Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or House.

A/N: Exams coming up and I'm writing fills. Life is good


The closet had seemed like a good idea at the time. It was unpredictable, completely unlike John, and he was betting on that fact to keep him safely away from Sherlock's prying nose. Sherlock, who insisted on coming to a medical conference even though he didn't fancy any of the presenters' lectures. John sometimes thought he had a six foot shadow lurking behind each step he took, and thought he was doomed to a life of constant companion to a possessive genius child.

The first chance John got, he had slipped away, leaving Sherlock to snipe heatedly with the scruffy man sitting next to them. He was certain that it wouldn't take long for the other man to notice his absence, but John could use a lengthy head start. As soon as he was out of the conference area, John combed the corridors, looking for an out of place hiding spot that was just obvious for Sherlock to overlook.

Right, John said to himself, like Sherlock ever overlooked anything.

He pulled open the first closet he could find and...

...there was someone else in it.

"Er…hi," came the floppy haired man who was sitting on an overturned bucket.

He had an American accent, and wore a nice suit and tie. Definitely not the kind of bloke who usually sat around in closets. But what kind of blokes normally sat around in closets, anyway.

John smiled back politely, but he was really hoping that the man would finish whatever he was doing and leave. So that John could take his place.

The man looked up at him hopefully. "Do you need a mop?"

He offered it up and John shook his head.

"I was looking for a hiding place, actually."

"You can join me...in the closet..." the man offered and then frowned. "Did I really just say that out loud?"

John stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He stood awkwardly in the tiny space, noting that his breath seemed abominably loud. He closed his mouth and tried to breathe in through his nose. Nope, not happening.

"So..." the man said, twiddling his thumbs. "What are you in for?"

"In for?" John asked tilting his head to the side. "Oh, right. Just needed a little space to think."

"Me too," the man said immediately.

They fell silent.

John was just wondering if he could make a hasty exit without seeming too rude, when the man decided to continue their conversation.

"What's your name?"

"John Watson," he replied, holding out a hand. If they were going to be proper about this, he might as well show some civilised manners.

"James Wilson."

They shook hands, and Wilson smiled faintly. "Do you want to sit down?"

He motioned to the bucket next to him, and John agreeably took up residence.

"You're here for the conference," John said.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"I didn't. I was asking." The words were halfway out of John's mouth before he realised he had been doing what Sherlock did naturally: assume information about other people and then throw it back in their faces. He winced. Some bad habits were not worth picking up.

A faint line appeared between Wilson's eyebrow. "Oh. Well. My friend and I are only here for a couple of days."

"Have you seen any of the sights?" John inquired politely. He was curious to see what the man thought of London, and yes, he was proud of his city.

Wilson grimaced inexplicably. "Haven't had time. My friend isn't really much for that. But I heard Trafalgar Square is great."

John suppressed his automatic correction of the man's pronunciation and nodded. He could sympathise with those types of friends, and in fact, couldn't imagine Sherlock sight-seeing at all. The thought of his friend gawking with the tourists during the changing of the guard was really quite inconceivable.

"Do you go there often?"

John snorted and Wilson looked at him curiously. "Sorry...it's just, my mate and I spend a fair bit of time on work. This is the first real holiday I've had in some time."

"A lot of patients?"

"A lot of dead bodies," John said honestly and then realised what had just come out of his mouth. He added hastily, "Not that I kill my patients..."

"You're a coroner," Wilson assumed.

"Right, no," John said, puzzled by Wilson's assumption. "I consult for the police. Well, my friend consults for the police. I help. A little."

"And you do this in your spare time?"

"I do my job in my spare time," John said, rather pleased with himself.

Wilson peered at him intently. "Interesting. I think House would like to meet you."