Chapter 2: The Doctor

John walked around Hyde Park as he usually did every morning, sipping coffee from a paper cup. This was normal for an older man to do and he needed normality, not adventure. His last adventure ended nearly six months ago.

Six months, he thought to himself. Six months... has it been that long? As soon as he could, John packed up what little belongings he had at 221B Baker Street and moved into a small room downtown. If it weren't for the hours at the clinic, he would have had to move in with Harry. He often wondered if he should try to post outside the city, somewhere in the quiet countryside, but he enjoyed the liveliness of it all. And perhaps, maybe there was a bit of him that still had hope.

John settled into a park bench to take in the scenery and let his leg rest a bit. He knew it was all in his head, but the ache grew stronger and stronger each day. This is age, he thought to himself, taking a long sip on his coffee, black, no sugar. He thought of the last time he drank sugar in his coffee because someone had made that cup for him.

Before he could entertain the memory any further, John's mobile started to ring. His heart pounded a little. Please, be him. As he dug it out of his pocket, he glanced at the screen before answering. "MRS. HUDSON," it read.

"Damn," he breathed in disappointment before tapping the answer button. " 'Ello, Mrs. H."

"John, good news! I have a new tenant!" Mrs. Hudson's voice was cheerful as ever.

"Oh, that's great. That's… that's wonderful, Mrs. H." John's heart sank thinking about someone moving into their space. But it wasn't their space any longer. It hadn't even remained his place for long. "Was it the girl you spoke with on the phone last week?"

"Yes, that girl from America."

"Mary was it?"

"Yes, Mary from America." Mrs. Hudson giggled at her joke.

"I'm guessing you'll need help moving the rest of Sher-… the rubbage out then. That's why you are calling, right?"

"You have been promising for months to do just that, dear. Just the boxes. She wants to keep the bedframe and wardrobe."

John gritted his teeth. He shouldn't be upset that they were going to a new owner, since he didn't want them at his place but still.

After a few minutes of silence, Mrs. Hudson started again, "John, it is hard for both of us. I understand why you had to move out and so quickly. I know you are hurting. But, dear, you need to let go. Perhaps stepping foot in that flat one last time may give you that closure."

He sighed. "I'll be over first thing tomorrow morning."

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," John smiled as the landlady opened the door.

"John!" The woman exclaimed with such excitement. "Come in, let me look at you."

John smiled as she took in the sight of him. "Nothing's changed since last week, Mrs. H., I assure you." John made it a habit to take Mrs. Hudson out to dinner at least once a week to keep her busy.

"Oh, come on, John," she placed a hand on his arm, "You must have some girl you are talking to. You look as fit as ever."

John had had a lot of free time since moving out of Baker Street. He started doing light exercises, more walking. He laughed a little, "No, no girl."

"Oh," Mrs. Hudson touched a hand to her chest, "a boyfriend then? I always wonder about you and Sher-"

"I'm not gay, Mrs. Hudson," John stated in an exacerbated tone. He softened his voice not to offend the woman, "I'm single and still looking."

Mrs. Hudson patted his arm with a smile, "Well, you're just in luck. I told you about Mary, the new tenant? She may be a bit young for you, but she is quite pretty and smart. She's a student at the University of London."

"She sounds lovely…. And, and I'm sure it's nice to have someone around here again." A hint of regret filled John then. I should have never left her, but I just can't live in the same flat… not without him.

"It is," Mrs. Hudson smiled, sadly. "Different from you boys. You know, having a girl around here. Quite different. You should meet her."

"Perhaps next time. Barging in right now would seem a bit… rude."

"Nonsense. Besides, you came to remove those boxes. You need to go up there, John. There's no use in avoiding it."

John was hoping to avoid entering 221B and going up those steps, but he knew Mrs. Hudson was right. He couldn't avoid the flat any longer and his things needed to go. "I'll make good on my promise."

Mrs. Hudson squeezed his arm and shuffled back to her kitchen. John hesitated for a few moments and drew a quick breath, mounting the stairs as he did months ago. The door to the flat was wide open. On the floor knelt a beautiful woman; with short tousled hair, dressed in lounge sweats, gazing into the empty eye sockets of a human skull.

Mary woke up to Schrodinger purring and the aroma of fresh coffee in the air. She had the best night sleep she had had since she arrived in London, seeing that her king sized mattress had finally been delivered yesterday. She stretched a little, sinking down into her tan silky sheets and royal purple comforter, which matched the green of the room perfectly. Mary had every intention of peeling off the ancient wallpaper, but something held her back. Instead, she worked with what she had.

Besides the mattress, Mary had purchased a nice wooden vanity that complimented the other pieces. It sat on the far wall along with other things from home that had also arrived in various boxes the day before. That was today's project: boxes… and the arrival of a new couch.

Schrodinger was obviously annoyed, nuzzling Mary's face and moving to sit on her head to get her up out of bed. "Fine, fine," she muttered, tossing back the cover. "I'm going. I have to clean the living room before two anyways."

Mary shuffled into the kitchen with her cat at her heals. After giving him a scoop of dry cat food and fresh water, she fixed her coffee just the way she liked it: sweet with lots of sugar. Sipping her coffee, she surveyed the living area in the morning light. The floor needed a good scrubbing and the empty bookshelves some dusting. But the boxes in the corner… Mrs. Hudson's friend was coming around to pick them up, but Mary was curious.

