/Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap./ Although John knew he should—and in a way, did—hate the sound his cane made against the pavement, he didn’t. Not really, anyway. It was… comforting, somehow. As if he was keeping tempo with his steps. It was almost like being back in Afghanistan and marching along with his comrades during a drill or a mission… No. There was no way back to that life, so there was no point in thinking about it now. /Concentrate, Watson. Left, right, left, right./ A voice in the back of his head snorted, reminding him that his steps were closer to /left right-left right-left/ now because of his leg. He shut it down immediately, knowing he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about the war any more. He was meant to be recovering, becoming a /normal/ citizen with a /normal/ life and a /normal/ job, just like everyone else in London. As much as he wanted to be able to relax and recover, he couldn’t get over the itch in the back of his mind or the hunger for something… something– “John? John Watson!” The voice startled John out of his thoughts and he looked up, awkwardly recovering in the conversation and feeling guilty about seeming uninterested. For this reason, he let Mike drag him to the local café for coffee before they stopped to sit on a bench and chat. Mike was just the way John had remembered him: friendly, happy, and completely lacking an appropriate filter or an alarm that said, /Oi, mate, now might be a good time to stop talking./ He was fairly certain that the comment about being “shot at” was the reason Mike had wanted to chat for a while, which was nice but unnecessary. Right now all John really wanted was a long, hot bath and an even longer nap. He made a half-joking comment about his lack of available candidates for a flatmate and looked over when he heard the thoughtful laugh with which Mike responded. “What?” he asked, truly curious about the change in tone. “You’re the second person to say that to me today,” Mike answered. John blinked and processed for a beat. “Who was the first?”
Re: AU Stanford introduces John to Jim instead of Sherlock
No. There was no way back to that life, so there was no point in thinking about it now. /Concentrate, Watson. Left, right, left, right./ A voice in the back of his head snorted, reminding him that his steps were closer to /left right-left right-left/ now because of his leg. He shut it down immediately, knowing he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about the war any more. He was meant to be recovering, becoming a /normal/ citizen with a /normal/ life and a /normal/ job, just like everyone else in London. As much as he wanted to be able to relax and recover, he couldn’t get over the itch in the back of his mind or the hunger for something… something–
“John? John Watson!”
The voice startled John out of his thoughts and he looked up, awkwardly recovering in the conversation and feeling guilty about seeming uninterested. For this reason, he let Mike drag him to the local café for coffee before they stopped to sit on a bench and chat.
Mike was just the way John had remembered him: friendly, happy, and completely lacking an appropriate filter or an alarm that said, /Oi, mate, now might be a good time to stop talking./ He was fairly certain that the comment about being “shot at” was the reason Mike had wanted to chat for a while, which was nice but unnecessary. Right now all John really wanted was a long, hot bath and an even longer nap. He made a half-joking comment about his lack of available candidates for a flatmate and looked over when he heard the thoughtful laugh with which Mike responded. “What?” he asked, truly curious about the change in tone.
“You’re the second person to say that to me today,” Mike answered.
John blinked and processed for a beat. “Who was the first?”