A/N: It was brought to my attention that I should more clearly state this – the idea is closely linked to one of my favorite movies. I admit I did not come up with this idea out of nowhere. And even if you know which movie it's based on, never assume. I'm trying to stray from it as often as possible. :P
Also, so sorry for the slowness. I'm thinking updating three stories simultaneously will be too difficult. I'm going to start updating whenever I get a chapter of any of them finished. That should speed things up… and only mildly confuse me when posting. Enjoy!
Chapter 3
"So what you're saying is you never even heard it happen?"
"Now you don't need to say it like that."
"Two shots were fired and you didn't hear either, Doctor."
John sighed and closed his fridge with his foot before walking to his living room to drop onto his couch. He took a sip of his drink and then wedged it between his knees so he could hold the phone again.
"Listen here, Mr. Holmes. I grew up in the dodgy sector of a town in North York in quite literally the middle of nowhere. We had break-ins every January just after Christmas from our criminal population. Gun shots were honestly everywhere. I got used to the sound, alright? So sometimes I don't notice when one goes off because my brain is equating it to a commonplace sound. Alright?"
"Alright. No need to get testy, Dr. Watson," Sherlock replied, his voice surprisingly calm. Annoyingly so, actually.
"What about you then?" John asked. He set his water bottle on the carpet and relaxed into a lying position on his couch. "How does the world's greatest detective end up dialing the wrong number on his phone?"
"Ah. That's the tricky question, isn't it?" Sherlock asked. "But, you see, I didn't misdial. That's the riddle. I dialed my brother through my recent call list. Somehow, the phone changed his number at the last second and dialed out to you instead."
"Maybe you just have the wrong number plugged in for your brother," John suggested. He followed the movement of his ceiling fan with his eyes until he started feeling dizzy. Then he shut them and squinted.
"Afraid not," was Sherlock answer.
"Why? Because you don't make mistakes?"
"Exactly," Sherlock answered with enthusiasm. John could almost see him begin to pace as he explained. "Because I checked the phone after we hung up – well, I hung up. Your number was unlisted, had no name from my phone. I double checked Mycroft's number – it's all in order, sadly. Don't you see? There was a great malfunction, Doctor! And strangely, the phone always seems to go fuzzy for a moment while it dials. It's a fantastic mystery of a riddle."
John chuckled. "A fantastic twist of fate," he said. "It's nice to hear you so excited about something."
"What?" Sherlock asked, voice still oozing his excitement but tinted with confusion.
"You're always so mellow and calm. This is our fifth phone call, and this is also the first time you've gotten all worked up over something. Usually it's just you listening to me rant about people I pass by on the street or I hate on the telly," John explained.
"I… apologize if I'm boring you," Sherlock said, voice degrading back to normal.
"No no," John said quickly, shaking his head a little. "It's completely fine. It's a relief to be able to talk to someone, and it's nice to know there's something that excites you."
"Oh," Sherlock brilliantly replied.
He went silent, thinking, contemplating, and John wondered what that might look like. John always imagined Sherlock to be a dark kind of person based on his tone and the deepness of his voice. He imagined him tall and strong. He wondered how close his ideas were. Sherlock was undoubtedly skinny just to go against John's thoughts. John wondered if Sherlock showed off his body or covered it up with layers. He wondered if Sherlock's hair was long or short, curly or straight. He wondered what color his eyes were. He wondered a lot of things, but the only way to get answers right now would be to ask, and it seemed too personal for a fifth phone call.
"How's your shoulder, then?" Sherlock asked. John frowned and raised his left arm up partially, until it hurt to go higher.
"On the mend," he said. "It's only been about two weeks. I'll be exiled from the operating room for at least another four."
"Doctor Watson, eager to save lives," Sherlock said, with just a hint of distaste. Then the tone was gone. "Don't forget the rest of us when your schedule gets out of hand. I'm sure your girlfriend would be hurt alongside me – or even for me."
John laughed out loud. "Girlfriend? Oh gracious. I don't have a girlfriend," he said.
"Really? A good doctor with no girlfriend?" Sherlock asked teasingly. John nodded with a serious expression.
"I have a wife. Two in fact. Don't tell them though," he said in a conspiring monotone.
"Oh!" and Sherlock sounded so stunned that John couldn't help but break character early and begin to giggle – actually giggle.
"No way in hell," John said as his ability to articulate returned. "I haven't even been on a date in three years. I'm very unattached."
"Clever. But that seems much more likely. If you were stringing two wives along, my opinion of you would have shifted dramatically, Doctor Watson," Sherlock said. John sighed.
"Sherlock, please… Call me John," he said. He'd wanted to say that from the second phone call, when he got the first hint that Sherlock would be calling him multiple times. However, he never got around to it, never felt like blurting it out in the middle of a conversation. Now he'd said it, though. He wanted to be called by his first name, not by the name he'd be hearing during most of his days as he returned to the life of a doctor. Sherlock was different, thought John couldn't pick out if it was a good different or a bad different at this point. He just knew he wanted Sherlock to call him by his name. They were at least becoming friends by now, right? Right?
"Yes, of course," Sherlock's voice finally broke the thought process. "John."
John smiled. He could get used to that sound.
Working in the clinic was not exactly the most exciting thing to happen to John Watson in his doctoring career. He still had a sling he wore when not in view of the patients and kept his arm as immobile as possible otherwise. Sarah came by between patients to check on his bandages and twice a day she checked how the wound was fairing. She checked him first thing in the morning before he got a patient, and she checked him just before he left, since she always worked later than him.
