Chapter Text
John Watson had terrible nightmares, more like night terrors really. He would wake up screaming because all he could hear was gunfire and all he could smell was burning flesh. He would be lying if he said that the war hadn't effected him. He felt more like the shell of the man he was before, he returned to London where he thought he wanted to be but now he wasn't so sure. The flat that he could afford was depressing, it had no life to it. John thought it was fitting, since he had no life to him. His limp angered him, he felt much older than he was and he felt ultimately alone.
John didn't go out much but he thought it was time to get some air, since he had just finished with his therapist. He almost always felt the need for a walk when he was done with Ella, walking calmed him down. It wasn't raining today so that was a bonus. London was often a very wet place but John didn't really feel like he belonged anywhere else, not that he particularly belonged here either. He preferred the grey wetness of London over the hot dryness of Kandahar.
"John! John Watson!" A pudgy looking man called out and pulled John out of his thoughts. There were lots of Johns but probably not as many John Watsons.
"Hmm?" John turned and couldn't quite put a name to the face, though the face looked familiar.
"Mike, Mike Stamford, we went to Bart's together....I know...I got fat." Mike smiled a little. Ahh yes, Mike. He was always good for a laugh and brutal honesty.
"Oh, no no. It's good to see you Mike, how are you?" John smiled politely, perhaps an old friend is what he needs right now.
"I'm teaching at Bart's now, young wild bunch, just like we were, I hate the lot of them." Mike chuckled and so did John. "So, how have you been? I heard you were off somewhere getting shot at, what happened?" Mike looked a little concerned.
"I got shot." John pulled a tight lipped smile then looked at his feet. Perhaps that was too blunt.
"Oh, well you're alright now?" John nodded. "Good, I'm glad. What do you say to some coffee with an old friend? I don't have to be back at Bart's for another hour." Mike smiled.
"Sure, yeah. That sounds great, ta."
--------------------------------------------------------------
"So you're back in London on an army pension?" Mike sipped his coffee and hummed pleasantly as if the liquid was made of pure joy.
"Yeah, my flat is actually awful but it 's all I can afford and I can't imagine living anywhere else." John sipped his coffee and grimmaced as his hand started to shake, he then switched hands and looked away. He hated how broken his body felt.
"Why don't you get a flat share?" Mike glanced at John's hand but then looked away and pretended that he didn't notice.
"A flat share? Who would want me as a flatmate?" John looked at Mike with all seriousness. John knew he'd be rubbish as a flatmate with all his nightmares and black moods.
"Funny you say that, you're the second person to say that to me today." Mike smiled into his coffee as he took another sip.
"Who was the first?" John looked quite interested.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Sherlock was bored. Not a single client all day. Bored. Bored. BORED. Ah! Sherlock decided to go to Bart's, although he dealt more with the living he had a certain interest in biology and post-mordums. Whenever Sherlock was bored, he would go to the mortuary and beg Molly to let him do experiments. She always said yes, though he wasn't sure why.
Sherlock Holmes is a Consultant of sorts, many people call him a matchmaker but that title tends to make him cringe. Ususally he presents himself as a romantic consultant, it sounds more professional and well, he likes the way it rolls off the tongue. Sherlock is a genius and quite frankly could be a scientist or a politician but he quite enjoys seeing people happy, though he wouldn't say he likes it out loud. Sherlock likes seeing things work out and even more so when he is responsible for it.
Perhaps Molly will have a fresh corpse today. Ah the joys of scientific exploration! Sherlock grabbed his Belstaff and hailed a cab.
Sherlock ran into Molly in the hallway and saw she was holding her charts, he was dancing internally. He smiled at her, that usually helped get him in.
"Ah Molly! Good morning! I was wondering, do you have any fresh corpses today?" He tried to glance at her charts but she held them tight to her chest.
"That depends, are you going to blow them up this time?" She looked a little angry, angry? Why would she be angry? It was a totally reasonable experiment, he needed to know how much explosives could be shoved in a person's rib cage for....reasons.
"No, no. Nothing like that. This experiment is entirely different, no clean up needed." He gave a short nod to indicate that he was serious. Molly sighed.
"Alright fine, I've got one fresh corpse that died of natural causes but please don't blow him up. I knew him and I don't think I could deal with that right now." Molly sighed again, why was she so glum today? Sherlock looked her over, she has bags under her eyes and they seem a little puffy. So not sleeping much and crying a fair bit. She hasn't washed her hair in....2...no, 3 days. There's trace of a dairy product on her sleeve, not from coffee or tea though. Oh.
"I'm sorry about your break up." Sherlock said after a long moment of silence.
"How did you..? I'm fine, Sherlock." She began to tear up a little and looked anywhere but into Sherlock's eyes.
