Honestly it's been a pretty rough week. Classes just started back again for college, and on the very first day my laptop died on me, so it's safe to say I've been a little preoccupied with other things this week. I decided to go ahead and squeeze in chapter 2 while I still have some free time, so I apologize ahead of time for any errors it is un-beta-ed and definitely rushed!

Oh, and what did you think of my twisting the moriarty plot around? Interesting? Hated it? Don't care? I promise it's for a good reason! Did anyone see the last episode of Elementary last Thursday? Oh gosh I was just soexcited!

Oh, and as far as I want ages to go, I tweaked those a bit too. So their new ages are...

Sherlock: 27

John: 28

Disclaimer: I do not own any of BBC, CBS, or Doyle's Sherlock characters or plots(that will be alluded to.)

~~~~~oOo~~~~~

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The Meeting

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John.

Tired. It was the only thing he could register at the moment as he sat slumped in a chair in the empty break room of the Hospital for Special Surgery or, as the faculty fondly called it, the HSS. The young Brit rubbed his hands against his face in a poor attempt to wipe the exhaustion from him. John Watson had been on call since four that Tuesday morning, and normally he would be home by now, but a co-worker- David- he reminded himself, had called in ill today. Since he had taken over one of John's shifts before, the young surgeon felt duty bound to honor the favor. He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was 5:17pm. He was allowed an hour's break for dinner but honestly a quick nap seemed far more delectable than any food offered at their cafeteria. So there he sat, not caring that his white coat would be wrinkled after. As he began to feel himself nod off, his mind drifted back to a time where his biggest problems weren't corrective spinal surgeries; where it was his job to make sure a comrade didn't bleed to death on the field, as he made sure that he wasn't shot in the process. Although, that last part hadn't worked out so well. So as Dr. John Watson of the HSS spinal surgery department drifted into sleep, the white walls of the break room faded into dusty browns as Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers was once again stuck in the middle of the combat zone.

~~~~~oOo~~~~~

"John, John wake up." A voice called out to him through his radio. He vaguely registered a rocking sensation as he suddenly began feeling dizzy. This wasn't good, if he was too dizzy he wouldn't be able to make it to them in time before…"John get up, I think this is serious. The police are here to talk to you."

Then he was wrenched from the sands of Afghanistan and found himself once again within the white walls of the HSS break room, though this time he was no longer alone. Standing beside him with her hand on his shoulder was Becky, the desk nurse and he noted the apprehensive look in her hazel eyes. John slowly sat up from where he had slumped forward on the break table and quickly noted the time. 5:47pm- he still had thirteen minutes left too. As he inwardly bemoaned his lost time he hadn't caught what Becky had been saying.

"-just came in here and demanded to talk with you. He wouldn't say what it was about and he wouldn't show me a badge, but he insists on seeing you Dr. Watson."

John stared at her blankly for a moment, only remembering the main reason why he had been awoken in the first place. "The police?" It was a legitimate concern, for he could think of no reason why the police would need to talk to him about anything. Well, there was that jaywalking incident, but no one had been around and he had just wanted to go home to sleep…but no, that couldn't be it. The NYPD doesn't waste department time or resrouces on jaywalking surgeons.

The nurse simply nodded to him in reply. "That's what it looks like."

"Well then, Becky." John motioned for her to lead the way as he stood and straighten his coat. "I guess we should be seeing what all this is about then." And then they both left, with John shutting the lights of as they went, and leaving the once bright room in bleak darkness.

As they walked down the hall, John recalled what Becky had mentioned about no badge and decided to question her about the man he was to meet. "So you say he doesn't have a badge?"

Becky nodded and her blonde hair, pulled up in a hasty bun, began to fall loose around her face. "He came with no other officers, but he claims to be with the NYPD."

"Is he in any sort of uniform?"

"No, just a long coat and a ratty gray scarf." She told him as they dodged around a couple leading their son in a wheel cheer to the checkout desk. John vaguely noted the area the cast covered on the boy's leg and, given the jersey he wore, as well as his build; he concluded it was most likely a break caused by some sports accident. Most likely soccer.

Meanwhile, Becky was still continuing describing the man who had approached her. "It was hardly the official uniform of any respectable officer. And you should have seen the way he came barging into the ER's waiting room. I bet he scared half those poor people to death."

