THERE ARE TWO TYPES OF FANS
Prologue
Summary: in a world where Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes only existed in fictional literatures, John Watson met a man with all the superior abilities above normal human and mysteries for a past.
Note: inspired by Man of Steel, combined with STiD's Khan. Crossovers won't extend beyond some references without any of the characters present. For plot purposes, all the characters are ten years younger.
The pub was reasonably crowded, being a Wednesday; middle of the week. Most people would have still been in the game for their respective jobs, having gotten over the hateful Monday and resigned Tuesday, but not John Watson. For him, every weekday is a Monday.
"So," asked the flirty blonde with the lips. "What do you do again?"
John brought the almost empty beer bottle to his lips, buying himself a few seconds before mustering up a smooth-sounding reply. "I'm a doctor." He clears his throat, thin lips curled up slightly. "A GP actually. I work at a small clinic nearby."
"Oh, that's nice," the giggly brunette brushed against his arm not so subtly. "Which clinic exactly? I don't suppose you can do my... physical?"
John turned to the bartender, waving his empty bottle over his head. "More beers for these lovely ladies, if you don't mind."
The well-dressed man behind the counter threw him a vaguely unimpressed look before proceeding to whip out a couple of coasters and serving the new batch of Guinness with practiced ease. His movements were almost too fast for John's eyes to track. It was sort of amazing. To have been so good at what he did, he must have enjoyed his job; something John could only consider a luxury.
"John?"
John froze, his breath caught in his throat. The voice was familiar.
"John Watson?"
He closed his eyes momentarily and cursed under his breath. He had always considered himself a decent bloke, but his luck had been mostly substandard. It figured he would have met someone who knew him in a pub, on a weekday, on the other side of London from where he worked.
"Do you remember me? It's Mike. Mike Stamford, from St. Barts," the chubby man approached him with a pleasant smile. "It's great seeing you again. How long has it been? I know, I got fat."
John flicked a look at the two girls sharing his table, noticing how the mood had quickly shifted. It looked like he wasn't going to score that night after all. Well, it had been a long shot anyway. These girls were clearly only after free drinks.
"Hi, Mike. Yes, of course I remember," he turned around and took the offered hand in a firm handshake. "It's been... almost eight years, I guess?"
The girls started to whisper to each other and soon excused themselves, taking John's beers with them. John barely gave them another look, told Mike not to worry about interrupting anything and asked him to sit down.
"So you work at St. Barts now?"
"Yeah, just started teaching a few months ago, I knew it wasn't supposed to be fun, but well," Mike sighed, taking a sip of his drink. "Actually, it kind of is. They are bright young things, just like we were."
John nodded absently, eyes fixed on Mike's respectable suit, then down to his own plain, plaid shirt. They had studied together once, working side by side for the same goal, but now...
"Enough about me," Mike put down his glass, looking up at him with an expectant smile. "How about you? What do you do?"
XXX
"John,"
John looked up from the computer screen, eyes sunken behind the black thick-rimmed glasses.
"Seventh floor, Jeanette. Printer got jammed, again."
John let out a resigned sigh before rising from his seat, giving his knitted vest another tug, his company nametag another check and his hair another swipe of hand before heading out of the door. From there he turned left towards the elevator, next to the rest room. He pushed the up button, noting that the closest one would be the one on the right, currently heading down from the ninth floor. After waiting for another two minutes, the panel above the doors showed that the elevator has reached the basement. A soft 'ding' was heard, then the doors opened. John entered the empty elevator (of course it would have always been empty, nobody went to the basement). Even the servers weren't located down there where it was so damp and rather dingy for the building's standard. John was only so painfully aware that some computers were treated better than his entire department.
He pushed the button to the seventh floor, slunk to the corner and waited, hoping that it would be a smooth ride straight to the destination. It was fifteen minutes past three and he was really hoping to be able to get the new employee's workstation ready before five o'clock. At least he could take comfort in the fact that it was Thursday. Just one day, one more day, then he could properly transform the awkward conversation with Mike Stamford in to alcohol-soaked, fuzzy memory that might have or might have not happened at all.
Another soft 'ding' was heard, snapping John out of his daydream. Taking a quick glance at the mirror, he readjusted his slanted glasses and stepped out of the elevator, in to the low buzz of an open-office setting of Noah Industries, Marketing Department. From where he stood, he could see a small crowd bunching around the printer near the pillar, in the middle of the room. He approached a particularly tall brunette with a tight one-piece dress hugging her most delectable figure standing next to the printer, holding a bunch of paperwork looking worried. That would be Jeanette. Or not. It didn't matter because he already had his mind made up.
John worked his way to the centre of the crowd, stepping right next to her. She is taller than him, like most of women in England. He didn't mind. It had never stopped him before.
"Hi," he started, flashing his trusty 'I'm just a nice bloke with no grubby intentions towards your nether regions at all' smile. The young lady turned around and beamed at him instantly. As always, worked like a charm.
"I'm John Watson from IT, if you could let me take a quick look at the printer, I'll get it back running in no time."
