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A ficlet inspired by this random plumber 😁
Doctor Gregory House, world's only Diagnostician, is attempting to have a normal evening when he flicks on his shower. Leaving the water to heat up for a second, he goes to grab a towel from the other room, and in the few seconds it takes him to do that, the pipes give a horrific rattling sound and, as House's back is turned, there's a massive BANG from the bathroom. House is not a man who's easily startled, but he jumps now as the sound of rushing water begins filling his flat. Hurrying as fast as a man with only one fully functional leg can go, House gets to his bathroom, where he sees that the pipes in his shower have exploded! Water is pouring violently everywhere. "God damn it!" House swears, and, just when he thinks his evening can't get any worse, there's the highly recognisable sound of whistling pressure building, and then the tops of his sink taps blow off like a rocket, and water comes spouting out. Water is filling his bathroom and spilling out into the rest of his flat fast. It's already up to his ankles - and it's already 7pm on a Friday. "Fuck me," House huffs, "how am I supposed to get a plumber at this fucking hour?!"
Retreating to his living room, where the water is the lowest so far, House quickly googles and finds an emergency 24/7 hour plumber, fucking expensive, but, needs must. His landlord will cover the cost anyway; it's one of the few joys of renting. He calls the service and they say they have mobile plumbers on the road at all times, so they'll send their nearest person as fast as possible. House is doubtful, but, thankfully, in about fifteen minutes, by the time the water has reached ankle-level in the living room, there's a knock at his door. He yanks it open and begins to bark a "about time!" when he stops, flabbergasted, as the water goes pouring out of the newly opened front door. He blinks at the plumber, and the plumber blinks at him. "Fucking hell!" both men, say, in odd unison.
The plumber looks just like House. House looks just like the plumber. They're both white, thickly-shouldered man over 45 with greying hair and beards. The only two differences is that the plumber is brown-eyed and, obviously, has no cane at his side. "I'll be damned!" House whistles, "ur, hello?"
"Ur, hi," the plumber looks equally as baffled. "Jesus," he squints at House, "when they say everyone has a doppelganger..." They even sound identical.
"Tell me about it. Leaks in the bathroom," House waves him inside. As House watches the plumber slosh his way through his 221B Baker Street flat, an idea is beginning to form. "I'm House," the Diagnostician isn't big on introducing himself, but he does now, as he limps behind the plumber, "Greg House."
"George. George Hotel," introduces the plumber, as he fights his way through the massive spraying waterfall in the bathroom to reach the burst pipe. "Nice to meet my long lost twin, I guess."
"Yeah," House begins to smile as he leans on his cane, "hey George, how do you feel about pranks? All you'd need is blue contact lenses."
George raises an intrigued eyebrow.
Saturday morning, and what a beautiful day it is too! Doctor James Wilson has decided to take a stroll through his favourite park. This is something he always does when the weather gets nice. House has already text him to mock him, 'on one of your walks, Wilson?' and Wilson has replied a simple, 'morning to you too House' and has focused on going about his day. Wilson has parked himself on a bench and helped himself to an ice cream when he sees it. He's so stunned he has to double take - it's House! Wearing long shorts and a t-shirt, jogging. Jogging! Across the park, about fifteen feet away. "HOUSE?!" Wilson chokes on his ice cream. Running over just in time to see House stopping to stretch against a tree, Wilson's jaw drops as he approaches. "House?" he questions, unable to believe his eyes.
"Oh hey Wilson," House greets, nodding at him with his usual blazing blue eyes. He lunges into a deep leg stretch whilst Wilson watches, horrified.
"Um," Wilson blinks, "House, what happened to your leg?"
"Oh that," House's voice is totally casual. He rolls his eyes like this is no big deal, "I've been faking that these past five years. I mean, come on Wilson! You're a doctor. You should know that even a muscle death, like what I had, only hurts for a few weeks after the injury, max! When have you ever heard of it hurting for five years?" He barks a laugh, "nah. I've been faking to make Cuddy, who worked alongside my bitch of an ex Stacy, to go against my medical consent, to do this to me, feel guilty. She lets me do whatever the fuck I want!" he laughs again, "and everybody pities me, and I get to work less hours and get special parking. It's great! Best decision I ever made."
Wilson can't believe it! He's so stunned he can barely breathe. "I....just...why didn't you tell me?!"
"Cause you'd have ratted me out," House shrugs, beginning to jog on the spot, as if just to show off.
"Then why are you doing it now? You knew I was at the park! Why would you come running here, knowing I'd see you?!" Wilson demands.
"Because no one," House strains, beaming, "will believe you now."
James Evan Wilson malfunctions like a broken computer - babbling, mumbling, shaking his head, unable to even compute - until roaring laughter from behind a bush begins ringing out. Wilson snaps around to look and sees House - cane and all - limping out from behind the bush. "You should see your face, Wilson!!!" he laughs and laughs and laughs, and the jogging 'House' is laughing too!
And Wilson looks from one House to the other, back and forth, like he's at a tennis match for a full minute, and then explodes into a scream, "WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!!!"
With the two House's giggling, the cane-having House comes over and slaps a hand on Wilson's shoulder, "don't worry Wilson," he beams, "he's just Plumber House."
THE END