John only nodded as he wondered what he was being led into. "So, where exactly am I meeting this gentleman?" He inquired of his associate.

"Oh, it's just down here in the conference room." She motioned straight ahead on their left. "Apparently he needs to discuss some case with you and it was "imperative that it was to be somewhere quiet where the idiocy around couldn't seep in.'" John noted the irritated look on the nurse's face and was surprised. Becky was a little older then he was, but she still had that animated personality of a teenager. With working in this type of setting, she normally always had a cheery disposition when dealing with people. So, to see her actually looking irritated was quite disconcerting to John. He didn't have enough time to think much else because by then they had arrived at the conference room. "Well, here I leave you John. Don't worry about this meeting running late; I've already informed the other Doctors about it. If anything pops up while you're in they'll find someone to cover you." She informed him with a quick smile.

"Thank you, Becky." He returned it with his own grin before walking into the conference room.

~~~~~oOo~~~~~

When John walked into the room, it wasn't just one man as he had been expecting; although, he did spot him out quickly enough. He contrasted greatly with the other two men who must have come in shortly after Becky had left the first one here. They were obviously officers, judging by their suits and aura of authority, and were most likely the "police" the first man claimed to work with. The three were amidst their own conversation as he walked in and either hadn't noticed him yet or were comfortable enough to leave him waiting as they finished their discussions first.

"When you get a lead like that you can't just run off on your own." One of the detectives, an average height and weight African American, addressed the man with the scarf. "We hire you to help us out, Holmes, but that doesn't give you the full authority of the NYPD to barge into a place like this and start demanding to see employees." He accented his argument with fluid hand motions as if to drive his point home, but both other men seemed almost bored, as if this was a usual occurence.

John glanced down at his watch. 5:58pm. He closed his eyes as he tried to imagine himself leaving work at eleven and throwing himself on the couch at his small apartment he shared with an acquaintance of a colleague. He wanted to be anywhere but here…

"Are we keeping you from something, Doctor Watson?" The voice startled John out of his reprieve only to notice the man, previously referred to by the other as "Holmes" was addressing him now. John noted the accent and immediately recognized that the man was from London, same as him. It really is a small world after all.

"Detective Bell," the other detective, an older man, with an air of professionalism about him, addressed his partner. "I'm sure Holmes just wanted to get here as soon as possible before Dr. Watson here returned from break, isn't that right?" He shot a look to the Brit and the latter just shrugged. John guessed that this detective was more experienced with dealing with this Holmes character than his younger partner.

"As you wish," Holmes agreed, though he still hadn't taken his eyes off of John yet.

The doctor suddenly felt subconscious as he felt the scrutiny of the other man's gaze. He became more aware of his rumpled coat from where he had napped early and probably the stubble on his face from where he had forgotten to shave that morning. John decided that he probably didn't look as professional as he had felt all day. The other man though, this Holmes character, couldn't have been much older than John himself. He was much taller than John and much paler. His hair was extremely dark and its curls where everywhere as if he had just been running. All in all, detective or not this bloke looked far better than John felt at the moment.

"Um, excuse me but, what exactly am I here for?" John was curious to know, but he also wanted a distraction from the gaze of Sherlock Holmes as well.

"Sorry to take up your time while you're at work, Doctor, but we have a few questions we'd like you to answer for us, if that's alright?" John nodded in agreement and the senior officer, who introduced himself then as Detective Gregson, took a chair at the conference table before motioning John into the one opposite of him. John took the seat as Gregson asked his first question.

"You are John H. Watson, surgeon at the Hospital for Special Surgery?" He began.

John looked at him skeptically for a moment. "Just look where you're at detective…" But John decided it was best to answer anyway. "Yes."

"You live in the West Acres Apartment complex, room number 434 which you share with a Mr. Robert Jameson?"

"Yes…" John could really not see where this was going at all.

"Are you aware of your roommate, Mr. Jameson's, occupation?" Gregson asked him next.

"He works at a pharmacy down on Hudson Street." John told him.

"Yes, so we've been told. Have you ever seen him at work before?" Detective Bell interrupted.

"No, I never saw the need to." John answered honestly.

"Then you probably aren't aware," Bell continued, "that the drugs he works with are not quite what you buy over the counter."