XXX
As always, Monday came a bit too soon to John's liking. Before he knew it, he was back sitting behind his desk, reviewing the monthly report he had crammed for all morning. He wondered why he bothered at all. He could have copy-pasted that thing from last month, and it would have still been legit. The same thing happened every month, with the paper-jammed printers, virus-infested workstations from porn sites, spam emails in the server, busted cables, tea-soaked keyboards, purging old workstation from departed employees and setting up the new one for new employees. It was just the same thing, happening in an endless loop. It was his life, his fate, to go through this utterly dull routine, because nothing ever happened to him.
"And this is the IT Department, for daily operation maintenance and hardware management,"
He sighed. That would be the junior HR staff's voice. Every beginning of the month, without fail, she would come escorting a few new employees as a part of company orientation. John never saw the point, because every person they shook hands with, they'd forget the name the instant they moved on to the next one. Also, and he couldn't stress this enough, nobody came to IT Department office. The room was cramped, damp, smelled funny, and frankly, filthy. John couldn't really place the blame on the cleaners. With delicate computer parts scattered across every visible surface and people who notoriously disliked having their stuff touched or moved, the department quite properly earned their scorn.
"Ah, looks nice,"
That would be the new employee. He was just being polite. They always were, at least during the first few months.
"This is John Watson, supervisor, practically runs this place."
John let out a wry smile because it was mostly true. His negligent manager was hardly present in the office these days.
"Hi," he looked up and offered the new employee, a bright-looking young man, a quick handshake. "John Watson. And you are?"
"Jim Moriarty," the young man smiled pleasantly.
"He will be starting in the Software Development division today. Graduated with full marks from a most renowned college specializing in technology." the HR staff commends with starry eyes. Half a day in the office and he had scored at least an admirer already. Impressive.
"This is my first time working in an office. As fellow IT guys, I'm hoping you would show me the ropes, Mister Watson. Or can I call you John?" Jim flashed him the most disarming smile he had ever seen on a grown man. Before he knew it, he had given Jim the three things he normally would only share with a friend; the permission to call him by his most resented nickname (Johnny), his phone number and his prized Darjeeling. By the time they left, John thought back of the last several minutes, clamped his fingers over his forehead and started to laugh.
Jim Moriarty, he looked down at the name on his phone screen. The man would definitely make it big one day.
XXX
Molly Hooper, 19 years old, was currently looking at the most attractive man she had ever seen. It was fate, she knew it. Normally she would have stayed in that time of the night, reading some books or recounting the things she had learned from her morning class, making sure that her notes were perfect. But not that day. Of all the days she could have subbed for her friend's part time job as a shopkeeper, she had picked that day. The day a tall, dark stranger dressed entirely in black entered the shop with decisive steps, straight to the long coat section. Oh wasn't he dreamy. She wondered what was the colour of his eyes.
"I'll have this,"
She let out a rather undignified squeak as a dark long coat was dumped on the table in front of her. The tall dark stranger was now standing right in front of her. His eyes turned out to be grey and his face looked even more mesmerizing up-close. It was fascinating how he could have emanated so much power and confidence just by standing there looking vaguely annoyed.
"And this," a navy scarf, which she was fairly sure she hadn't seen him hold earlier, was added to the pile. With a brief glance at the scarf section, she noted that one of the scarves hanging on the same rack was still swaying lightly from the momentum. It was like the scarf had been very recently yanked off the hanger, except that he couldn't have made his way all the way there and obtained the scarf without her noticing.
Molly stole another glance at him while ringing his purchase. Her initial thought might be correct. There was something about this man. Most people would have given away more of their personal information given enough proximity, but it was like the harder she tried to read him, the more questions arose. For a starter, he had entered the shop dressed entirely too light considering the full-blown winter outside. The long-sleeved shirt and poly-wool trousers couldn't have sufficed against the freezing wind. He had just dropped a fourteen-hundred pound coat in front of her like it had been nothing, so he must have had money. Why would have he walked out of his house wearing so little? Why hadn't he been shivering at all? If he lived nearby, why hadn't she seen him before?
After confirming the purchase, he reached inside his pocket and handed her a bunch of notes. She could feel her friendly smile slip away. She had been hoping for a card. That way, at least she would have gotten a name out of him.
"Leave it," he suddenly said as she was about to wrap his coat in the shop's standard package box, suggesting that he was going to wear it directly. He gave a hurried nod at her tentative offer to snip the tags off both the coat and the scarf.
In a fit of momentary panic at the prospect of accidentally touching his fingers as she passed the clothes over, she had elbowed the book she had been reading off the counter. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, A Study in Scarlet. She had owned it for a good five years now and had reread it several times during the span of time. She had decided to bring it with her after a Hollywood movie adapting the story under the same title had been released the previous week. Watching it had made her feel a tad nostalgic.
Molly watched in trepidation as Tall Dark Grey Eyes knelt down to pick up the book. She wanted to thank him and apologize profusely for making him do it, but he wasn't looking at her anymore. She could tell that he was very interested in the book.
As he wordlessly handed the book over back to her, she bowed down and murmured her thanks timidly. His fingers felt impossibly warm, making her heart skip another beat.
"Um," she started, heartbeat racing, knowing that soon he would leave and she might never see him again. This could be her only chance.
"P-perhaps if y-y-you'd like-a cup of coffee-"
She looked up, feeling her shoulders sag in disappointment at the realization that he had been long gone. It wasn't until after she was preparing to leave she realized that her book was nowhere to be found.
XXX
TBC