"You haven't slept much in a few days, you've been crying. You stopped caring about your appearance based on the fact that you haven't washed your hair in 3 days and you have traces of ice cream on your sleeve." Molly blinked a few times and reached up for her hair to feel how gross it truly has become.
"It's that bad, isn't it?" she giggled a little, "I supposed I should have seen that coming."
"Molly, if it makes you feel any better, the man was incompetent. He clearly wasn't sexually satifying and he had awful mannerisms. You can do much better, trust me." Sherlock gave her a small pat on the shoulder.
"I guess you would know, Mr. Romantic Consultant." She smiled lightly at him.
"I would. Now! I believe I have a body to beat with a riding crop!" Sherlock walked toward the mortuary leaving a very confused Molly behind.
"Wait, what?" She ran after him
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Later in the lab...
The door to the lab opened and the sound of two pairs of footsteps entered, not Molly then, Sherlock thought. Sherlock looked up and saw Mike, the round man that he didn't entirely hate and often found could tolerate for short periods of time. Behind Mike followed a short man, with a cane, he's limping but when he stops walking, he's standing perfectly fine. Psychosomatic then. Interesting. Sherlock quickly looked the man over before he noticed and found that the man must be military, well groomed with very short hair, stood tall and had a tan but only from the wrist up and neck up. Hmm. Very interesting.
"Very different from my day." said the military man. His day? Of course, he must be a doctor. He must have studied at Bart's. Army doctor, hmm.
"Mike, can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock looked up from his microscope and directly at Mike. Mike patted his pockets and frowned a little.
"I've left mine in my jacket, why don't you use the land line?" Mike nodded to the phone.
"Hmm, I prefer to text." Sherlock sighed a little. Maybe Lestrade would have to wait to know about his wife.
"Oh, well here, use mine." The military man pulled out his phone and wobbled toward Sherlock with a slight smile on his face.
"Old Friend of mine, John Watson." Mike added, giving Sherlock a name for the new file he created in his mind palace, better than just referring to him as the military man.
"Oh, thank you." Sherlock took the phone and sent a quick text to Lestrade about how his wife was currently cheating on him with the gardener, he could tell by the excess amount of soil on the soles of her shoes and the pollen that was in her hair. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asked without even looking at John. John's eyes bugged out for a second.
"M'sorry?" He looked at Sherlock like he'd grown a second head.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock repeated. He often hated to repeat himself but in this case, it was amusing.
"Afghanistan, but how did you-" John looked extremely puzzled but Molly walked in and managed to get Sherlock's attention away from John.
"Ah! Molly! Coffee!" He took the coffee from her and sipped it making a slight grimace then smiled lightly. "Thank you, you look much better, even added a little lipstick after your shower. Your mouth looks less small now."
"Oh, uh thank you." She smiled at her feet and left the room.
"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock asked while not looking at anyone.
"I'm sorry, what?" John was still completely lost.
"I play the violin, I sometimes go days on end without talking. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." Sherlock smiled at John. Sherlock rather enjoyed how confused John looked. He initially thought John's eyes were brown but they appear to be the deepest and darkest blue he's ever seen. Though that data isn't important, Sherlock was going to keep it anyway.
"Oh, you told him about me?" John turned to look at Mike who looked extremely amused by the current scenario.
"Not a word, mate." Mike chuckled softly to himself.
Sherlock grabbed his Belstaff and his dark blue scarf and began to leave the room. John still looked utterly puzzled.
"I did, I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap." Sherlock headed towards the door.
"Okay, how did you know about Afghanistan?" John looked quite lovely when he was confused. Wait. What. Ignore that. Sherlock ignored the question as well.
"I've got my eye on a flat in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Sorry, gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." Sherlock smiled at John, hoping to get a reaction out of the mention of a riding crop. Why though? Whatever. Doesn't matter.
"Is that it then?" John stared in awe.
"Is what it?" Sherlock moved away from the door and looked at John with a matching expression of confusion. He thought he made himself clear.
"We've only just met and we're going to go look at a flat?"
"Problem?" Sherlock challenged with a slight smirk.
"We don't know a thing about each other, I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name!" John stared at Sherlock with disbelief.
"I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him- possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic- quite correctly I'm afraid." John looks at his leg and shuffles a little. "I think that's enough to be going on with, don't you?" Sherlock smiles smugly and walks back to the door and swings it open, he holds it and turns his head to add, "The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 2-2-1 B Baker Street" He winks. Why wink? Felt right. Whatever. "Afternoon!" He's gone.
"Yeah, he's always like that." Mike smiles at John like he's been holding in a laugh the entire time. John just blinks a few times and lets out a breath he didn't know he was even holding.
End Chapter 1