Spoiler alert: Study in Pink
Beta-ed: star-chan89
Chapter three in which our hero John gets an unexpected and exciting new company.
John was in control. Control of his emotions and reactions, he knew what was expected of him in any given situation.
But lately, he felt dislocated and isolated. As he looked at the people that passed him by on the street he wondered how they could be so calm, so preoccupied. John walked down the street looking in every corner, noticing every alley and odd-looking man. To his disappointment, there was never anything there, no danger. It's not like he was looking for danger, but it was that he felt crazy from expecting it, wrong.
When he enlisted in the army he didn't expect that it would disconnect him from everyday life. As an army doctor with field experience, he would have an army career and a well-paid position, things to do, people to meet. But now all that is left of that plan is a limp, a cane, and a small pension. The pension may be the worst part; he's not old, is he?
He had managed to find a room that he could afford in London, but it's small size and lack of furniture seemed to be even more demoralizing. His early morning routine of a soldier didn't help either. There wasn't anything to do; the room was just empty, and the view from the window disappointing. He stared through it anyway.
His other window out to the world was maybe even more boring and discouraging. The blog his therapist insisted he take on was a bleak reminder of his existence. Nothing was happening. He only dreamt about Afghanistan, but he will never write about it, about the colours, the feeling, the sun. Was it deranged that he felt alive there but just surviving here? There were the movement and the action; none of that was here.
Perhaps the thing was just in his limp, his damn leg, fake limp. After he got up from the bed he was just unable to walk straight, the pain, the flashes of torn flesh, the noise. The irritating thing was the fact he was the doctor, he knew nature of his wound, he knew his leg was spared although Tom beside him was almost completely torn apart, his legs turned in a mush. His screams still keep him awake at times. The screams weren't the problem that bothered him, he was used to that, he was a field doctor, he had become accustomed to that. It was the feeling of powerlessness; he couldn't move his arm, and there was nothing he could do for him so he just bled out there and then.
His therapist tried to reason with him about his guilt, and how he was taking over the other man's wound, but he knew that the injury wasn't real, but he felt the numbness in his leg, and it was irritating.
That was the sum of his mood when he bumped into Mike. Mike was a surprise by himself. John never really did connect with Mike when they were colleagues, but Mike was perceptive enough to know a thing or two about him and to connect the dots. It wasn't really uncomfortable talking to him, but it was one of those polite things John didn't expect to repeat itself. There was nothing to go on further, it was just usual friendly curiosity and that was fine, it was better than most things. But then, Mike went and tried to fix his money problem, he did have that tendency to fix things, that's why they were doctors.
"Come on, who'd want me for a flatmate?" John said mockingly thinking about his nightmares and his strange new habit of just staring at nothing, everybody would be disconcerted with that. But then Mike smiled and draws a solution out of his hat. He was rather mysterious about his colleague who wasn't a doctor.
"It's best if you should see for yourself" he persisted "to know if you can stand him or not."
As soon as he met Sherlock Holmes John Watson wasn't in control anymore, he was following, but he was a soldier, he was good at following.
When Sherlock had asked "Want to see some more?", referring to death, violence and trouble, John was off right behind him. He felt an instant surge of excitement and looking at the pure delight that Sherlock was displaying made it even better. He wasn't the insane one here for wanting a bit more of the action.
There was a moment before when Sherlock had left in search of something that sounded so very interesting, that the man had jumped in the air for joy. John hadn't seen anyone do that in ages, and he surely wasn't the type to jump around. It was so disappointing and hard to stay there sitting in the armchair with an elderly lady, as if he was, in fact, old and powerless. He got angry at his leg and everything that it represented when he heard Sherlock's voice pondering about him being a doctor. John was well aware of his abilities as a doctor, they had been tested in all sorts of situations.
"God yes." was his answer to Sherlock's invitation.
He was desperate to see that somewhere there is still a real danger and that he wasn't delusional to expect it.