I'm sorry if you hate me. It was fun to write. Let me know what you thought!
-Dante Pierre
John Watson was taking a nice stroll through Russell Square Park, enjoying the breezy day as much as he could. He was limping quite quickly. The cane gave a soft thud every time he put it down to the ground, his footsteps following right after. A few trees passed out of the corner of his eyes, and finally, a park bench with a man sitting on it.
"John! John Watson!" a voice called out. John turned back, to see the sitting man now standing and rushing towards him. The other man did look a little bit familiar, smiling at him. The chubby face, the large nose and the slightly curly brown hair of the man standing in front of him, didn't quite piece together inside John's mind.
"Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Barts together." The man said, still smiling at John. Then it clicked,
"Yes, sorry, yes, Mike." The shorter man took Mike's outstretched hand and shook it, "Hello, hi."
Mike grinned, and pointed towards himself, "Yeah, I know! I got fat!" he joked, which was quite the feat for the larger man. John stood there, unsure of how to reply. "No." he said, trying to be convincing.
"I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?" Mike continued, looking at John with pity. John flushed red and looked away,
"I got shot." he put it simply, feeling awkward.
At this point both men now looked embarrassed.
Now sitting back on a park bench John and Mike were holding takeaway coffees and sipping them quietly.
"Are you still at Bart's, then?" John asked.
"Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!"
At this, both John and Mike laughed, remembering the times they had at Bart's.
"What about you? Just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted?" Mike questioned.
"I can't afford London on an Army pension."
"Ah, and you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know."
The statement made John uncomfortable, "Yeah, I'm not the John Watson …"
He stopped talking, and Mike looking away and sipping his drink. John realized what was happening and switched his grip on the cup, clenching the other hand to control the tremor. At this Mike looked back at his old friend.
"Couldn't Harry help?"
"Yeah, like that's gonna happen!" John replied, his voice laced with sarcasm.
"I dunno, get a flatshare or something?" Mike said with a small shrug of his pudgy shoulders.
"Come on, who'd want me for a flatmate?"
The other man chuckled, looking at the ground, before looking at John.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing, I just remembered a funny joke."
THE END MOTHATRUCKAS