John stared at the detective for a moment as he tried to process the implications. "What?"

"The drugs that Mr. Jameson works with on a near day-to-day base aren't the kind you can just buy at your local pharmacy Dr. Watson." Detective Bell told him. "We've been watching him for a while now, and thanks to Mr. Holmes here we were able to finally pinpoint the location of his actual operations."

John felt his senses come back to him. "Wait, are you telling me that I've been rooming with a drug dealer for the last six months?"

"Yes. Mr. Robert Jameson, or really Mr. Alex Brookston, had come close to trouble with us before so he thought it would be best to lay low for a while. He took in a roommate appearing low-income enough that he couldn't afford the expensive lofts he used to rent. This was he dropped off our radars for a while as he restarted his business in a new location."

Suddenly John remembered all of the strange behaviors of his roommate over the past few months. He would smell of chemicals, but would brush it off as cleaners used at work. Strange people would show up at the door and then Robert would be gone for days after.

"You were the perfect choice for a roommate for him, Dr. Watson." This time it was Sherlock. "A depressed, poor, and recently immigrated army doctor from London-you would of course be working long hours at the surgery while also juggling appointments with your psychiatrist. You'd barely be home at all which meant you would never be able to catch on to the fact that he was not what he appeared to be."

John stared at the other Londoner for a moment before he could feel his face redden as the other's words finally dawned on him. "Now, wait a moment, how would you even know-." But Gregson cut him off before he could finish.

"Now, Doctor Watson, we believe that Mr. Jameson, or Mr. Brookston, had an associate working here at the hospital. Someone who could snatch him a few key goods every now and then if need be. We believe it was the same person who introduced you to Jameson as a roommate. Right now we have all of Jameson's gang except Jameson himself and this associate. We believe if we can find the man who works here that, through persuasions, he should be able to lead us right to Jameson."

John could then see why the police had asked for him and suddenly he knew why he was still working at the surgery today. The one who had introduced John to "Robert" was David…the same David who called in sick earlier that morning.

"Oh of course. It was David. David Blakely down in CAS. He was the one who introduced us." He mumbled, the pieces finally lining up in his mind.

"CAS?" Bell looked perplexed for a moment.

"Oh!" John realized his mistake. "It's the Computer Assistant Surgery part of the neck and spinal surgeries department." He flushed in embarrassment at his mistake. He really needed sleep; he didn't know how much more he could take of this.

"Alright, thank you for your help Dr. Watson, we'll call it in." Detective Gregson spoke as he rose from his chair.

"Wait, I don't think you'll find him though." John told them quickly. They looked at him to continue and he told them. "David called in sick today, that's why I'm still here- I took over his shift. If what you're saying is true then Robert, or Alex, probably called him last night to warn him."

Bell cursed as he quickly pulled out his cellphone to call in a search and arrest warrant for the now missing David Blakely. "I'll get his description out," Bell told them, "and hopefully we can catch him before he goes underground as well." He quickly thanked John for him time before excusing himself to get started on the double manhunt.

"Well, thank you Doctor, you've been a big help." Gregson held out his hand and John shook it. "While David is an insider for Alex, we don't believe he's high enough in their group to warrant any special assistance. If we catch him we should be able to get him to agree to a plea bargain."

"No problem, I hope you can catch up to them both then." Gregson nodded and quickly left to follow his partner, but John noticed that Sherlock hadn't moved. Then John remembered what had bothered him so much earlier.

"You said I was depressed." John met the others gaze straight on; he wasn't going to be intimidated by this man.

"That's because you are." Sherlock told him. His icy blue eyes met John's stormy blue ones also with the equal intention of not backing down.

"And how would you know that? You don't know me at all." John challenged him. There was no way he could know. But Sherlock seemed to accept the challenge in his voice, as his eyes seemed to brighten at the opportunity.

"I do know that you served in the military in Britain, given your distinct accent. You're also tanned above the wrist, but not above the collar so you wherever you were it wasn't for a vacation. You also hold yourself at attention when others speak to you- you don't seem to notice it as by now its more instinctual than anything. Given your current occupation and training you were most likely an army doctor. Given the recent battle zones Britain was engaged in during your more recent service that puts you in either Afghanistan or Iraq." Sherlock looked at him expectantly and John felt pressed to answer for some reason.

"Afghanistan." He told the other. Sherlock nodded in agreement as if he'd known the location all along.

