John sits on the bed as he wraps his thigh wound. Damn that hurts. Whoever said that angels can't be injured is stupid. This is about as bad as being shot.
At least it's better than the alternative. But what kind of idiot goes after a serial killer alone? Oh yeah, that's right. Mine does.
Someone knocks on the door. "Come in." He calls without looking up.
"Hello son, having fun?"
John looks up and sees his Father leaning against the door frame. "Yeah, you should try it some time. The adrenaline rush is great."
Now anyone else would be shocked to hear John response like this. This is God he's talking to. But John has never been good at respecting authority. When asked, he blames it as a habit he picked up from his ward. In truth John just doesn't bother with formality and says whatever he wants. And if his Father minds, he can damn well say so himself.
"What do I owe this visit?"
"Can't I stop in the see how one of my favorite sons is doing?"
"Favorite hmmm? Does Gabriel know this?"
He laughs.
"And no, you can't. Because you already know how I'm doing because you always know. So you have an agenda. Spill."
He walks into John's room and sits in a chair. "It has come to my attention that your ward keeps getting involved in more dangerous situations as time progresses."
"If you mean he's getting more reckless, then yes he is."
He nods. "I have a proposition for you. To be able to protect him better, I will allow you to take human form and insert yourself-"
"YES!"
"-in his life."
"Yes, I'll do it." John knows he is acting like an excited five year old. But he will damn well act like one if he gets to be allowed in his ward's life. This is basically his life's dream- to be able to be more to his ward then just his guard. To be his friend, to ease the heartbreaking loneliness that he hides so well, to show him that at least one person cares. Yes, oh God yes I will.
His Father laughs. "I thought you would like the idea. I believe it will be a good experience for both of you."
John doesn't bother thinking about the knowing glint in His eyes. Personally, he doesn't care. He is going to be able to join his ward. To live his life with him. And better to get it out of my system now before I meet him and totally fangirl all over him. Wouldn't that be interesting to explain.
"When can I go?" He asks, somewhat more composed.
"Today. Everything you need to fit in is set up."
"Details?"
"You are to be Captain John Watson, M.D. You have been back from Afghanistan for two months after being shot in the shoulder on your third tour. You have a therapist- you can drop her after one session, an alcoholic sister Harriet- Harry for short and a small flat on the edge of London- you need a flatmate to afford anything better. Mike Stamford- an old friend who you trained with at Bart's- will introduce you to Sherlock, who is also looking for a flatmate."
John nods and tries to look serious, but he's still too excited. This is going to be great.
Now all he has to do is keep the idiot from finding out.
"Ready?"
"Yes."
"Best of luck son."
John jerks up from his bed with a start. Looking around, he sees a flat he has never seen before, but is familiar none the less. "Bloody hell." He lets out a laugh. "Bloody hell, I'm here. I'm really here!"
He gets out of bed without a thought and gasps when his leg gives a painful throb. "Damn! You mean I still have that damn thing?"
He limps to the bathroom to take a look at it. Leaning against the wall for support, he stares down a his thigh. His completely healed thigh. The only thing there is a scar. "Great, so it's healed, but my leg didn't get the message yet. Super." He goes through his newly given knowledge. "Which makes this... psychosomatic. Fantastic. No wonder I was bloody 'sent home'." He looks up. "You forgot to mention this part. Really could have done without it you know."
There's no answer, but John wasn't expecting one. "Probably too busy laughing to give me one anyways." He mutters. "Now what?"
There is nothing to do in his room besides read a couple of books, there is no one he can visit and there is certainly nothing to put on 'his blog' that 'his therapist' suggested he make to 'deal with his PTSD'.
Maybe shooting the walls isn't such a bad idea after all.
Wednesday can't come fast enough.