Bonjour! I haven't actually written anything in a long time, and I thought maybe just writing down something completely random would help, and here's the outcome! I'm actually quite pleased with this, and I'll continue, and I have a general story line planned out inside my head. It's a bit short but eh. Enjoy! Reviews are appreciated!
"I believe you are Dr John Watson, am I correct?"
John Watson looked round, a little surprised that he was being addressed by a total stranger. The man's face was hidden behind the hood of his jacket that was pulled up, over-casting his face rather dramatically. He was soaking wet, the water droplets dripping of his jacket and landing on the floor, leaving a small puddle soaking into the carpet of the bar. John blinked once, letting his eyes wander over him before sitting up straight and staying calm. It was hard for John not to be a little, well, creeped out by this sudden appearance that apparently wanted to speak to him.
"Yes," John Watson said steadily.
The hooded man hesitated for a moment, looking around to briefly observe his surroundings before turning back to John. "Is your friend, Sherlock Holmes, here?"
John frowned. This was probably another man who had decided to warn him about the consequences of having anything to do with Sherlock. Many people had approached him in the past, telling to him stay away from the consulting detective, but he always shunned them away, ignoring their advice. Sure, John had struggled with many dangerous things that included Sherlock Holmes, such as the pool scene with Moriarty, but he was safe. He was still alive.
He had survived.
"Why do you ask?" John said, turning back to his drink that sat in front of him, untouched. He had left Sherlock at 221b, irritated at him yet again. This time it was concerning his lack of caution after the Moriarty incident – John would've thought that he would've gained some self-consciousness after that rather tragic event. Sherlock shot the bomb, for God's sake. John had managed to jump into the pool, grabbing Sherlock by the waist as he fell in, but there were still many bruises and scars that were left upon their skin; but even after his recovery he still thought it would be a good idea to jump straight back into his well-known detective work.
"At least have a break, Sherlock, for God's sake, you just went through a serious event, aren't you in shock?" John commented, his patience growing thinner as he walked into Sherlock lying upon the sofa with his eyes shut and his finger-tips pressed together in his usual thinking pose.
"Shock? Why would I be in shock? I've recovered, I'm fine."
"Oh my god – you know, you never do learn, do you? You never do… Oh, forget it. I'm going out for a drink." And he grabbed his jacket and left the flat in a state of anger, not wanting to communicate with anybody for the next two hours before he had finally overcome his anger at his flatmate. Why did Sherlock always do that? Why did he always make John furious, even though he hadn't done anything on purpose?
The hooded man paused again, thinking about his reply, and answered, "Because he is in danger. I will not be seeing you, or your friend again; but you will be seeing my friend. It might take a while, but she will come. You are both in danger. Take this as a warning, Dr John Watson; keep safe. Don't trust any man, or any woman you meet. Be aware."
And with those words, the strange and unfamiliar man in the hooded raincoat left the pub in a hurry, not losing his composure or mystery as he pushed the doors open and disappeared into the cold, dark and wet night of London.
John Watson stared after him, unsure what to make of the words that he had just heard; in the end he looked back down, picked up his drink and gushed it down his throat.
He was probably just drunk, he decided.
