Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.
-Gilda Radner

It was Jorrun who'd decided that they went to the park that morning. "Come on," she'd whined in her ever so slightly pushy, passive aggressive way, "We need to get out of this room for a bit; see the sun, feel the wind, move about, get some exercise. You know, feel alive!"

John sighed his most put upon sigh, but knew it was hopeless to argue with the binturong when she was in a mood like that. "Fine. But just for a short while. And no cabs, we can't afford it." He grabbed his jacket and cane and limped off, determined not to enjoy himself. There was no point getting used to London, his savings were running out and he'd have to leave soon. If he wasn't used to it, he wouldn't miss it, simple as that; or so he tried to convince himself.

He was so lost in his own doom and gloom that he almost missed someone saying his name. Luckily Jorrun was paying more attention, and nudged him gently in the leg.

"John! John Watson," a familiar looking man called out, getting up from the bench was sitting on and approaching them.

"Easy," Jorrun whispered as John tensed, his fight-or-flight automatic reaction to the unexpected making itself known.

"Stamford, Mike Stamford," the man introduced himself. The name tweaked at John's memory, but he didn't make the connection and remember who Mike was until he added, "We were at Barts together."

And then John remembered. Mike looked quite a bit different then he had, back in the day, but his daemon, Hedda, chittering at his side, was the same upbeat, friendly chipmunk she'd always been. "Yes, sorry. Yes, Mike. Hello," John said, shifting his cane so he could shake the man's hand. Jorrun stepped forward to give Hedda a polite sniff in greeting, but mostly ignored the daemon, whose over-exuberance at the world had always tired her.

Mike laughed at their reactions. "Yeah, I know, I got fat," he joked, ever the self-deprecating type.

John made a dismissive noise at Mike's exclamation, but Mike just grinned, continuing on saying, "I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at, what happened?"

"I got shot."

Not surprisingly, Mike didn't have an upbeat witty rejoinder to John's response at the ready and there was a moment of awkward silence between them. Eventually it was Hedda who piped up. "Mike? Why don't you two get a coffee? You always have a coffee when we're at the park. You like your coffee. I bet John would like a coffee too, wouldn't you, John? A coffee, yeah? And that'd give Jorrun and me an opportunity to talk while you two have your coffee and chat for a bit. It'd be nice to have a chance to chat, right, Jorrun? We talked all the time when we were back at Barts and I'm sure we have lots to catch up on. I'd really like that. Doesn't that sound fun? What do you say, Mike?"

Mike smiled indulgently down at Hedda before clasping John's arm in a friendly fashion. "What do you say, John, fancy a coffee with an old mate?"

John glanced quickly at Jorrun, she'd never been overly fond of inane chatter and Hedda, John recalled, talked nonstop, but Jorrun gave him a quick nod of acceptance so John replied, "A coffee would be nice, thanks, Mike."

Mike led them to The Criterion where Mike bought them each a coffee and then carried both back to the park bench, giving John time to make himself comfortable and prop his cane beside him, before handing over John's coffee.

"Thanks." John took a sip, it wasn't the best coffee he'd ever had, but it was hot and strong and he'd certainly drunk worse. "So," he began, making an attempt at conversation, "are you still at Barts then?"

Jorrun meanwhile, sat pressed up against John's bad leg; since returning home from Afghanistan she started doing that more often, knowing that he found her physical presence soothing, and her warmth seemed to help ease its aching. Her ears were being assaulted by Hedda's prattling, but, as her input in the conversation was unnecessary other than the occasional "Really?" or "Oh, yes," or "You don't say," John could tell she was paying more attention to his and Mike's discussion than she was her own.

It turned out Mike was teaching at Barts now. He joked about hating it, but John was jealous; the man had a place to be. Work to do. John, meanwhile, had neither. Not since he'd had to leave the army. No job. No home, just a room he wouldn't be able to afford much longer. He surprised himself by commenting bitterly about it to Mike. Mike didn't take it to heart though, brushing it off with a grin and then laughing, actually laughing, at John's dismissive comment about the unlikelihood of being able to finding someone who'd want him for a flatmate.

"You're the second person to say that to me today."

