The first thing she noticed when she started her new job as a secretary at a local clinic was a doctor. A short, blonde, adorable doctor with a wardrobe full of ugly sweaters. He was nice and straight forward and polite. He was a perfectly ordinary man except for his habit of talking to himself. Or at least that's what it sounded like. Sometimes she caught the end of a name but she could never quiet figure it out. She asked Sarah about it once. She had pursed her lips and told her it was better not to talk about it. So she let it go. She didn't ask about it again for a month. But all that month her curiosity grew. Whenever she had a break she would try and sneak close to him. Trying to get close enough to hear who he was talking to. It was on one of these occasions she finally heard it. The name. Sherlock Holmes. As curious as she was she looked him up. For some reason she felt he had to be a real person. She didn't think John was the kind of man to make someone up. When she finally found him she was surprised to say the least. A fake genius. A dead fake genius. That's who this Sherlock was. Johns dead flat mate. When she found this out she felt so bad she stopped reading. Deciding it was rude to pry into his past like this. She stopped trying to listen when John would talk to Sherlock somehow now feeling like she was intruding on something incredibly private whenever she heard him whisper to himself. She pretty much stopped being around him all together. Afraid that one day she would just start apologizing for Sherlock. Then he would never speak to her again. She was horrible person who had brought up his past. One that she's sure he probably never wants to talk about again. This goes on for six months and she's spent so much time trying not think about Sherlock and John that she has finally almost forgotten about it. Her job and friends pushing her old obsession with Johns muttering to the back of her mind. Until one day when a man walks in and leans against her desk. He's tall and rail thin with a curly mop of black hair. He speaks in a voice much to deep for his body his eyes drilling into hers as he asks to see Dr. Watson as soon as he's available. She knows he has some free time so she send him in, feeling as if she's seen him before somewhere. A couple minutes later she hears a a loud crash come from Johns office. She runs down the hall to go see if everyone is alright and flings open the door just in time to see the stranger getting up off the floor holding his cheek and John standing fists clenched at his sides standing over him, his face an unreadable mask. The tall mans stands and brushes himself off slowly. He's staring at John. Neither of them having even noticed she's in the room. They stand there looking at eachother, neither of them speaking until John does something she never thought she'd see. He steps forward grabs the tall mans coat and kisses him. Kisses him brusingly hard and desperate. And the talk man is kissing back and in between a kisses they say eachothers names.
"John."
"Sherlock."
"John."
"I thought."
"I know John."
She slowly backs out of the room. Cheeks burning as she goes back to her desk and cancels all John's appointments for that day. She knows he won't be here for long. Not when Sherlock Holmes is finally back.