This is eventually going to turn into Johnlock, I think but I don't have a plot in mind, I'm just making it up as I go along so anything could happen.
Note: I DIDN'T know where this was going but I do now, I have a document saved on my hard-drive with plot points on it. The first three chapters I knew what was happening and then the, maybe, fourths, fifth, sixth and seventh, I was unsure because I hadn't intended continuing it after chapter three. Does that make sense?
"Next please." The voice rings out through the waiting room and I stand, picking my coat up off the chair beside me. I walk down a long corridor, painted a sickly, hospital green and turn into the consulting room tentatively.
"Dr Watson?"
"Yes, come in. Take a seat." He gestures to the plastic seat next to his desk. The room is arranged differently to normal doctor's offices. The desk is pushed against the wall and the patient's chair is placed adjacent to the doctor's and this makes him seem more accessible. "What's the problem then... Miss Eventide?"
He smiles, seeming genuine but it doesn't reach his eyes. I look out for signals, signal's I've been taught to find. Under his eyes are dark circles and the skin around his fingernails is torn and chewed. He runs his hands through his already ruffled hair as he waits for my answer.
"I haven't been sleeping well." My well-rehearsed lines come out naturally without a pause.
"Have you any idea why?" His tone is soft but I can detect weariness behind it, a tiredness that comes not from lack of sleep but from a deep emotional trauma.
"Stress, grief? I don't know."
"Grief, have you lost someone recently?" I can see the tinge of pain, recognition, in his eyes. He knows what I'm talking about.
"Yeah."
"How long ago?"
"Ten weeks ago." His eyes widen, shocked at the coincidence but curious about it.
"Okay, have you been taking anything?"
"I've been taking some none-prescription tablets but they haven't been working." I hate how easily the lies come. I hate lying to him: this broken man in front of me but as he looks away from me to makes notes I have to opportunity to observe him more closely.
His hands are shaking slightly and there's a purple scarf stained with what looks like blood flung over the back of his chair. His tie is hanging awkwardly, as if it hasn't been done up with any amount of concentration and his shirt doesn't fit him properly.
"Well, all I can do I'm afraid is give you some stronger tablets and you can come back in a few weeks if they don't work either." His smile this time is weak and tight, he doesn't really care anymore and he dispairs at it. He wants to care.
"Thank you, Doctor."
He writes me the prescription and hands it to me. I begin to leave but as I open the door he calls out to me.
"Who did you lose?"
"A good friend." I let my eyes well up and go hazy, as if recollecting some fond memory.
"What was his name? Her name?"
I don't know why but I decide to go against my instructions and with my instinct. It's the look in his eyes; they're not closed off now, they're begging for some connection with someone, anyone. And I can provide that connection. So I tell the truth.
"Sherlock Holmes. It was Sherlock Holmes." A solitary tear runs down his cheek and he wipes it away with the back of his hand.
"Are you free later?"
"Yes." Again, I don't know why but I do exactly what I'm not meant to.
"Can you meet me, for coffee? To talk about it, him?"
"Of course."
"Do you know Alwyn's, on Paveley Street?"
"Yes. Six?"
"Yeah." His smile is genuine this time, warmer and less restricted.
Thank you for reading, reviews are welcome.