Just an after work drink, without anything spectacular happening.
It wasn't that his life was a wreck, he didn't drink himself into oblivion every night. No, just this night. Last year Mrs. Hudson, Greg, even Mycroft had shown up, all of them trying to keep him from doing anything stupid. This year he'd managed to dodge them, and it hadn't been easy with Mycroft helping. He'd used every camera dodging technique that Sherlock had taught him, although he felt that maybe the elder and now only Holmes had just been letting him think he was clever.
He didn't know which pub he was at, he just followed the scent of liquor and sat himself down. He was only a few drinks in when the real trouble started.
"Oi, don't mind me but, a few of the boys and I had a bet going that you're that bloke Watson." A grimy man from the lower side of town grinned a nicotine stained smile at him as he sidled up beside him at the bar. "So is it true?"
"...yeah...that's me." John sighed reluctantly.
"Tommy! Oi, Tommy! It's him!" The man waved to his friends, and two other men ran up, and John regretted telling the truth about his identity.
"It's him, I was right!" The first man laughed, throwing a small punch at his friend's shoulder.
"Oh come off it. So then, you knew that crazy bloke Sherlock Holmes?" Tommy asked, shaking John about.
"...Yes, I knew Sherlock." John huffed through clenched teeth, trying to focus on his drink.
"What was it like, eh?" He graced John with yet another nicotine smile. "Following him around all those years, then finding out he was some nutter kidnapping kids and killing people."
"He didn't do those things." John clenched his fist now, trying to avoid a scene but longing to wipe the smirk off the bastard's face.
"Yeah he did! I saw it on the news!" Tommy piped up, and the other two nodded their agreement. "Did he really fool you that bad?"
"Nah, probably just bribed him. You saw how they got along, bet they were having a bit of shag now and then to keep the blogger quiet."
That was when Mr. Smoker's Smile lost one of his disgusting teeth to John's fist.
One drunken fight later John was left in the cold night air, stumbling down the street. Blood dripped from his nose, and his limp was back but that was mostly emotional anyway. He was the fittest one that walked away from the fight.
"Let me help." A soft voice floated on the wind and registered just barely in John's mind. Then an arm was around him, pulling him up and helping him walk. John leaned against the stranger, chuckling slightly.
"Don't need any help, mate." He said bitterly.
"That's not what it looks like from here." The man replied. They walked in silence a few more streets, then John realized they were walking up the steps to his flat.
"Hey...how did you know where I live?" John asked, but when he turned around there was no longer a hand on his back guiding him. The man had vanished. John stared into the night, then turned to limp into his house.
Across the street, Sherlock stared after the soldier with a concerned look on his face.