Chapter Text
It was all a blur. All that could be remembered were the loud bangs from the shootings, the bombs. It was awful. But was it really?
John Hamish Watson, the soldier ever so brave. Fought the war head-on. You could say he was never afraid. He was. No matter what he believed. That was what made him miss it. He lived for the danger. It’s all over now though, it ended with an explosion.
The silence was loud, it rang in his ears. There was repetitive beeping noise to accompany it. It reeked. It smelled so clean that it absolutely reeked . John awoke to a white light so awfully blinding it took a while for him to adjust.
“Morning,” He heard a voice say. Why did it sound so familiar? James Sholto, that’s why. “I thought you died.” John whispered. He rubbed his eyes and sat up from the hospital bed. “Well I’m here now, aren’t I?” Sholto replied, grinning. John wanted to laugh, cry. “You’re not real… Can’t be.” He just smiled.
“I am, if you believe it.”
“Your therapist is annoying. You sure you need her?” John snorted. “I’m talking to you. Pretty sure that’s proper criteria for getting a therapist.” Ella, the therapist in question, cleared her throat. “John, are you listening?” John waved a hand, shooing ‘Sholto’ away. “Yeah sorry, listening.” John grunted and sat more comfortably. He tapped his fingers on his thighs, as if impatient. Well he was. He couldn’t wait for this session to end.
‘Therapy’ had ended. John slung his bag over his shoulder and left. He walked – well, limped – back to his old bedsit. Stupid leg. He’d get used to it eventually. The weight in his back pocket made him forget about it for a while. His browning, kept illegally. He never told Ella about that. It made him feel safe. Home. It will take him home.
He struggled with his keys that kept jingling. Over and over. The noise, it rang in his ears. His head ached ‘till it stopped. Finally, he opened the door. He tossed the keys, not bothering where he threw it. He took off his coat. Gracefully, if you’d prefer to be sarcastic. Took off his shoes and slumped on the mattress. Cheap. Second hand probably. Stained and stiff.
He took out his gun, and loaded it. “Finally gonna do it? Good riddance. You’re no use here. Not in boring ol’ London.” Sholto had reappeared beside him. He hadn’t looked at him, but John felt like eyes were boring into him. He placed the muzzle of the gun against his temple. Then switched the position to the other side of his head. His hands had a slight tremor in them. “You don’t have the guts to actually do it, do you, Watson?” Sholto scoffed. Then there was a knock on the door.
John abandoned the thought and threw his gun to the side. He could feel Sholto glaring at him. It was all in his head though. He got up to answer the door. “Who’s… there.” It was the London Post Office. “Mail for John Watson?” John groaned quietly and snatched the mail from out of the confused man’s hands. He slammed the door and sorted through his mail. Then a familiar name caught his attention. Harry Watson. He hasn’t heard from Harry in a while. He opens it and reads the letter.
Hey bro!!! Mom’s been askin bout ya. Im 3 weeks sober. Hooray for me!!
Anyways mom wants u over. Heard ur back from war. Our good ol family house. U remember dat right? Wants us to reunight again
Love
Harry :)
John chuckled. The badly written letter felt oddly nostalgic. Harry had never been good at writing. He would think about going.
He had gone, eventually. It was… nice, he supposed. Now he’s on his way back from his nearly two hour train ride from Bristol. He had left in the morning, he arrived in the morning. He decided to take a walk ‘round London. Decided he needed to stretch. He brought his cane with him of course. It became a necessity in his life, after the war. His limp got him looks from everyone. What does it matter to him anyways?
On his walk he heard someone call out his name. “John, John Watson?” John turned around to see who it was. “Sorry, who?” His face scrunched up slightly in confusion. The stranger, well guess not so stranger after all, just smiled. “Stamford. Mike Stamford.”