"So, here are your prescriptions. Try those out, and if you don't see an improvement in a few weeks, come see me again," John said, smiling at the elderly woman he'd just helped out. She nodded, her eyes turning into happy squints when she grinned and thanked him.
John shut the door to his room and whipped out his phone from his pocket. Technically he wasn't supposed to use it at work, but since it was on silent, he didn't think it mattered.
'Want to play a game?' he asked and pushed send. He barely had time to think about putting the phone away when it lit up with a response.
'Sure. SH'
John smiled and pressed send just as a nurse knocked the door to check on him. He slid his phone in his pocket again and opened the door to return to work. He wasn't sure why he was dodging the rules to play games with Sherlock, but he was. He was and it was exciting. He'd never been one to break the rules, but then he'd never had a good friend before either… or anyone he wanted to entertain like this. He hoped Sherlock liked the game as much as John enjoyed the idea of it.
Sending from his phone was this message: 'Who am I? You can ask yes or no questions for more clues. I like books & school & boys with red hair.'
John handled his next patient with extreme care, for she took pills for intense panic attacks, and then sent her over to get an x-ray. He'd really rather be doing surgeries. Still, he was able to help quite a few people from here as well. It wasn't all bad. He took a deep breath and pulled out his phone.
'Hermione Granger. My turn? SH' was on his screen.
Sherlock didn't even consider that he'd gotten it wrong. He was certain he'd guessed correctly. He'd be right, but that intense confidence… John wished he had it. He answered with a yes and pocketed the phone. He had a lunch break after his next appointment, so he'd play then.
It snowed that year during the first week of December. John woke up to snow so thick he could barely see out the windows of his third floor flat. John had never honestly seen snow so thick. He'd barely experienced a snowfall of more than two inches in his entire life. He'd heard of bad storms, but he'd never been in one. This one was at least three times as bad as anything he'd experienced. As soon as he knocked the snow off the window by gently hitting the inside of it, it was replaced with more, so he eventually gave up and went to make himself some hot tea. He'd just set the kettle on when he heard his phone vibrating from the kitchen table.
John snatched it up with a smile and quickly pressed it to his ear.
"Hello?" he asked gleefully.
"Dr. Watson," a distinctly female voice responded with relief.
"Oh Sarah," John registered and cleared his throat. "What can I do you for?"
"There's a snow storm, in case you haven't tried to look outside. The news is calling it a freak storm and advising people to stay indoors," Sarah said, and John could faintly hear noise in the background, like someone talking. She must be listening to the news right now.
John slowly rolled his injured shoulder to release an aching pressure and yawned quietly. "Are you at home?"
"Nah, I'm at the hospital. I had the night shift," Sarah answered. She did seem to be trying to keep quiet, now that John thought on it. "I was calling to tell you not to try and come in. I know you live nearby, but I wouldn't know what to do with myself if you tried to make it and got buried by the snow."
"What about all the doctors on duty?" John asked, tending to the whistling kettle and pouring himself a boiling cup of water.
"They've all agreed to stay on until it blows over. Not that they really have a choice in the matter. Like the news said, it's pretty much suicide to go out in this. Bad luck isn't it?" Sarah asked.
John stirred his tea bag around in his cup absentmindedly. "Hm? What is?"
"The first snowfall of the year and it's a blizzard," Sarah said. "Usually I look forward to a light snow, but not this time."
"Ah. Chin up. It'll be beautiful tomorrow when this has all finished up. You can swim home and start a snowball fight," John said. "But I suppose this means I won't see you until… Thursday?"
"Yep." Sarah was smiling. He could hear it. "Well I'll let you get to whatever you were doing. Enjoy your day indoors. Rest your shoulder. I'll see you Thursday."
"See you then."
John sipped his tea and frowned at the white blanket windows across the room. He was stuck inside all day, and his shoulder disapproved of the weather. What a glorious day off. He hoped he had enough food. He hadn't been shopping recently. The good doctor took a deep breath and looked down at his phone.
'You live in London, yea?' he typed in.
Unlike usual, Sherlock did not instantly reply. Two whole minutes passed without a word, and John realized the sudden need to start a fire or he'd undoubtedly freeze to death. He grabbed some wood and tossed it in the hearth. He'd just gotten it to catch light when his phone went off for a message.
'Yes. SH' it said.
'Freak weather we're having, isn't it? Does the snow have you packed in too?'
There was a bit of a delay, and then the phone vibrated again.
'It's raining and hailing where I am. SH,' was the reply.
'Where are you?' John asked. Certainly nowhere in London. The city was a carpet of white.
A minute later he received 'North Yorksire. SH'
'It hailed there last year as well. Y are you in North York?' John sent as he grabbed a spare blanket and wandered back to the couch.
'I'm investigating. It's what I do. SH'
'Police case?'
'Personal. SH'
'Oh.' John paused. He wondered what personal detective business Sherlock could be doing in North York. He wondered if Sherlock was anywhere near his old city. North Yorksire was pretty big. Sherlock could be anywhere in there. John bit his cheek and looked back at his tiny message. 'Good luck,' he added before sending.
'Luck isn't needed, but ty. Found what I was looking for. SH'
"Oh good," John mused aloud. He couldn't deny a somewhat sour feeling in his gut. "Personal business in another county. Unrelated to me at all. Wonderful. Yep…."
But even as he tried to push the thoughts away, he couldn't help himself. He'd been talking to Sherlock for about a month, a good four weeks, but he still knew next to nothing about him personally. He didn't know anyone or anything in Sherlock's life. But, damn, he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to.
"Damn," he cursed, gripping his phone tightly.
