AN: Special thanks to and Raychaell Dionzeros and MadameGiry25 for their reviews! Enjoy :)


Chapter 8: The Neighbor

It was by chance that he ran into the woman the next day in a nearby grocery store. He was reaching for a carton of milk when he heard a clamor nearby and suddenly a carton of eggs was splattered on the floor near his foot. Drops of it landed on the bottom of his jeans and on his right shoe.

"Just my luck," John grumbled, as a panicked voice spoke up and he turned towards a young woman, probably in her 20s.

"Oh my god I am so sorry, sir. I didn't mean to-" she rushed forward and bent down, her shaking hands righting the egg carton and placing broken pieces of egg shell into it.

"It's fine," John mumbled, grabbing the milk and turning to leave.

"Wait!" the woman said to his back. "Is there anything I can do- anything at all?"

John turned and looked back at her, noticing her pretty face which was now screwed up in embarrassment and sheepishness. "No. Really it's fine," he reassured before turning his back on her once more.

"Wait..." she said again, more hesitant. "Do I know you?"

John groaned internally and turned back around to face her. "No. I have no idea who you are, so I don't know how you would know me."

The woman stared at him, a look of concentration crossing her features. She still knelt on the floor, seemingly unaware of the egg white that was currently soaking into her navy blue jeans. Suddenly her face lit up. "No, no. I do know you! You live in the flat next to mine."

It wasn't hard for John to realize then that she must have been the one that moved into the empty flat. "Oh. Yes. You're my new neighbor. Right," he said awkwardly, debating doing the polite thing- continuing the conversation- or doing what he wanted to do- just walking away. He started to do the latter, but the woman spoke up, making him reluctantly stay put.

"Can I...buy that for you?" she asked, gesturing to the milk he held. "You know, to make up for hitting you with my eggs?" She stood up and gave him a small, hopeful smile. Despite this, John shook his head.

"It really is fine," he repeated. He was saved from having to continue when an elderly janitor walked around the corner and noticed the spill. Another wave of apologies started and John found himself able to slip off as the mess was cleaned up.

Paying for his milk, John exited the shop and walked out onto the sidewalk to begin his trek back to the flat.

Right now London was bitterly cold, the wind nipping at John's nose and ears as he limped along. The store wasn't far from his flat, perhaps another 10 minutes if he kept going at the pace he was moving. For once he was in a rush to get back; the sooner he did, the sooner he would be able to curl on the chair with a cup of Earl Grey.

A few minutes passed with houses, cars, and streets going by in a blur. No one else was out, preferring to avoid the cold. By then John's feet were numb and his leg was stiffer than he remembered it ever being. As he moved along, he heard a car approach and slow down from behind, resting in neutral.

John kept moving, ignoring the slam of the car door.

"Hey!" he heard somebody cry out, and John rolled his eyes in exasperation. Today really wasn't his day, he decided, as the woman from the market ran up to him and he turned around. "Would you like a ride back?" she asked breathlessly.

John went to turn down her offer, but seeming to sense his decision the woman interrupted. "It isn't out of the way- we're both going to the same place. And plus, it's freezing out. You have to be chilled to the bone! And I have to make up for the eggs somehow." Again the hopeful look returned.

John groaned internally and nodded, relenting.

"Great!" the woman cried, beckoning him to follow her as she retreated to her awaiting car. John complied and slid into the passenger seat. The woman turned a couple dials and warm air instantly blasted them.

"So what's your name anyway?" she asked, pulling away from the curb."

"John."

"Does John have a last name?" she asked, a smile curling on her lips.

"Watson. John Watson," he said reluctantly, awaiting the recognition. To his relief she didn't even twitch, just nodded in acceptance.

"Well I'm Rebecca. Rebecca Bantason, if interested," she said, shooting him a look from the corner of her eye.

John didn't reply, just continued to stare out the window. He could now somewhat feel his feet, but the heat had yet to reach his toes. His leg was a whole other story; though it was warming up, it still ached hollowly and John was antsy to get home to take some pain medication.

"So..." Rebecca started, sounding hesitant. "What happened? To you leg I mean. Er, if you don't mind me asking..." When John didn't respond right away she hurriedly started talking again. "It's fine if you don't want to talk about it, of course, I was just-" she cut off abruptly, growing red in the cheeks.

