Here we go! After this chapter it should almost make sense! Way to go, those of you who guessed, for figuring it out, I tried really hard to obscure the facts as much as I could ;) Here we GO!
Flashback: 1983
John was two months and six days shy of his thirteenth birthday when he first felt the pain in his lower back. It gathered there as though someone was reaching through the skin to pull and twist the muscles around L4 and L5, turning and pulling as though his muscles were toffee. By the third day his mood was right off the charts, calm, gentle John was shouting at his mother for some imagined slight only to break-down sobbing he was sorry. Something was not right with John Watson!
At his request, his parents took him to see his doctor, who was happy to see him and after a battery of tests told him he was perfectly healthy, just growing up. The same doctor gave his parents a heavy look and then after they left for a quick chat. John knew something was not right, and he knew it was something that had not ever been right.
Moments like this had happened all through his life! Everything would be running smoothly, then John would ask a perfectly logical question and that weighted look would pass between people's eyes. As though they expected him to not see it, as though they expected him to just go along with it and not ask questions!
Well all that was done now, and he was not having it anymore. As soon as they were in their car he spoke up, "What do you always talk about when I get sent out of the room?" It didn't take a behavioural specialist to read the surprise in the simultaneous flinches his parents gave, nor the worried look they shared. This was it, he would finally find out!
"When we get in John, wouldn't want to get in a wreck talking, now would we." John nods at his mum in the review mirror and waits.
Once in the row house his parents own, his dad checks Harry is still out and mum makes cocoa. John just walks to the table and sits down waiting, soon his parents join him.
His mum slides a warm cup in front of each of them, setting the tray aside and then places a hand on John's shoulder. "I just need you to know we have been trying, and failing, to tell you this since you could talk. In the end we opted for a less is more approach and to tell you only what was useful for the instance. Today we find we have to tell you everything to explain what is going on."
John takes a minute and looks at his mum, really looks, and she seems terrified, seemingly of him. looking over his shoulder he sees the same worry in his dad's eyes. "This direction the conversation is taking is kind of scary. Can we please just get to it now? Before I loose my nerve?"
His dad wraps an arm around John's waist and pulls him a bit toward the older man's chest, "Son we can't stop this, no matter what we try. What happens after today is entirely up to you, just know we have always known who you are and we have loved you from day one."
John just nods unwilling to give voice to anything knowing it would be nothing but squeaks. His mum takes up the narrative, "When you were born I knew, even before I touched you, that you were a true gift. Sure I loved Harriet and felt similar things at her birth, but not as poignantly, With you I KNEW and no one could convince me otherwise. So after you had been fed a bit and it was time to change your nappy, I wasn't as surprised as I could have been when I wiped you down and found your opening."
At this John blushes hotly, he hates the long gash behind his scrotum, it's what has made him a freak his whole life long, and suddenly he's starting to put it together. His head whipping up to stare at his mum, head shaking 'no' slowly in denial of her coming words.
"We didn't know, at the time what would happen, but the doctors advised us to allow you the choice to decide when you got older. As luck would have it you are male, as far as anyone can tell, but your doctor told us today he suspects you actually have a vagina as well as a functioning uterus and ova."
Silent tears run down Johns face as his parents heap platitudes on him, like 'it doesn't MEAN anything' or 'we still love you' or the best 'nothing at all has changed' while cuddling him for about half an hour. John just sits in the circle of their arms and cries to himself, while a traitorous part of his mind wonders aloud 'if he can even call himself 'him'.'
End Flashback
John fiddles with his mobile, having already texted Mrs. Hudson to say an old friend named Clara was coming over to see him and could she let her in, John now waits for her on the settee. Realistically he wasn't waiting very long till the bell rings and he can hear Mrs. Hudson chatting with his friend before she sends Clara up. John fidgets a bit before there is a knock at the door, "John?"
John smooths his shirt down a tiny bit more then calls out, "Come in Clara, the door is open."
The door opens and in strides a 5'10" slender woman, with a wiry muscular build in fashionable jeans and an overlarge button down, emphasising her stylish riot of ginger curls and minisculely done-up cobalt blue eyes. Her eyes scan the room quickly, having stepped in toward the fireplace, but as she turns and sees John sitting on the sofa with his casted foot propped up on the divan, her eyes widen. "John!" as she starts toward him an anxious expression on her face, "what happened to you!"
John pats the sofa beside him, "Sit down and I'll explain it all." Wordlessly she half falls, half sits on the sofa beside him. Her eyebrows quirk upwards as if to say, 'well then, explain.'
John smiles at her and pats her hand, "Short story is I broke the long bones in my foot, but I assume you would like to hear the long version."
Clara nods sharply, "I would like to know if the 'spot of help' you needed is urgent or not, otherwise we can just catch up, can't we?"
John nods emphatically, "I have a problem with my meds and I was hoping you could run to the chemists for me."
"Oh John," Clara murmurs wrapping an arm around her friend, "things caught up to you with this foot didn't they? You poor darling. I'll do whatever I can; I'm happy to help."
"Excellent," in a hopeful tone, "would you run up the stairs to my room and grab my medical bag out of the wardrobe please. There's a script pad in there and I can write you one. Then, if you'd be so kind, could you dash off to the chemists and fetch it. After that we can sit down and have a nice long chat."
"Done," Clara slaps her hand down on John'd right knee, reaching across his wounded limb to do so, before dashing up the stairs. Moments later her voice calls down, "Is there anything else you want me to fetch while I'm here?"
"No thank you Clara, If I need anything I'll send Sherlock after it."
