Author's Note:
Inspired by An Escaped Rabbit's reader challenge. Check out her profile for details!
Prelude
John's personal philosophy was simple: until the day Sherlock was willingly nice to Anderson, nothing could surprise him.
It was accurate for quite a long time. So long, in fact, that John was almost positive it would hold true forever. After all, he had spent ten years an army doctor, when danger were the norm, the selection of the hour. A bomb could go off anywhere, an enemy attack could commence anytime─John still dreamed about his war days sometimes.
As a civilian doctor too, he had to be ready for anything─more often than not, things like keeping a straight face when that paranoid lady who thought she had the Ebola virus asked for an antibiotic pill. And living with Sherlock Holmes, John completely expected the flat to be a disaster area when he came home─whether it be a cloud of down feathers adrift in the sitting room or insect parts littering the kitchen floor.
But John knew that someday, his luck would fade. He wouldn't be fazed by a surprise birthday party, or a body part in the fridge, or anything as trivial as that. No, it would have to be something really spectacular to surprise the rock that was John Watson.
John was seated in the most remote corner of the café, waiting anxiously and cursing at his failing courage, as his vanilla caramel latte accepted the fact that despite the great pains its procurer had taken in ordering it correctly, it wouldn't be drunk anytime soon. Just as the latte's whipped cream began to wilt, the bells on the cafe's door rang once again and John's ears perked up.
Maybe that woman was her!
He leaned awkwardly to see past the shoulders of his neighbor - who was remarkably unaware, buried in his laptop - catching a glimpse of a lavender silk blouse and coiffed dirty blonde hair. John coughed suddenly. He panicked, imagining fifteen sets of eyes staring at him, so he hid his face, leaning into the corner, where he stifled his coughs and inwardly winced at the embarrassing incident. John waited, counting silently to himself (one, two, three), until he had reached thirty and hoped the café had returned to its collective business, not continued to gaze at his face. Fortunately, the chatter of hungry Londoners was continuous and he was able to look around without drawing attention to himself. Where was she? John spotted three dirty blondes seated at tables, only two of whom were female, and none of which were wearing purple. His field of vision was suddenly interrupted by a green-apple-crayon-colored green apron.
"Excuse me, sir?" the waitress said. John refocused his eyes. She was quite good-looking... But he pinched himself, remembering his purpose.
"Yes?" He folded his arms in an attempt to appear dignified. The waitress (whose name happened to be Jeanette) inwardly rolled her eyes. She leaned over the table, clutching a black leather-textured menu in her hands.
"I'm looking for a Dr. John Watson? He's wanted at the counter. His date is looking for him."
"That would be me... erm… and you're the lucky winner in finding me..." stammered John. "Thanks, I'll go now," he amended.
John grabbed his jacket, and in an unusual moment of forethought, quickly turned again to take his latte also, heading towards the center of the café. That's when he saw his date properly for the first time. John realized that his view of her seat at the counter had been interrupted by an inconvenient segment of wall, and sighed in relaxation, knowing that he wasn't crazy.
John inched towards her seat, suddenly aware that he was speechless. He had absolutely no idea what to say to her. Possibilities rushed through his head. "Hello, my name is Dr. John Watson." Too formal. "Hi, I'm John Watson. I'm a GP." Nah, that just sounded awkward. "The waitress pointed me towards you. Are you my date?" No, way too clueless...
His body, acting upon its own will, stepped forwards and took the empty seat adjacent to her.
"Um, hi."
"Hi!" she answered.
"Are you─?"
"Yes... so you're─?"
"Yes."
"I don't suppose...?"
"Yes?"
"Your name?"
"Oh... I'm John Watson," said John. In his mind, he exhaled out of relief for his brief success.
'Thank goodness,' his brain said. What? he asked himself. 'You didn't mess that one up. That's a first.' Hey... he said to himself. I'm not called Three Continents Watson for nothing. 'Well, you're not exactly the dating type', his brain challenged. That's true, he thought.
"That's a nice name," said the woman. "I like it."
"Oh, come on," he answered, disbelievingly. "You can't possibly believe 'John' is nice. There's probably five other Johns here right now! My name is the opposite of unique."
"It's nice all the same. I'm... Mary," she said.
"Now that is a name..." John mused, running his fingers over his chin in the style of The Thinker. "Plenty of charm, easy on the tongue, historical relevance...now that's a name."
"Stop it!" she said, wearing the expression of a child stealing chocolate, who knows she is going to be caught but does it anyway. Mary's mouth quirked as she smiled knowingly at him.
"Like to sit somewhere else? A booth maybe?"
John followed Mary as they found a waitress and arranged themselves a nicer table, disbelieving of his luck. Sure, she was beautiful, but she seemed sweet and funny as well. After they had both gotten settled, Mary started to ask the typical get-to-know-you questions.
"So... what do you do?"
"I'm a GP. I mean, I was an army doctor, but now I'm a GP. What about you?"
"Oh, this and that..."
"I told you mine."
"About now, I'm a nurse. I... work at St. Bartholomew's."
"Really? It's strange we haven't met... when did you start working there? Because I work there too."
"Just two weeks ago," said Mary, after counting on her fingers quickly.
"Oh, that explains it. You see, I haven't been in for a week or so..."
John growled to himself and performed a barely noticeable, angry eyebrow roll.
Mary thought she heard John mutter the words 'Sherlock,' experiment,' and 'bloody hell.'
"Excuse me?" she said. "Sorry─did you say something?"
"It's nothing. Only, my flatmate─"
"Flatmate?"
"Oh─yeah. His name is Sherlock. He's a real pain. He hates when I invite women over..."
John, saying this, realized how it sounded, and backpedaled. "I mean, in theory. I hardly ever invite anyone over anyway─not that I'm not sociable, I have loads of friends, both genders─"
"John," said Mary. "Whatever you were trying to say just now─"
John winced, then laughed.
"Let's just forget about it."
They looked around the café in alternate directions, suddenly unsure of what to say. Mary looked down at her phone, which cast a faint light on her face. John noticed a few people leaving the building, and checked his mobile surreptitiously also ─ at least he meant to. Instead, his phone started blaring, showing an incoming call from Sherlock. John had a double-take. Due to Sherlock's almost-mantra of, "I prefer to text," John had hardly ever received a call from his flatmate. He imagined the worst and instantly stood up.
"I'm so, so sorry, Mary, but I really have to go," he said, grabbing his jacket and scribbling something on his check, fumbling for a few notes to pay for his unfinished latte.
"I've got it," she said. "It's okay, John."
"No, it's not. I shouldn't be doing this. But I think it's an emergency─"
"Just go!"
"When can I meet you again?!"
"Invite me over like one of those girlfriends you mentioned."
John wasn't sure how to react to this request. His mouth was open, but silent in his uncertainty.
"Kidding. But you can if you'd like. Here's my number - call me if you don't see me at work, whenever you like," she said quickly.
"Thanks!" answered John. He reached forward and held her hand between his own. "My lady."
There was a pause as Mary looked up from her hand into John's eyes. Then she frowned.
"I thought you had to be somewhere!"
"Oh─I do─"
"But thanks..." said Mary, smiling.
"Of course," he replied. "Bye for now!"
"Good bye, John!"
"Bye!"
"Bye!"
And he was gone, running out the door, his jacket billowing out behind him like his flatmate's infamous black coat. Mary was left to pay for the check herself, but she didn't mind. Her mind was still buzzing with thoughts about her meeting with the hapless, tough, kind, healer, John Watson.
