The good doctor in question was sitting in the clinic, tired after a busy morning. The flow of patients seemed to have stemmed, and he was mostly biding time until he could go home and have a proper rest.

The long afternoon stretched on, and John got bored. He was doodling in the corner of his notepad when there was a light knock at the door and the new receptionist, Jenny, stuck her head in the door. She was trying to hide a smirk.

"There's a…ah…a woman to see you, doctor. She asked for you specifically. Very formal, your middle name and everything."

He straightened in his seat. This wasn't good, not very many people knew his middle name. "Send her in," he said cautiously, and Jenny nodded and disappeared, her smile widening.

John heard a nose outside, and looked out the window for a second. When he looked back, he jerked backwards in shock at the woman standing in front of him, leaning over his desk towards him. She wore a long purple robe, and her red hair was done up on top of her head with chopsticks that appeared to have ribbons hanging off them. The red ribbons clashed nicely with her hair. Her long arms were swathed in bangles of every colour imaginable, and her perfume was overpowering. She held a large blue leather bag, which she dropped on the ground beside her feet. As he took her in, she leaned over further, the top of her low-cut top gaping open. Trying to focus on her face, he swallowed hard.

"Right," he eventually managed. "What…what can I do for you?"

"You are Dr. John H. Watson? As in, the personal blog of?" He eventually managed to decode the strangely worded question, and nodded, unable to do anything else.

"Good. Now we can talk." She sat down across from him, crossing her legs. "We need to talk about your 'friend', Sherlock Holmes."

John finally managed to regain control of his tongue. "Wait. Wait a sec. Who are you? How do you know who I am? And who Sherlock is? And why did you say 'friend' in that tone?"

She laughed. "I? I am anonymous. You can call me that, actually. I know who you are because everybody knows who you are. You and your friend, who are perhaps more than friends?" she suggested, smirking.

"You are the five millionth person to ask me this. No, I'm not gay; no, Sherlock and I are not a couple. Happy?" John sounded bored; he'd said this more times than he cared to count.

"No," Anonymous replied disapprovingly; she'd heard this enough times in her career. "No, I am not happy because you are simply refusing to accept the bare facts! You are gay, and you are in love with Sherlock Holmes!" Her voice began to rise, she was almost shrieking at him.

He did not appreciate being shouted at in his own office. "Come on now, I think you need to leave. I don't know who you are, or who you think you are to be making claims like that about myself and my flatmate." He stressed the last word, and got up to escort her out. She was having none of it.

"You need to accept your homosexuality, John! Embrace your gay!" She was still shouting as he firmly held her arm and walked her to the door. "Embrace it! Love Sherlock Holmes!" He could still hear her as she left the waiting room.

John stared after her, unsure as to what to think. He turned to see Jenny almost doubled up with laughter, and a couple of the other doctors coming out of their offices to see what was happening. He stuck his tongue out at all of them and went back into his office, shaking his head at the insanity of the world.

A minute or so later, there was a knock at his window, and he glanced out to see that woman again, Anonymous, standing outside. She held a sign that read, 'Love Sherlock Holmes!' with suns and smiley faces around the edges. He pulled the blind down and went back to work.