Hooper against a counter, tenderly kissing her.
NOT that John was jealous!
But what, in the name of all that is believable on this entire planet, is sociopathic Sherlock Holmes doing here lip-locked to the warm and kind Molly Hooper.
John picked up his jaw from the floor and caught the door before it closed behind him and startled the- for the lack of a better word- couple?
John Watson was never a man for surprises, but, somewhere he knew. In the back of his mind he did observe Sherlock. Those smiles he gave her for favors lasted just a second too long, the eye contact that was quickly dropped behind shy eyelids, the unconscious leaning of his body toward her while they worked in the lab, and the subtle brush of arms or legs.
Yes, Dr. John Watson was never a man for surprises, but in the end it was never really a surprise.
