Chapter 2 – The One With Mike Stamford
John wakes with a start. Again. Like almost every morning. But today something is different. Today, he doesn't feel as alone and lost as he normally does. He even manages to calm down within a few minutes.
John is happy. No. Happy would be an exaggeration. John is cheery. He can't explain this sudden cheeriness. He wonders if there's something wrong with him. This thought even makes him laugh. Not a normal laugh, but something that sounds more like a short, loud bark. Did he really just wonder what's wrong with him when he's feeling happy? No. Cheery. Anyway, this is just silly. Months and months of sadness and depression and dark thoughts and he never asked himself if there was something wrong with him. And when he's happy (well, cheery) for the first time in nearly a year, he worries.
Today, the tea doesn't cool before John drinks it. Today, the apple isn't left on the desk, untouched. Today, John's hand isn't trembling as badly as it normally does. But still, his blog remains empty. That hasn't changed. Nothing happens to John Watson. So John decides to change that.
After his sparse breakfast, John leaves his apartment and gets the tube into the city. It's Christmas time. The streets are decorated with all kinds of holiday lights, from reindeers to little dancing elves, from snowflakes to icicles. The shop windows shine in red and green and gold. John strolls down Regent Street and looks at all the people passing. They appear to be stressed out and not very happy (or cheery); they scurry along without paying much attention to the thin, short man in his black coat.
John is just looking at a particularly nice watch in one of the decorated shop windows, when someone stops and looks at him. "John? John Watson?"
John looks at the stranger. He is about the same age as John, but rather stout. He wears a pair of old-fashioned glasses and an old coat, his scarf is only loosely tied around his neck. His face is shining with sweat, because he's carrying about twenty bags that seem to be filled to the brim with presents. Still, he looks really happy and also a little bit surprised to see John here. John is pretty sure he has met this man somewhere before, but he can't remember where.
"It's me, Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together," the stranger says, not the least worried that John doesn't seem to recognise him.
"Yes, Mike, hello!" John finally remembers the face. Mike was a year below him when he was training at Bart's.
"Yeah, I know, I've gotten fat," Mike says, while they shake hands. "I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?"
"I got shot," John simply replies.
John decides to join Mike for lunch at the Holborn, a rather expensive restaurant near Regent Street. They reminisce about old times and talk about what has happened to them since their graduation. Mike is married and has four children, the fifth on the way. This explains all the presents. Moreover, he is now a teacher at Bart's. He tells John stories about the students and the teachers, most of it gossip for which John has no use, because he doesn't know those people, but the stories remind him of his own time at Bart's. And John tells Mike about the war, about Afghanistan, about all the things he did while he was down there. Even though he doesn't tell him everything it feels good to have someone to talk to, someone who doesn't pity him for getting shot or for having to leave the army, but someone who is genuinely interested in his stories. John also tells Mike about his current situation, about living at the outskirts of London, even though he would rather live somewhere in the city. But he can't afford it, at least not on an army pension.
"You could get a flat share or something," Mike suggests.
John looks up from his Christmas salad (lettuce leaves and tomatoes – green and red), which is so expensive that he's going to have to go without lunch for the rest of the week, and gives a laugh. "Come on! Who'd want me for a flatmate?"
Now it's Mike turn to laugh. "That's funny. You're the second person to say that to me today."
"Who's the first?" John asks curiously.
"This fellow who is working at the laboratory at Bart's," Mike answers. "He was complaining about having found some rooms near Baker Street or something, but they are too expensive and he can't find someone to go halves with him."
"He's one of the students, then?" John inquires.
"No, not really." Mike pauses to think. "I don't know what he does exactly. He definitely is neither a student nor a doctor. He just uses the chemical laboratory sometimes. And the mortuary. Don't ask me why, though."
"The mortuary?" John echoes surprised. "He sounds like a weird bloke."
Mike shrugs. "I suppose," he says.
John has to admit that this guy sounds intriguing. Well, anything is better than his current life. "I could probably use some weirdness in my life right now," John says, more to himself than to Mike.
Mike smirks. "I could introduce you, if you want."
John shrugs. "Yes, why not."
John accompanies Mike back to St Bart's after lunch. It's really different from his day. The corridors are so much cleaner than he remembers. And the students look so young! He is sure that he didn't look 16 when he trained at Bart's. He hopes that this guy he's about to meet isn't as young as that.
Mike leads him straight to the chemistry laboratory. And it looks even more different than the corridors and the students. It's all new and modern, equipped with expensive looking computers and test tubes and screens. John is careful not to touch anything. He wouldn't be able to replace any of this stuff if he broke it.
Then they're outside Laboratory 7. Mike pushes open the door and they step inside.