Lost Souls
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: I do not own "Doctor Who" or "Sherlock." They both belong to the BBC.
John Watson glares at his nurse as he tries holding down his fractious patient. The nurse isn't moving fast enough for his liking. He knows not to anger his nurses, but the situation has gone past manageable to impossible, so he yells for more assistance. It's shift change, so he's not sure who's going to show up. In comes someone he doesn't recognize, a woman in blue scrubs, ginger hair pulled back in a ponytail. She runs over, helping him slam back his patient onto the gurney and the nurse gets her act together, sticking the man with a syringe full of Ativan.
"When I tell you to do something, do it," Watson snapped, still pinning down the man's shoulders, but his gaze was on the nurse.
She shoots him a look, but says nothing, exiting the exam room. His assistant is still in the room.
"Thanks," he said.
"No problem," she said.
Two days later
A visit to the therapist isn't how envisioned spending part of his day off, but Watson capitulates. It's part of his probation, so he can't skip the appointment. Dr. Thompson is understanding, and a decent sort, but he hates their sessions. He feels he's fine, but as a doctor, he knows that is not the case. He's in denial, and has been for six months. He goes along.
The ginger woman from work is there, sitting out in the waiting room when he leaves.
"Hi," he said.
"Hello."
"Sorry about the other day. I wasn't yelling at you. Thanks for the help," he said.
"John Watson," he said, offering his hand.
"Donna Noble. Nice to meet you," she said.
He nodded, taking his leave.
A few days go by, stretches of work and fitful sleep fraught with nightmares delineating the passage of time. Watson really doesn't notice, until he almost misses a therapy session. Second time that week. He was annoyed; the therapist was late, and he was sitting beside Donna while she read. Not talking. Not a bad thing, but he wanted to be alone. Then she was setting down her book (who read books in this day and age, and an Agatha Christie novel at that?).
"We could skip out since she's late," Donna said.
"What?" Watson asked.
"Leave. Play hooky. She doesn't show, I don't think we're actually obligated to stay," Donna said.
"Unfortunately, I am," Watson said.
"Sorry," Donna said. "Just a thought. You can always reschedule."
"Not really an option in my case," he said. His probation officer would not be happy if he missed a session, which was a stipulation of his probation. Not even Lestrade could help him if he violated his probation, and Watson doubted Mycroft Homes gave a damn.
"See you next week then," Donna said. "I'm not sticking around."
Watson stared at the floor; Donna glared at him.
"Well, some ray of sunshine you are," she said, standing to go. "I really hoped some of the nurses at the hospital were wrong about you."
"The nurses know nothing about me," he said.
"They don't because you only bark orders at them, don't say much else," Donna said.
"And you know this from five minutes with me?"
"And listening to nurses when they have downtime," she said.
"God help us when they have a free moment," Watson said.
"You make free time sound like a bad thing," Donna said.
"It can be," Watson said.
"Well, sometime when you're off, how about coffee?" Donna asked.
"What?"
"Coffee. Just coffee. If you like," Donna said.
"Sure," he said. He handed her his card. "Call me. We'll set something up."
"Friday afternoon? 3 p.m.?"
"See you then," he said, not quite believing he's accepted.
Then it's Friday, 3 p.m., and he's sitting in a little hole in the wall coffee shop. Bohemian. Old art prints, furniture that's seen better days. Boxed games on some of the tables, books stacked on every available surface. Ramshackle, but he loves it already
"How'd you find this place?" he asks Donna as she sits down in a chair across from him.
"Ducked in one day on my way to get out of the rain," she said.
"Good find, and great coffee," he said.
"Thanks," she answered. "So. . .therapy."
"PTSD," he said. "You?"
"Accident. Holes in my memory," Donna said. "Most of a year I don't remember."
"I'm sorry," Watson said.
"Don't be. It's in the past. You used to be in the Army?"
"Yes," he said. "I got shot, so they let me go."
"At least you got to see some of the world," she said.
"Not too many of the good parts," he said.
"You just need to travel to some of the good places. Like Egypt. Lovely place," Donna said.
"Too much sand," he said.
"Not many people in the desert," Donna said. "That was nice. And avoiding the holiday rush."
"I haven't missed Christmas here," he said. "Saw it all on the news."
"All the insanity? Lucky you," Donna said.
"I still can't believe any of it's real," he said. Aliens. One thing Sherlock never talked about. Well, it really didn't merit his attention. So much else going on in the man's head.
"My granddad loves all that stuff," Donna said. "He goes up the hill behind the house each night the weather's decent, hauling his telescope with him, and sits out there, staring at the sky."
"Sounds nice," Watson said.
"It is. Sometimes I join him. It's peaceful, and there's so much to see," she said.
"Do you blog about it?" Watson asked.
"What?"
"Does Dr. Thompson have you blogging about anything? It's something she's made me do in the past," he said.
"No. I keep a dream journal. On paper. She seems to think it helps," Donna said. Yeah. Dreams about places and things she never thought she could imagine, but she did. And the blue box, always a part of the dreams, and a man with a face she couldn't remember.
After that, they make small talk awhile, and she has to go, leaving Watson alone, thinking. A little time together, and Donna makes him laugh. It's been a long time since he's laughed, and meant it. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon. It becomes their ritual-coffee after therapy. She's funny, and kind, and he senses she's going through something similar to what he's experiencing. No one can understand what they've each been through, and it's nice to have someone who can understand, even a little. And she never mentions she's seen him on the news, and doesn't give him pity, anything but. And that's why he likes her.
88888
Watson isn't surprised the afternoon he walks out his building and sees a black sedan parked by the curb, Anthea smiling at him, holding the door open. Fifteen minutes later, he's at an undisclosed location alone with Mycroft Holmes. It's been days since he's seen Sherlock's older brother, and he likes it that way. Maybe the elder Holmes is just checking up on him, and he hopes the meeting is just about that, but he quickly finds out otherwise.
Mycroft's gaze never wavers, composed and calm as always. "John, tread carefully," he said.
"Why? What's this about?" John asked.
"Donna Noble," he said.
"She's a temp who's working at the surgery," John said. "I like her."
"I'm glad you've made a friend, but. . ."
"But what? Donna's a temp from Chiswick," John said. "What interest could you have in her?"
"My only interest is her well-being," Mycroft said. "That's all."
"She's ordinary," John said.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. Ordinary, yes, but once upon a time, the most important person in all of creation. He'd already received the shovel talk from Jack Harkness about letting anyone hurt Ms. Noble upon hearing she was seeing someone new. Someone who'd been in the news. No, Capt. Harkness chose not to give the talk to Dr. Watson, but chose instead to deliver it to him. Torchwood was the least of his worries, and Harkness was much too nosy for his own good. A valuable asset, and one Mycroft frequently employed, but unfortunate he was an asset that could not be liquidated in simple fashion.
"Yes, ordinary," Mycroft said.
"Mycroft, you're not making any sense," John said.
"What are your intentions regarding Ms. Noble?"
"We're friends, I think," John said.
"Friends?"
"Yes, friends. We're not dating. It's possible to be just friends," he said. "No one will ever take Sherlock's place, if that's what you're thinking."
"That is not my concern," Mycroft said. "Just be careful."
Before Watson can say anything, he's being escorted back to the car and dropped back at his building as if nothing happened. So much for ordinary.