"The second," Hedda reiterated. "Can you believe it? Asking about a flatmate. You could go weeks, months, maybe years even without anyone ever bringing a subject like that up and then BAM." She threw her arms up dramatically as she said it, "There you are. People searching for a flatmate coming out of the woodwork. Amazing, isn't it, Mike? What do you think, Jorrun? Isn't it just amazing? Isn't it?"

"Erm, yes. Definitely," Jorrun said when it became obvious Hedda would continue her verbal onslaught until she received a response.

"Who was the first?" John asked. He didn't really expect anything useful to come of the inquiry, but he figured he'd make the attempt, for Jorrun's sake at least.

Mike was oddly silent on exactly who it was they'd be meeting, only saying that it would be someone interesting and that they'd most likely be at Barts at this time of day. The tone of Mike's voice when he said interesting was a bit worrisome, however; there was something about it that implied a lot without specifying a thing. Whatever it was, it put a spring in John's step with its promise of something new, finally, on the horizon.

"You'll like his daemon, Jorrun. She's really nice. But talkative! Always asking questions, though. Talk, talk, talk. Ask, ask, ask. She's never quiet. Can you imagine that?" Hedda had to walk quickly to keep up with Mike, Jorrun and John as they dropped Mike's jacket off at his office before heading to the lab where Mike thought John's prospective flatmate was most likely to be found. "I think it'd be hard to live with someone who was always going on and on like Dagany does, but I suppose you could get used to it. Do you think you'll get used to it, Jorrun? That's if you wind up sharing a flat. After all, you won't have to get used to it if you don't, will you? But sharing a flat'd be nice, I think. A bit of company is always nice to have around, don't you think?"

The lab was... interesting. There was obviously some sort of experiment in the works, but John couldn't make heads nor tails of it. "Bit different from my day," he murmured as he took in the chaos; the dark haired man who had pointedly ignored their entrance; and the man's daemon, who was curled up on a stool, and appeared to be sleeping, although her ears followed their movements, even while her eyes stayed closed.

They hadn't gone unnoticed though and when the man asked to borrow a phone, John offered his own, figuring that couldn't hurt to get a better sense of the person he might wind up living with. Tall. Thin. Nice clothes, the kind John wouldn't be affording anytime soon, which was odd, having clothes like that, but needing a flat share? However, it was the offhand comment the man made while taking the phone that intrigued John the most, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Sorry?" was John's reply, his attention divided between the unusual question and watching how Dagany reacted as Jorrun approached her. Jorrun always like to get a sense of the daemons around her, to know what sort of personality they had- if they seemed friendly or duplicitous. How a person's daemon acted said a lot about them and Jorrun had told John time and time again that if the daemon seemed like they were hiding something, then the person definitely was.

"Hello," Jorrun said, softly, sniffing the daemon politely, prompting Dagany to open her eyes.

Dagany sniffed in return and then stood up, arching her back and stretching. "Hello." She craned her neck forward to sniff Jorrun again. "Are you a binturong?"

"Yes."

"I haven't met any binturongs before, they're a fairly uncommon form for daemons. Unlike chipmunks," she added, giving Hedda, who was standing on the table and enthusiastically chatting away with Mike, a sideways glance. "I'm a fennec fox, myself."

Jorrun shot John a quick smile, a sure sign of her approval, before responding, "How common are fennec fox daemons?"

Yes, John thought as he listened to the man rattle off facts he should have had no way of knowing, they'd get along fine. As for their two humans... Despite the man's slightly disconcerting smile when he'd introduced himself, and the way he had seemed to size up John the moment he saw him, there was something captivating about him. Things happened around this man, this Sherlock Holmes, and as he snagged Dagany off her stool and swept out of the room John realized that, for the first time in a long time, he had something to look forward to: an appointment tomorrow at 221b Baker Street.

After saying goodbye to Mike and Hedda, John left Barts with Jorrun at his side, thinking back on the meeting. "So, 221b Baker Street," he said to her. "It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"It does. Then again, it can't be much worse than our current place."

"It'll be quite a change," he warned.

"Changes can be good," she shot back.

"You have a point," John conceded with a gruff laugh. Besides, maybe, just maybe, there was the potential to find more than just a room there, but to find a home. And perhaps, one day, to have more than a flatmate, but rather a new found friend.