John took pity on her, wanting to remedy the now uncomfortable atmosphere in the vehicle. "Afghanistan," he said by way of explanation, though it wasn't entirely true.

"Oh," she said softly, and John noticed her start to chew her bottom lip nervously. He turned to look back out the window.

They drove in silence for a couple of minutes before she spoke again. "My brother served in Afghanistan," she said emotionlessly. John nodded but didn't look at her. "He just came back a couple months ago," she continued. "In fact, he's actually going to be staying with me until he can get back on his feet. You're more than welcome to come over and talk..." she trailed off, realizing the conversation was going nowhere.

The silence in the car grew uncomfortable, but neither of them volunteered anymore information. Finally after another minute the vehicle turned onto their street and parked on the curb in front of the building.

As soon as the car stopped John unlocked the door and opened it. "Thanks for the ride," he said, about to shut the door.

"Thanks for being understanding about my clumsiness," Rebecca shot back. "Seriously though, it was the least I could do to make it up to you."

John nodded and shut the door behind him as he limped to his flat. He heard the car door slam behind him before Rebecca called out.

"Forgetting something?" John turned around to see her walking towards him. One arm had her purse and a grocery bag hanging on it. In her other hand she held up his carton of milk.

"Oh, right, thanks," John muttered, taking the carton from her outstretched hand. As he did that, the door to the flat next to his, opened.

The man was probably in his thirties. His hair was dark, same color as his facial hair, and cropped short. His eyes instantly surveyed John as he stepped out the door.

"Oh, Marise!" Rebecca said, a surprised look crossing her face. "I didn't know you were going to be here yet."

The man, Marise, turned his probing gaze from John to Rebecca. "It didn't take long to pack all of my things. After all, I don't have very many possessions. I took a cab and arrived her about an hour ago. Where have you been?"

Rebecca looked sheepish. "Sorry, I've been out running errands. Actually, I just got back from the store where I happened to run into John here," she said, gesturing towards where John stood stiffly. He was once again contemplating the pros and cons of just walking away, of just turning around and entering his flat, but the considerate part of his mind convinced him otherwise.

"John, this is my brother Marise," she continued, pronouncing it "More-eese". "Marise, this is John, our new neighbor."

Marise's gaze was steady as he looked John in the eye and extended his hand to shake. John complied and noticed how tightly the man gripped his hand before letting go.

"Marise, John served in Afghanistan too," Rebecca said carefully.

If possible, Marise's gaze sharpened and he scrutinized John even more.

"Sniper," Marise said.

"Excuse me?" John asked, getting uncomfortable with the unwavering gaze.

"I served as a sniper for four years."

"Oh, um, medic," John muttered.

"They sent you home because you got injured, didn't they." It was more of a statement, but John nodded anyway. "Did you get shot in the leg?"

"Marise!" Rebecca interrupted. "That's not very polite! Don't make him talk about it if he doesn't want to!"

Marise turned towards her and they shared a look that made John feel uncomfortable, as if the two were conversing about him without his knowing.

Finally Marise nodded and faced John again. "She's right. I'm sorry to have pried, John," he apologized.

"It's alright," John muttered, then hesitated. "It wasn't the leg," he added, unsure of why he got the urge to volunteer any information.

"What?" Marise asked, eyebrow quirked up in confusion.

"I didn't get shot in the leg. It was my shoulder."

Marise nodded as if it was as he had suspected.

"Well, it was nice meeting you," Marise said, much to John's relief. "I believe my sister and I have some arrangements to talk about."

"Oh yes!" Rebecca acknowledged, walking to her brother's side and facing John. "It was nice meeting you, though I apologize about the circumstances."

"No worries," John reassured her, hurriedly getting his key out, eager to escape the cold.

"Oh, and John," Rebecca started, making John groan internally. "You can come over for dinner or tea any time you want. Really, feel free," she insisted, and John accepted the invitation with a nod and a small smile before he managed to get himself inside.

The sudden quiet was soothing, and John yearned for that cup of tea and pain meds. Those were his first priorities, warming up and eliminating the burning sensation in his leg.

Hanging his coat, John walked into his foyer and placed the milk into the fridge, cursing it. It bettered be good, he thought, because he didn't remember the last time he had gone threw so much trouble for a single carton.


AN: So things are going to start moving along quickly after this. Next chapter will be up Tuesday. Feel free to review!