John's Blog
Chapter 4: My New Job
Considering I gave up on being a Doctor a year or two ago, I began running short on money. Unwilling to dig into Sherlock's cash, I started to worry about what I would do. I now had extra rent to pay, and the cost of living to uphold, all without a job. I had settled in for being doomed, when I heard familiar sirens wailing out on the street. I stood shakily and sauntered over to the window, staring out at the flashing lights below. Memories crashed through me, almost knocking me over. Sherlock stood at this exact window, staring out at these exact lights. My blood began to pound in my ears, repetitive and knocking. I almost swatted at my own head before I realised it wasn't my pulse, but an insistent knocking at the door.
"John."
"Greg, hi." I reached out to shake his hand, and he grasped it briefly, a stressed look crossing his face.
"What seems to be the problem?"
"We've got a case. None of our guys can solve it and you, being the one who worked closest with Sherlock, must've picked up some of his...skills."
"Ah. No."
"I can't believe I'm about to beg, but please, John. I'm really out of my depth here."
A small smirk crossed my face as I fondly remembered a conversation long, long ago.
"I'll have a look, but I'm warning you, I'm nowhere near as good as he was."
"Thank you. Thank you, John. Shall we?"
"Just let me get my jumper." I yanked my woollen jumper off the back of my chair and followed Lestrade out the door, grabbing my walking stick on the way out.
(***)
As it turns out, the case was fairly simplistic. I'll tell you all about it one day. It didn't really take long to figure it out, though. A day or two? But it brought to my attention that the police really are out of their depth, and they need someone to help them. I was going to offer my services, but as it turns out, I didn't need to.
"Brilliant, brilliant work back there, John." Lestrade congratulated me as I limped up to a cab after completing the case.
"Thank you, Greg."
"Listen, I was wondering if you'd like to, you know, work for us."
"Would I get a pay?"
"Well, yes, I suppose so."
"An office?"
"If you like."
"No. I don't want an office. I don't want a badge. I just want to be a consulting detective with a pay."
"Well, you sure don't beat around the bush, do you John?" Lestrade chuckled, "alright. John Watson. World's only consulting detective, with a pay. How much are we talking, here?"
As I rambled off about money and pay cheques, a small part of my brain registered that my hand wasn't in need of flexing, and my leg wasn't bothering me, but I limped out of habit. In fact, neither of those things had bothered me for several days now. I was back on the battlefield.