Hullo! lately I’ve been so inspired by some really lovely Sherlock fanfiction so I thought I’d give it a go! So below is a part of a one shot featuring John and Moriarty (with cameos by Sherlock)
“A flatmate?” John feels a small knot of anxiety in his gut and looks up at Harry skeptically. Harry had called on him the day after he’d been discharged. Then she’d called again and again until his voicemail had been full within the week with her as the sole benefactor. All she’d wanted was to “catch up” (ie: meddle mercilessly) over “lunch” (ie: indefinite purgatory). “Harry-” “You’ll like him. Friend o’ mine…his name’s-“ “No, Harry, I’m fine.” John pretends this will end the conversation…hopes for all that is decent in the world that for once Harry will let him win WITHOUT an argument and- “John, listen to me.” Here we go again. “You’ve been holed up in here for over four months! You never go out anymore, never answer my calls…for goodness sake, the only other person you’ve seen besides me is your bloody shrink.” Just nod and let her think she’s won…then toss that stupid phone into the Thames. She clasps a hand over his, preventing him from taking another bite of pasta. “John, look at me…please.” A foreign softness in her tone makes him look up grudgingly. Only she’s not looking at him anymore. She’s letting her eyes drift across his one bedroom army-pension paid flat with the mold stains that are seeping through the thinly repainted corners, the grey light filtering through the window, and the coffin-sized bed. When she finally looks at him John’s remembering the time when they were kids. How Harry’s always been the one to throw temper tantrums whenever a game of scrabble didn’t go her way or when John brought home higher grades. He’s learned the importance of self restriant and weathering the storm. ie: Let Harry have her way and give it a shot so she can’t complain when things go back to normal. With a sigh he gets up and moves into the kitchen to clear their plates. He can hear the smile in her voice.
“His name’s Jim…I think you’ll get on well.”
Stupid, stupid, idiot! There’s a downpour that’s started without so much as a five minute warning that’s caught him in the middle of the street somewhere in Westminster, drenched and shivering under a sign that reads, “Speedy’s,” something or other. “To be fair, it would have helped to have a telly to tell me the weather…” This musing gets him a glance from a woman leaving the shop and a whiff of perfume and café food. He hasn’t eaten, he’s soaked, and, somehow, forgotten the hand-me-down phone in the cab he could only ride halfway to the restaurant he’s supposed to be at in fifteen minutes to meet the potential flatmate. So, in conclusion: Short on cash, time, and bang out of luck. Torn between giving up and going into the café or pressing forward with a limp that’s recently been acting up, a psychosomatic limp that feels and acts an awful lot like the real thing and hoping that he can scout out Jim at the…what was that place called again? “You alright there, mate?” A young fellow with a black umbrella has stopped in front of him, looking much too formal to be standing outside a place like Speedy’s. “Lost?” “Ah, no…well, sort of.” John offers a sheepish smile and thrusts his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking. It’s the PTSD, but to anyone else it’d look like he’s freezing and too stupid to go inside and warm up. “It’s more like I can’t get there from here. On foot, anyhow.” “Hmmm…” The (Irish?) fellow tilts his head sympathetically and looks genuinely curious about the situation. There’s a brief pause and a cough, followed by, “You wouldn’t happen to be John?”
I’ll be posting more later! ^_^
And to those that are anxiously waiting for season 2…please be strong! ^o^