The blog of Dr. John. H. Watson
JOHN H. WATSON, M.D., . I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first- class chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken he said; “I know nothing more of him than I have learned from meeting him occasionally in the laboratory. 29th January. A strange meeting. I don't know how I'm meant to be writing this. I'm not a writer. Ella thought keeping a blog would help but it hasn't because. An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works.
Huffing Sherlock turned his gaze away, once again looking searchingly around the small club, which was packed full of people. Truth be told, he would prefer to be anywhere but where he currently was, but one must make sacrifices for one's work.
Sighing in irritation as his gaze once again wandered to the previously mentioned couple — although Sherlock had already deduced that they weren't, in fact, a couple as the girl was cheating her boyfriend with the other guy — he got up and made his way to the bar in order to get away from the sight. He sat down on a barstool and ordered some citrus water to pass his time.
His target had still not arrived. Absentmindedly he registered a blond shortish man in his early twenties sitting down next to him and ordering a pint as well as a girly pink cocktail, which name he must have deleted. A few minutes later a blur of light-brown hair tackled the blond shrieking with her annoyingly high voice.
I missed you Johnny! Sherlock looked at the girl more properly and noticed that it was the same girl that had spent the past hour snogging the brains out of the other guy next to Sherlock's table.
- Sherlock/John Different First Meeting Stories
This must be the boyfriend then. Sherlock mused glancing at the couple. The girl was now sipping at her disgustingly pink drink and whispering to Johnny's ear. Just when she was about to kiss him Sherlock decided that he had had enough. There was no way he was going to spend another half an hour watching them snog right next to him. The guy happened to look at her at the same time and gave her a cheeky wink.
The girl turned to her boyfriend who was looking at her expectantly. Sherlock watched from the bar as Johnny tapped the blue-shirted guy's shoulder making him turn around. They exchanged a few words and Sherlock saw the athletic guy look at the girl he had been snogging earlier and grin clearly suggestively.
Johnny seemed to ask him something and the other guy replied arrogance showing in his body language as he gazed at the girl appreciatively.
Johnny clearly found out what he wanted as Sherlock saw him take a deep breath and deck the blue-eyed guy right to the nose before turning to his girlfriend and most likely telling her they were over. Sherlock found himself grinning at the scene, happy to find finally something interesting.
He was honestly surprised at the blonde's actions as he didn't seem to be the type to just go around hitting people. He had deduced that the blond was a medical student, of which it could be concluded that he would be more prone to care for people instead of hurting them, however his actions from few minutes ago told the opposite.
Medical student with a temper and a violent strike. Sherlock was brought out of his musings as another glass of citrus water was put in front of him. He looked questionably at the bartender who pointed to his left and Sherlock turned to see that Johnny had returned to his seat sipping his pint. Was this guy seriously thanking him for telling him his girlfriend was cheating on him?
Furthermore, he didn't look like a guy who had just broken up with his girlfriend. Wasn't he supposed to be sad about that? Deciding there was only one way to find out he asked: Sherlock's confusion must have shown off his face as Johnny elaborated: Now I didn't have to, so cheers mate! I never really liked her all that much; too clingy. He really didn't understand what the point was.
Sherlock frowned at that. He didn't appear angry at all, only curious. Weren't normal people angry at being cheated? At least that's what Sherlock had concluded from his observations on normal people. Yet Johnny had showed hardly any anger at all even towards his — now ex — girlfriend, he had kept calm the whole time.
The only thing in his behaviour that referred to any kind of anger was the fact he had punched the guy his girlfriend had been kissing. Still, why wouldn't he feel any anger towards the other people the girl had cheated on him with?
The First Meeting, a sherlock fanfic | FanFiction
Moving his thoughts to a new room in his mind-palace for closer studying, Sherlock focused on answering Johnny's question, curious to see how he'd react to his deductions. She had clearly been scrubbing floors before she came here and not with the same guy as she was snogging earlier — he hadn't met her before today — and not you because clearly you came here straight from a lab and haven't had sex in the past three days.
She also had the smell of at least four different aftershave on her, none of which you or the other guy use. There were also four different types of hair caught in her clothes — too much to be just a result of a passing by. You're not stalking me are you?
You carry the distinctive smell of a laboratory with you and I had already deduced that you were a medical student. I would say you were practicing a surgery on a dead body before you came here, judging by the dried blood on your neck as well as the faint smell of decomposition. And what comes to you not having had sex in three days, I can deduce that from your body language as well as the fact that you look tired, as you have been no doubt studying none-stop for your final exams before the term ends.
That wasn't the response he usually received when he deduced things about someone. Johnny was getting more interesting the more he talked to him. He leaned his head on his hand on the bar as he turned to look at Sherlock again with a smile. Johnny grimaced before laughing at Sherlock's imitation. I followed, however, with many other officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded in reaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at once entered upon my new duties.
The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and attached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at the fatal battle of Maiwand.
There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should have fallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the devotion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a pack-horse, and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines. Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had undergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to the base hospital at Peshawar.
Here I rallied, and had already improved so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little upon the veranda, when I was struck down by enteric fever, that curse of our Indian possessions.
For months my life was despaired of, and when at last I came to myself and became convalescent, I was so weak and emaciated that a medical board determined that not a day should be lost in sending me back to England. I was despatched, accordingly, in the troopship Orontes, and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with my health irretrievably ruined, but with permission from a paternal government to spend the next nine months in attempting to improve it.
Under such circumstances I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time at a private hotel in the Strand, leading a comfortless, [ 16 ] meaningless existence, and spending such money as I had, considerably more freely than I ought. So alarming did the state of my finances become, that I soon realized that I must either leave the metropolis and rusticate somewhere in the country, or that I must make a complete alteration in my style of living.
Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making up my mind to leave the hotel, and take up my quarters in some less pretentious and less expensive domicile.
The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of London is a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man.
In old days Stamford had never been a particular crony of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm, and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the exuberance of my joy, I asked him to lunch with me at the Holborn, and we started off together in a hansom.
He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get someone to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which were too much for his purse. I should prefer having a partner to being alone. As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough. I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken out any systematic medical classes.
His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the-way knowledge which would astonish his professors. I am not strong enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough of both in Afghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural existence.
How could I meet this friend of yours? If you like, we will drive round together after luncheon. As we made our way to the hospital after leaving the Holborn, Stamford gave me a few more particulars about the gentleman whom I proposed to take as a fellow-lodger.
You proposed this arrangement, so you must not hold me responsible. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects. To do him justice, I think that he would take it himself with the same readiness.
He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge. When it comes to beating the subjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick, it is certainly taking rather a bizarre shape. I saw him at it with my own eyes. Heaven knows what the objects of his studies are.