Summary: When John Watson returns from Afghanistan. He's depressed. There's no other way to describe him. He sees himself as a crippled ex. Soldier and doctor with a frankly pointless life. Nothing ever happens to him. Until the day he meets Sherlock Holmes. The world's only consulting detective. Who convinces him that maybe, just maybe, he can do something worthwhile with his life and he shouldn't let go.
AN: Hi there! This is my first Sherlock story so be nice please, although constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated. So anyway, this is sort of a study in pink from John's POV, but with the story line changed slightly. Oh and I apologize in advance for my spelling, I have tried, but it's not exactly my strong point
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own this show, but if anyone's feeling particularly generous and wants to give it me for Christmas, I'll love you forever
At 5AM my alarm goes off. As always. Never any variation. It's the same clock that I took with me to Afghanistan, and I never thought to change the alarm time. Why do I even have an alarm? Or a clock for that matter. It's not like I have anywhere to be, or anyone to see. Except my therapist who takes it was a success if I show up. Its hours later before I muster the strength to climb out of bed. Purely out of habit I neatly make it. After a small breakfast of toast and coffee and a failed attempt of writing anything in my "personal blog", I decide to go out. Yes a walk. I know full well it will kill my leg (psychosomatic limp or not, that doesn't stop it from hurting) but I'm willing to bear that to get out of this dreary apartment. The dreary apartment that I know all too well that I won't be able to afford for much longer. An army pension only goes so far. Soon I'll either have to move out of London or find a flat share. I mentioned my problem to an old "friend" yesterday. Maybe he'll find someone who's willing to share flat with a crippled ex-soldier doctor.
My legs seemingly of their own accord take me to a bridge. A bridge that is so high of the ground that my inner doctor informs me I'll almost certainly break my neck and several other bones, probably resulting in death should I jump of it. Not that I intend to, I quickly add to myself. I walk towards the edge of the bridge until I realise I'm probably too close to the edge and it could be extremely dangerous. As I take a step back I for the first time feel that it's raining. Water pours down, soaking my hair and flattening it to my fore-head and making my jumper much heavier with all the water it had absorbed.
What felt like a moment or so later, though I suppose it could just have easily been an hour I could feel a presence beside me. I turned to face him and as I looked up ever so slightly I can see a tall man, around a head or so (possibly less) taller than me. He has dark curly hair, a long black coat and in his left gloved hand he holds what I presume is an umbrella, judging by his dry hair and the fact that I can no longer feel water beating down upon my head suggests that he is holding it over both of us.
"Excuse me, do you have a phone I could use? "he asks
"Um sure" I answer, digging in my pocket until my hand clasps on my IPhone. I hand the phone to him, god knows why as I have never seen this man before in my life, and he could easily have run of with it.
He thanks me with a courteous "thank you".
While his eyes are engaged on my phone, texting no dought, he inquires "Afghanistan or Iraqi?" to me.
His Question and the way he said it shocked me and it was some moments later before I replied "Afghanistan … but how could you know?"
He didn't answer my question but gave me a look which suggests to me that he thought it was perfectly obvious.
"You're Doctor John Watson" He states.
"Um yes but how…?"
Before I could finish my sentence he says "Mike Stanford told me you were looking for a flat share. Would you mind if I played the violin late at night? Oh and sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you?" He says, as if to him it's a normal conversation to be having with a complete stranger.
"I'm sorry, what?" I ask, thoroughly confused by this man. We've just met. Surely he's not suggesting we move in together?
"Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other, don't you agree? Now, I know of a lovely flat in the centre of London, the landlady owes me a favour; we should be able to afford it together. Shall we say tomorrow at 5 o'clock?" He says. Ok so he is suggesting we look around a flat together. Is this guy crazy? We know nothing about each other!
By now I'm slightly offended so I say "We've just met. We know nothing about each other. I don't even know your name or where we're meeting."
Seemingly un-phased by my doughts, he replies "I know you're an army doctor invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you have a brother and that you disapprove of his drinking habits and the fact that he walked out on his wife. I also know that you have a therapist who thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid.
I'll quite gladly admit that this man left me speechless after what he's just said. How can he possibly know any of that? Innless mike told him, but quite honestly, that seems unlikely, I'm almost positive he worked all that out himself, though as to how I'm clueless.
The man then turns to leave and takes a couple of paces away from me, he then turns to face me once more and says " The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the address is two two one B baker street." He then winks at me, and once again turns and takes a couple more steps.
However, he then stops and turns to face me once more.
"You're a doctor" He states
Unsure of where "Sherlock" is going with this I reply cautiously "yes."
"Any good?" He inquires
Alright, so it doesn't take a genius to deduce that he either wants me to do something for him or to help him with something. And why not? I reason. It's not like I have anything better to do
"Very good" I answer, convinced I sound far more sure of myself.
"I suppose you've seen a lot of gursem murders?" He asks with a smile on his face. He knows where this conversation is going, that I'm sure of it.
"Yes. Far too many. Enough for a life time" I answer, hoping to god he won't take me at my word.
"Want to see some more?" He asks, smile on his face growing
"Oh god yes" I answer.
So with that I pick up my stick and limp towards Sherlock, who waits patiently for me to catch up with him. Together we walk of the bridge and towards a taxi, climb in and sit, waiting to arrive at wherever our destination might be. Whatever MR. Sherlock Holmes needs my assistance with.
I have no clue where we are heading and I don't really care. I'm not leaving anything behind and I'll do anything for adventure.
And that is how I Doctor John Watson, met Sherlock Holmes.
Soo what did you think? Should I continue? I'm not sure if this is any good so please review and tell me what you think of it. Thanks