"First thing's first, Shro," Mary remarked to the cat now basking on the windowsill, licking himself clean of his breakfast, "Let's see what's in these boxes, shall we?"

Mary crossed the room from the kitchen, bringing her coffee with her. She knelt down by a large box on the floor, setting her large cup on the ground next to her. Opening the flaps, she found a confusing array of documents and newspaper clippings. She picked up the first yellowing piece of paper. "Building explodes in central London, 12 people killed." She read out loud. Flipping to another, "Leading scientist killed in mine explosion in open field…" Mary made a mental note to read these stories later when she had a proper place to sit.

She pushed the box aside and scooted towards another. Dust flew into the air as she opened the lid to the second box. A pang of shock followed by curiosity hit her hard. Sitting on top of more newspaper clippings was a human skull.

"Not a murderer, indeed," Mary commented, lifting it up out of the box. It felt heavy and gritty in her hands. Turning it over, she found no sign of where it was made. Perhaps it was real. She leaned back on her toes, holding the skull up to eye level.

A smile played upon her lips. She couldn't help herself. "Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio," she quoted.

"And here I thought Mrs. Hudson had rid this flat of the Skull Friend," a voice came from the doorway.

Mary turned her head from the skull to the man leaning against the doorway. He was short, but muscular with sandy blonde hair. His outfit was simple: a bland tan sweater over a blue button down shirt paired with jeans and brown shoes. For some reason, Mary could only see military as she gazed at him, standing with his arms crossed and a half grin. For an older man, he was handsome. Well, handsome enough for Mary to become suddenly aware of her raggedy appearance.

She placed the skull back where she had found it, stood up, and wiped her dusty hands on her sweat pants. "Hi," she said calmly, trying to gain composure. "I am not quite sure what to say to a strange man in my flat who just witnessed me quoting Shakespeare to a skull." Smooth, Mary.

"And I'm wondering why a lovely, young woman is talking to a skull in the first place," he responded. A small blush filled his cheeks and he looked away. They both laughed nervously. "Sorry. I... I'm Dr. John Watson. I used to… I knew the man who used to live here." He cleared his throat and came forward. "And you must be…?" He asked, holding out his hand.

"Mary," she took his hand firmly in hers, "Mary Morstan. And that's Schrodinger." She nodded at the cat now marking John's leg with his body and purring loudly."

"He seems to like me," John scratched the cat's head in recognition.

"Yea, I think I have the only cat in London that loves strangers. So, you knew Sher-"

"Yes." John cut Mary off abruptly, standing straight. He hadn't talked about Sherlock since his last session with his psychiatrist months ago and he wasn't going to start now. Sherlock Holmes… my fri-… Sherlock is dead. "Mrs. Hudson has been bugging me about helping her get rid of those boxes for months. I figure it is a good time to do it so you can settle down."

Mary could sense the tension that came over the man as he looked around the space. He hadn't been here for quite some time, that was evident, and was itching to leave. She nodded at him. "Actually, I can handle tossing them out. I'm curious about their contents. I'm not from London and I don't know who this Sher-… Who the last renter was. I would like to be in the know."

"There's really nothing curious about the contents of those boxes, believe me."

"Well I am the new tenant and I already am keeping the bedframe and the wardrobe. I figure no one really cares about these belongings, especially if you are going to throw them away. Besides, nothing is more curious than a human skull in a abandoned box, Dr. Watson."

They stood for a bit gazing at each other, Mary now crossing her arms in defiance. John chuckled, "You got me there. Perhaps that's the only curious thing. Have fun sifting through rubbage." The sooner someone caved, the sooner he could leave the flat.

"Oh I will, Dr. Watson."

"Call me John, Miss Mary," he smiled at the young woman. There was something about her that he couldn't place, something he was familiar with, that he missed for quite some time. He liked her defiance.

Mary blushed a little. What is wrong with me, the first guy that comes along in London and I'm smitten! She then realized that an awkward silence had fallen between John and her. "Uh... wouja... I mean, would you care for a cup of coffee? I have a single serving coffee machine and it wouldn't take much effort to get you some."

"No, no thank you," John answered politely. He noticed Mary's smile faltered a bit. "Perhaps another time. I should be going, I have to be at the clinic in about an hour."

"Right, and I should clean this place anyways." She gestured to the room around her. "If you ever want to stop by, or... or go out sometime, you can give me a call. I mean, that's if you want to... I don't know many people here in London and it would be nice to have a conversation with someone other than my cat or landlady. It could just be a nice chat in the park or... or..." Shut up, Mary.

"I'd like that." John found her awkwardness endearing. "How about a late dinner? Tonight? There's a great Chinese restaurant we can walk to. That's if Americans like Chinese."

"Love it."

"Good... good. I'll meet you on the doorstep at 8?"

"Perfect."

"See you then." John turned to walk down the stairs, paused, and glanced back to Mary. "There's really nothing in those boxes." With that, he smiled and disappeared down the steps.

Mary listened to him bid farewell to the landlady and then leave through the front door. Her stomach was all butterflies. "Schro, I think I have a date tonight."