Watson sank gratefully into the booth, sighing as he surveyed the mostly deserted pub. Not the worst establishment he'd ever celebrated in – he just wished he wasn't drinking alone...
"Pardon me..." Watson was startled to see a finely-dressed man in a green velvet coat standing before him, smiling hesitantly. "May I join you?"
"Please," Watson smiled back, looking his drinking companion over with mild interest as he sat down opposite. Aristocratic features, long windswept locks... 'Byronesque' would be an apt description. Ordinarily, Watson might have been curious about why an aristocrat was drowning his sorrows here – but right now, he was simply grateful for the company. "Slàinte."
His companion blinked, then hastily lifted his own glass. "Yes, quite. I'm the Doctor, by the way," he added suddenly.
Watson's lips twitched. "So am I." The Doctor's head tilted, looking at him oddly. "Just finished training at Netley," Watson explained, "I ship out to India tomorrow."
The Doctor's eyes widened. "Were you at St. Bart's before that, by any chance?"
Watson chuckled. "That obvious, is it?"
"Only to a keen observer," his companion replied, sad-eyed smile becoming enigmatic. "But I'd best be off now," standing abruptly. "People to help, and all that – you know how it is."
"I expect I will..." Watson murmured to the Doctor's vanishing back, shaking his head in bewilderment.