John Hamish Watson isn't the kind of man who feels comfortable remaining still. He races through life with the same urgency as a rabbit trying to outrun a fox. He's always been that way.
Whilst he studies at King Edward VI grammar school he joins the rugby team. He likes the way the ball whizzes across the playing field so fast it fades into a red blur. He watches it, envious, longing to match its pace.
Later, the rugby pitch is replaced by his medical studies. Whilst some of the other students throw themselves into London's party culture, John spends a majority of his time holed up in his dorm room bent over 'Gray's Anatomy', absorbing every page of the hefty textbook. John vows that he will memorise every bone in the human body. He's going to become a doctor and a bloody good one at that.
He trains at St. Bartholomew's Hospital as an army doctor. He's attracted to the occupation because it is fast, intense, unfaltering in its pace. Life back at home is…a bit not good. The distraction is welcome.
The tension between his parents and sister is unbearable. When John visits on the weekends for his mum's Sunday roast dinners, he can feel the presence of the elephant in the room. There's awkward small talk exchanged at the table, between chews of gravy coated chicken. His sister stares off into the distance like she's wishing for another life; one where she doesn't have to hide her truth. He wishes that he could shield her from their parents bigotry forever, but he knows that he soon won't even live in the same country.
During a lecture on practical aspects of firearms, John's phone buzzes. He glances at the caller ID : Harry. He excuses himself and leaves the room, his heart hammering inside his chest. Something is wrong. He hastily slides a thumb over the lit screen and accepts the call.
Her breath hitches sharply on the other end of the line.
"Harry?"
"They kicked me out." Her voice is wet from crying, words trembling.
"They what?" John snaps a little too sharply. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he takes a deep breath to calm himself. "Why?"
"They found out about Clara."
John tries to recall if he's ever met Clara. He can't manage to picture her so he gives up and lamely asks, "Clara?"
"She's…" Harry pauses, as though she's trying to work out whether she can continue.
"Go on," John encourages softly, not wanting to push her too hard into saying what he already knows.
"We're dating. I'm…well…gay."
"I know." He affirms gently.
"You're OK with it? With me?"
"It's fine," John assures her. "It's all fine. Whatever…floats your boat."
"Mum and dad don't think so."
"Ignore them, you're wonderful Harry. This doesn't change a thing. And if they can't see that then they don't deserve to have a daughter like you."
That earns him a small, breathless laugh. "Why are you always so nice?"
"I'm your big brother, it comes along with the job description." The corners of John's lips quirk upwards, but he doesn't break out into a smile, because there's still the concern of his sister being kicked out. "Do you have somewhere you can go?"
"I'm staying with Clara, just until I get on my feet."
"Good," John breathes out in relief, glad that his sister at least has a roof over her head. "I love you, Hare." The affectionate childhood nickname slips out automatically.
"I love you too. Thanks…for…you know."
They say their goodbyes and the phone call ends. John is left with a heavy sinking feeling.
