"John, you have a visitor." Sarah called out. John ignored her. He didn't want to see anyone.
The door opened and his visitor came in.
"John, I came to see how you were." Greg said, sitting down in the seat.
"I'm fine." John scoffed. He wasn't. Puffy red eyes. He'd been crying.
"I know he was your favourite professor at Hogwarts. He was mine too. I know he wouldn't want you slouching around. You've cancelled on three patients who seriously need you. Will you at least see the next one?" Greg pleaded, desperate for his friend to be happy again.
John didn't answer. Just stared blankly at the wall. A beige colour.
"I'll send them in." Greg said, quietly slipping out the door.
John sat in silence again, waiting awkwardly for his next patient to arrive.
There was a soft knock on the door.
"Come in." John said.
The door was pushed in.
"Hello, Dr Watson." A man strode in, standing in front of the desk, ignoring the seat. He was pale, especially against the beige wall. Dark almost black curls. Piercing eyes. Green? Blue? Or both? John couldn't tell. Sculpted face.
"Hello, please take a seat." John motioned to the seat.
"I'd rather stand if you don't mind. I hate hospital chairs." The man said, glancing angrily at the furniture.
"Okay, what seems to be the problem?" John asked, trying to push Professor Longbottom out of his mind.
"Well, personally I know there is nothing wrong with me. But my friend insist I should be checked out. She reckons I'm having a severe reaction to the nicotine patches." He said, sourly.
"Trying to quit smoking?" John asked, standing up.
"Obviously. Also giving up cocaine." They added.
"Oh, okay. How often do you wear the nicotine patches?" John continued, a bit taken aback at the man's honesty.
"Three a day."
"How long are the average intervals between each patch?" John asked.
Instead of explaining, the man unbuttoned his sleeve and pulled it up as far as it went (half way up his toned biceps) showing three nicotine patches on his arm.
"I see. Now that may explain if you are suffering from any symptoms. Do you mind?" John motioned to the patches.
"Go ahead."
John took off two patches. The patient didn't even flinch.
"So, can I just get some pills and get out of here?"
"Okay... I'm afraid we're going to have run some tests. I'll need you to come back tomorrow." John said.
"Dull."
"Excuse me?" John huffed.
"Sorry, are you partially deff? And by the way, how's your sister? She's not really into the whole family business? Not got the medical skill?"
"Skill. You could say that." Harriet was a squib. "And err how did you know that?"
"I don't know I notice. On my way in a noticed a board, listing the staff register in case of emergencies. I saw your father, Watson Sr. Watson Jr, which must be you and your mother, Betty. No sister, yet you do have one. Harriet? Ahh yes. Harriet Watson, the one who didn't have the talent. Heard your secretary on the phone talking to 'Harry'. Hospital phones are always so loud. She sounded very drunk and upset. Kept mentioning Clara. Some sort of domestic. Asked to see her brother, you. Female voice. Harriet."
"Wow. I err, I should probably call her." John stammered.
The man turned sharply on his heel and left.
John ran after him.
"Wait, you need to come back tomorrow. I don't even know your name. I need it for the records."
"Sherlock Holmes." He called out without turning to face John.
"Sorry about him. He's always so terribly behaved at hospitals. Reminds him of rehab. Terribly place."
"Sorry. Who are you?" John turned to look at the woman in white shoving a hand in his face. He awkwardly shook it.
"Sherlocks 'friend' as he calls me. Irene. I'll make sure he comes into tomorrow for his tests. I'm so very worried about him." She said, pursing her red painted lips. She turned and walked after her 'friend', high heels echoed down the hall.
"John, Harriet called. Something happened with Clara. You should speak to her. On the phone, an owl won't be good enough this time." Sarah said as John passed her desk.
"I will, thanks for telling me."