There is a ruckus as she noisily tromps back down the stairs and sits on the settee again. Passing him the medical bag she smirks, "Sherlock, huh? Who is this mysterious person you, John Watson, who guards his privacy fiercely, will let into your room unguarded, but isn't trustworthy enough to ask to go to the chemist?"
John, hastily scribbling out the name of the drug he needs and three repeats, smiles grimly, "Take this quickly and get it filled for me, when you get back I'll explain anything you've missed out on."
Taking the script in hand Clara looks into his eyes for a long moment, "This Sherlock doesn't know?" John just looks into her eyes, the feelings of fear, dread, and self revulsion so suffusing him at that moment that he's sure Clara can taste the emotions. Indeed she flinches and stifles a empathetic whimper before wrapping her arms solidly around John. "I'll be right back and you can tell me everything then."
And in a flash she is gone in a riot of feet down the stairs. John sits back and drifts into his memories of Clara.
Flashback 1983:
Harry and her had met in the first year high school and were fast friends in no time. A few months after Harry's 16th birthday they realised that the feelings they shared were more than just friendly.
It was a week and a half into their romantic relationship that Harry and Clara were hiding out on the roof of the extension to the kitchen snogging for England just outside Harry's bed room window, when they heard the awful conversation inside.
Clara couldn't believe here ears and Harry for her part went stiff and cold, eventually urging Clara to follow her in climbing down the trellis and out of her backyard. The two of them silently went and sat on the curb; just waiting.
After a few moments of silence Clara cleared her throat, "Uhm, did you know?"
Harry nods, "Mum and dad told me when I was 12 and asked me to look out for him, make sure no one messed with him, that sort of thing."
"Right." They sat there for maybe ten minutes in quiet solitude, "What do we do now?"
"We wait till they have talked it out and then you and I go tell the squirt that you know now too, got it?"
Clara numbly nods her head.
End Flashback
John sighs to himself, he remembers everything about that day, it was burned into his psyche for all time. He'd been in his room trying to get a grip on what was going through his mind, the endless tumble of 'who the fuck am I then', when his sister burst into the room dragging her best friend, newly her girlfriend, into his room and shutting the door softly.
He remembers being supremely pissed off at them just barging in and then the spiraling, sinking feeling in his gut as he, first, thinks something is wrong with Harry, then second, that it has to do with his new secret, as he realises they are staring at him.
He remembers feeling like his entire body was made of cotton wool as the words, "You heard." make it through his stiff throat and then blessed black as the stress is, finally, too much and he faints dead away.
A clinking sound pulls him from his contemplation, heralding more 'mothering' from his landlady. "Yoo-hoo, John darling,"I've brought up some tea and biscuits for you and your guest." Mrs. Hudson bustles through to the table, cum desk, putting the tray down before turning towards John. "Oh! Where has she gone?"
John smiles, "I asked her to do me a favour, run out to the shops for something."
His landlady comes to stand beside John looking down at him, radiating the parental disapproval she usually reserves for Sherlock and he knows what she's about to ask. "John who is that woman, another one of your 'dates'? I'm sure Sherlock or I could have run your errand. You didn't need to call someone in specially to deal with it."
Doing his level best to not look horribly guilty, John answers the lovely woman who treats her two renters like sons, "No worries Mrs. H. she's family, my sister's partner to be exact. We don't tend to meet up much at the moment because Harry broke it off with her while I was deployed last."
His words have an instantly softening effect on Mrs. Hudson, she sinks down to perch on the edge of the settee to his right. "Oh dear me, that's a long time not to talk, but I know how getting injured can make one want to reconnect with family." the house matron asserts patting his face sweetly, "Goodness knows I only see my sister when she's maimed herself somehow."
At the sound of unfamiliar footsteps on the stairs she gives him a last pat and makes for the door herself. Meeting Clara in the doorway she smiles at the confused ginger, "Give him a good slap for me dear." and is off down the stairs.
Clara stares at her retreating back in confusion, then rounds on a giggling John, "What the hell was that all about?"
Stifling his giggles, "Mrs. H. mothers us," he gestures a hand to the laden tray on the table, "as you can see, and I once had a gap of residency here of two years and I didn't call on her during that time and when I did come to call I think she wanted to slap me, I'm sure of it and I think you just got permission to do it for her."
Slumping down to sit beside John Clara giggles for a second, "I'd love to, but it isn't in me to blame you for Harry's faults." then her voice mimics her posture, turning somber, "They wouldn't give it to me John, not only am I not registered with that chemist, but your not my GP. So..."
"They want to see a patient transfer notice before giving it to you. Shite. We wouldn't have this problem if I was a regularly practicing GP, but it's one of the new initiatives to curb in the side script writing. Damn it! I thought it would be fine, I've only been off work for a week, surely some people hold scripts longer than that." In frustration John buries his head in his hands and begins to weep softly, Clara places a comforting hand on his back.
After a few moments John straightens, wipes the traces of his discomposure away and turns to Clara, a twist of displeasure on his lips. "Well obviously I have to go back to the drawing board on that one. Shall we have our chat now and I'll figure something else out later on?"
Clara nods and wordlessly hand John a small chemists bag. Not even looking in it he stuffs the bag down the side of the settee and nods.
"So..." starts Clara, "what is a 'Sherlock'?" Going for the perky distraction mode she bounces off the settee, over to the table and fixes them both a cuppa.
"Weeelllll," John draws out, "HE is my flatmate who pretended to commit suicide to protect me, Mrs. H. and a buddy of ours from snipers."
"HE, huh? Well I think I'd like the whole story John, if you don't mind." Clara voices while placing in his hands a cup of tea, just how he likes it, and the biscuit plate on the settee between them. John smiles and begins to tell a very long story.