"So then our next question is why would armed services relieve you of your duties so you could serve in an American hospital? Hmm, it could only be because something happened. Either you were wounded in action or your company was attacked, but what you walked away with wasn't as much as a physical wound but a mental one. Obviously you were no longer able to serve in your position do to trauma and were honorably discharged from the army before completing your whole tour. You couldn't deal with London, whether it's the people there or the fact that it was so dull- and that I can agree with you with. So you arranged for a job overseas, a new country where no one would know what you'd been through and where no one would have any expectations for you. A fresh start." Sherlock concluded.

"That was…" John was aware that he was sending blatant stare of disbelief to the other, but he couldn't believe it. "Brilliant." It was all he could think of in his tired and befuddled state of mind. "You got all of that just by looking at me then?" John Watson considered himself a simple man, and when he was impressed, well, there was no point in pretending he wasn't.

Sherlock's face changed, John noticed, but it was so quick he might have imagined it, that look of mild surprise. Sherlock nodded simply. "It's what I do."

"And you use this skill of yours, this," John waved a hand through the air as a gesture, "power of deduction to help the police then? What are you, some Private Investigator? Do they even have those anymore?"

"My job with the police is as a consultant detective, and before you ask, it is the one and only job in the world because I created it. Whenever the police are out of their depth on a case, which is usually always, they bring me in to actually go about solving it."

"That sir, is a very impressive job you have then." John grinned. "How exciting that must be solving puzzles for a living." Sherlock's mouth went to open, as if to protest it was more than children's puzzle games he did, but John had already started talking again. There was still one thing missing from the Holmes's impressive list of deductions.

"But," John eyed him quizzically. "How did you know about my depression then? Or that I've been seeing a psychiatrist?"

Now it was John's turn to look surprised as a near sheepish looked appeared on the consultant's face for a moment. Something else was going on here, John decided.

"What is it? Something you're not telling me?"

"It's not as if I don't tell you, you won't find out later." The brunette finally said after a moment's pause.

"What do you mean?"

"In their search for Robert Jameson, or Alex Brookston, the police obtained a warrant for his place of residence."

Then it all clicked in John's head. "Oh." It was all he could think of.

"Yes, I'm afraid we've already been to your place of residence Dr. Watson. They searched all rooms, including yours, which was very clean by the way." Sherlock added the last part in a poor attempt at a condolence. "I noticed on the calendar on your desk you had every second Thursday of the month scheduled to see an "Ella Thompson" at eleven in the morning. When searching your bathroom the only drugs found beside your typical painkillers was Luvox-which is used as a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor and is most commonly used by psychiatrists to treat mild forms of depression. It wasn't hard to put the two together. Whatever happened in Afghanistan was the cause for your depression to set in which is the most likely cause of your settlement here, Doctor."

There was a short pause while the young doctor took in this recent news update about his "home invasion." Sherlock expected the usual angered or flustered reaction to this, but instead he got something entirely new. "You've been in my room?" John looked rather smug for a moment, and Sherlock was at a loss as to why.

"…Yes." The other Brit finally answered.

"Well, that's hardly fair at all." John told him, and was amused to see the shocked looked on the other man's face. "You cheated. It's not fair to include those in your deductions if you were given them right to you. I have to say I might not be as impressed with the great Sherlock Holmes as I was before actually." John shrugged in response to the consultant's blank stare.

"You don't react as most normal people do after I have done my deductions, Dr. Watson." Sherlock told him. "I have to say I actually might be more impressed with you than I was earlier, Doctor."

"Please, call me John," the doctor smiled as he held his hand out for Sherlock to take, which the detective did. "And what might most normal people say then, hmm?"

Sherlock looked at a moment before grinning. "Fuck off." And then they both laughed aloud together.

~~~~~oOo~~~~~

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end

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So please tell me, what did y'all think? Any good? I went back through and found so many mistakes- and no one pointed them out! I'm taking that as a sign that y'all love me so much you don't care how many errors you'll see! No new update until the weeknd; although, if I get more reviews I can be swayed into updating faster!

So until next time!

and don't forget... Read and Review!