John sighed and passed his hand over his face as he hobbled out of St. Barts. Sherlock Holmes, eh? Definitely a character. Possibly dangerous. Not really a good remedy for an ex-army doctor just back from Afghanistan who was probably suffering from some form of PTSD. Still, becoming flat mates didn't necessarily mean he was going to instantly become best pals with the fellow. Flat shares often worked out that way; he'd end up keeping to his space, and Sherlock (What kind of name was that, anyway?) with his mad deductions, ridiculous curls, and harsh attitude would keep to his.
"Hello there John Watson!"
John sighed and turned around. He was beginning to lose count of the number of men he was 'just happening' to run into. Who next? Someone from his ruggers days? Stephen Bloody Hawking? Dr. Seuss?
When he clapped eyes on this bloke he was a little shocked. There was a red… thing, with a tassel perched jauntily on his head, and he was casually wearing a tweed jacket and maroon bow tie as if they were at the height of fashion. John leaned on a telephone pole and raised his eyebrows as the man bounced on the balls of his feet expectantly. "Hello" The man repeated, leaning forward as if about to impart a great secret.
"How do you know my name?"
The man looked momentarily confused, "I'm sorry, didn't I just run into you about an hour ago?"
"No."
The man smoothed his rather oddly shaped, rectangular chin as his forehead wrinkled in puzzlement, then opened his mouth in embarrassed shock. "Oh! I'm so sorry John, I forgot! Somewhere between then and now I regenerated. But you don't understand about that yet, so don't think too hard about it."
"Are you… are you saying you're the chap with the bum leg?"
The other man grinned and patted the appendage. "Was bum. Now it's fine! Bit like yours! Well, yours isn't fine. Yet."
John smiled as politely as he possibly could at this impossibility of a man.
"So, here you are. You're talking to me. Nice, fine, okay. Apparently you can look like two completely different people in the same afternoon, wear suits with converse shoes, and enjoy wearing…" He looked at the man's headgear, and pointed at it with his walking stick. "Is that a fez?"
"Yes! Fezes are cool!" The man seemed to be on the verge of giggling.
"Who put you up to this prank? I may me a little roughened up from the war, but I'm not a schizo, half out of his wits veteran you can poke fun at."
"Oh, this is no prank. It's actually very important. One of the most important things in the universe. " The Doctor looked at John seriously. "You're going to have to stop thinking of things in black and white John. Start thinking of things in shades of grey. And don't hesitate if you think you'll do some good."
John grimaced. "I've been through Afghanistan. I know what it means to think in shades of grey."
The Doctor gave a bark of laughter. "Well, yes, in terms of war. In terms of love your frame of reference is a little rusty." His eyes twinkled, and he gave a quick wink. "Cheerio then!"
John scowled. It was obvious the other man knew something he didn't . "I assume I'll be seeing you again, then?"
The Doctor said nothing, just slipped down a back alley. When John followed all he saw was a rapidly disappearing public call box.