Chapter 4
John frowned, trying to recall if he ever heard the name come up in conversation. A few seconds later it became apparent that he hadn't by the rather awkward smile on his face but John nodded briefly, out of politeness more than anything else. The Doctor turned back to Sherlock, a bright twinkle in his eyes but Sherlock remained unmoved.
"A Doctor. You found a Doctor. Your very own Doctor." The Doctor whispered before returning the volume of his voice to normal and talking back to John. "Not just a Doctor. An army Doctor. What regiment?"
"Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." John said slowly, trying desperately to escape the feeling of daja vou.
Even those Doctor Smith's eyes were a different colour to Sherlock's there was no doubting the similarity between the two; the same hunger for knowledge and yet the same all knowing expression, completely assured of themselves. But the longer John looked at this mysterious Doctor Smith, he realised something, Doctor Smith looked old in his eyes. He looked like a man trying to hide his pain. John only knew because he had seen that look so many times before, just before –
"Afghanistan?" The Doctor asked, raising an eyebrow. Unconsciously or perhaps consciously, the little paranoid voice said, interrupting John's train of thought
John narrowed his eyes, trying, somewhat in vain, to come up with a rational explanation to why he seemed to be having exactly the same conversation with this man as he did when he first met Sherlock.
"Afghanistan. How did you -?"
"Seen a lot of trouble I bet?" The Doctor smiled at him mischievously and John shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"Uh…yeah. Look, I don't mean to sound impolite, Mr. Smith –"
"Oh, please, call me the Doctor." The Doctor said with absolutely no irony.
John stared blankly at him for a minute, then shook his head and continued, "My apologises, but Doctor, why are you here?"
"Yes," Sherlock pitched in, leaning forward in his seat. "Exactly why are you here, Doctor?" The venom in Sherlock's voice was unmissable.
The Doctor took a deep breath in and said, "May I use your bathroom?"
"Uh…yeah." John answered. "It's just upstairs."
The Doctor flashed him a smile before, launching out of the chair, manoeuvring slightly awkwardly around the TARDIS and pounding up the stairs. John stared at Sherlock questioningly. "Are you unwell?"
Sherlock frowned at John. "No, of course not. I'm perfectly well."
"Then what is a Doctor or as he seems to like to call himself, 'The Doctor' doing in our flat?"
"I don't know." Sherlock answered honestly, turning away from John's probing gaze, instead favouring to look at the fireplace.
"What do you mean you 'don't know'? He said he was an old friend and you told me you didn't have friends." John spoke through gritted teeth.
He wasn't angry over that fact that Sherlock had never told him about his 'old friend', alright, perhaps he was but he knew it was perfectly normal for Sherlock to reveal absolutely sod all about his life. What annoyed him was the fact that Sherlock was obviously distressing himself over this strange man's sudden arrival and he really didn't want to have to deal with the emotional aftermath that was sure of come without some idea of what was happening.
"I don't!" Sherlock snapped back at him, twisting his head to look at him for a fraction of a second before staring back at the fireplace and whispered; "I haven't seen this man in well over nineteen years. I wasn't sure if he was still alive."
John knew he knew very little of how Sherlock's brilliant mind worked or what his seemingly underused heart felt, but there was no denying the sadness in Sherlock's voice as he spoke. Even John wasn't that blind.
Overwhelmed by a sudden concern for his friend he asked again. "What? What do mean by you weren't sure if he was still alive?"
Sherlock stayed quiet, his gaze solely focused on newspaper ashes and coal in the fireplace. When he did finally speak, his voice was hushed and there was a tone of defeat that John had never heard before.
"Contrary to popular belief, I may not declare my friendships in the way society deems correct but that does not mean I am unfriendly. Those who I regard my friends I keep closest to me, where I am sure they will be safe but…just as I wished to get closer to the Doctor he…left."
John felt his heart go out to the man before him and an inconsolable rage towards the Doctor. How dare he reduce Sherlock to this! Was he the man responsible for Sherlock's earlier failings? John had always assumed it had been down to bad parenting but did the Doctor have something to do with it?
But before John could question Sherlock any more, the living room door swung slowly open and both men adjusted themselves accordingly. John sat up straighter and Sherlock returned to his default setting – his face completely devoid of any emotion, as if his little emotional transgression never took place.
The Doctor walked in slowly, his eyes not exactly cast to the floor but not exactly looking at either man, either. Two pairs of eyes watched him, one cautiously, the other bitterly.
"I don't know why I've wasted so much time but I cannot waste any more." He lifted his gaze and stared straight at Sherlock, sending a shiver through the Detective's spine. "I want to offer you a gift, a sorry or a congratulations, which ever you prefer, but I…want you to accept it."
There was something in the Doctor's voice that said that with this there was no room for negotiation. Sherlock frowned and glanced quickly at John to ensure that he was just as confused as his blogger; which apparently he was as John didn't have a bloody clue what was going on either.
"A gift? What kind of gift?" Sherlock said, his heart thundering loudly in his chest as a slow smile spread across the Doctor's features, the familiar twinkle returning to his eyes.
"I thought you might want to say hello to your namesake."
