At the annual paramedic conference in the fall, there was a bloody workshop on the two of them. 'The Baker Street Situation: How To Deal With Sherlock Holmes When John Watson is Injured, And Vice Versa'.
It filled up almost instantly. They had to run the session twice for all the demand.
Of course she went. How could she not? She could always use more ways to deal with them, since it seemed she was always the one forced to deal with them.
The presenter was a doctor who knew both of them, Mike Stamford. It turned out he was the one who introduced them.
She wasn't sure if she loved the man or hated him for what he'd done.
He was pleasant enough.
The course was quite informative. Mike had been friends with John Watson before he went to Afghanistan, and met Sherlock in the interim. It was only by chance that he happened to meet John again, and introduce him to Sherlock Holmes, who was looking for a flatmate.
He had no idea that the men would become fast friends, and solve crimes together, putting both of them in almost constant danger. But now that they were, he figured he could help with the damage control.
At least, that was what he told them in the first five minutes, before moving on to all the reasons why Sherlock Holmes was both impossible and as easy to read as a book, at least when it came to John Watson.
Miranda was pleasantly surprised at the depth of his knowledge and understanding about the relationship between the two men, since that what was really important, not the medical side. They all knew how to backboard patients, control bleeding, splint broken bones, inject drugs, and maintain airways. But there was no class in college that trained them how to deal with Sherlock Holmes. (Although, she supposed, if he kept up like he was, there just might be.)
The session flew by.
They did roleplaying at the end, where they paired up and one of them had to be the paramedic, the other Sherlock. Mike's instructions to the Sherlocks were 'Refuse. Imagine you're a toddler. Now mix that with a mother who's lost her child.'
She was paired with Scott, who worked out of Westminister and seemed arrogant. Probably justified, as he was very capable, but it rubbed her the wrong way.
(She didn't tell him that she'd dealt with Sherlock five times and counting, and had won every time.)
When she was being Sherlock, hysterical and ornery, Scott was assertive and calm, and she admired his skill.
When he was being Sherlock, no matter what she did, he refused. He was taking the toddler part way too far.
Finally, exasperated, she bellowed at him "SHERLOCK HOLMES. SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP."
He looked at her in awe for a moment, before telling her "No."
"For fuck's sake, are you kidding me?" she gaped at him. "That worked on the actual Sherlock Holmes, so you can just stop now."
She'd caught Mike's attention with her bellowing.
"I don't think so," Scott said.
"It most certainly did," she retorted. "I was there when John had his fall. Who do you think made him shut up then?"
Scott shrugged.
Mike seemed impressed. "I have someone you should talk to. Sherlock walks all over her. You could teach her some things."
Miranda smiled. "It would be my pleasure."
