It’s raining today. Nothing unprecedented about that.
When he came home from the war, it was sunny every day. Not just pale light sifting through the perpetual cloud cover over London, but a bright, blinding orb of fire that made him squint every time he went outside. Every morning it cheerfully beamed into his room around the battered shade meant to keep it out. He felt like he was on display, exposed everywhere he went, limping with his cane. His awkward misery was constantly surrounded by smiling people remarking on the nice weather.
But it’s raining today, a normal grey day in October when the sun isn’t setting any new precedents. He wishes nature would give a sign sometimes, let him know when something remarkable has happened. John Watson, always the last to know.
Sherlock is back. Not dead. How can everything feel so ordinary?
His gut twists, remembering last night. Sherlock, returning, not in a blaze of glory, descending from the clouds. Not the sky cracking open, the heavens drowning the earth. Just this, a miserable drizzle.
And here’s John Watson, walking damply to the train, feeling like his world has ended, not like it’s restarting.
Sherlock is at 221B. Everything has changed. Nothing has changed. So many rainy days John lived there, never knowing he was in a bubble.
For May 1 prompt: rain
Thanks for the prompt, @notjustamumj! Please add me to your promptings 💕
John’s lived many places due to his fatber’s military career. As a child it was sometimes devastating. Once a friendship had formed, they were always forced to move again. Harry made a fuss every time, driving their mother to despair and their father to fury. John decided early on to take another approach. When the date of depature was set, John was particularly fierce and aggressive at the rugby field, and came home looking ragged, but satisfied as if he’d won a battle.
The only place John felt quite familiar with was his birth place, London. He didn’t remember anything from the first two years he lived there of course, but they’ve lived near the city a few times since then. He’d always felt drawn to the city for some reason, although he knew no one there. Learning his lesson to try to form friendships during his childhood, he kept his distance through medical school. He dated, but it was never serious on his part. If he’d left some broken hearts behind, he wasn’t aware.
Reaching captain’s position in the army, John could keep distant even more effectively. He was the men’s superior officer, and it was frowned upon to make friends with his men. The years as a soldier and doctor were his best years thus far. He’d found a purpose, and he was bloody good at what he was doing.
And then John’s world collapsed. He was shot, and for a long while it was all pain, agony and despair. He felt alone and abandoned, and when he was sent back to England, his bland bedsit did nothing to improve his mood. His only comfort was his gun, which turned more appealing for each day that passed. Something unknown made him hesitate, though. A feeling that there would be an end to this depressive time in his life.
The day when John Watson’s life changed, was just an ordinary one. He’d told his therapist that nothing ever happened to him, and, no, he didn’t have the urge to write about this miserable life, thank you very much!
John was pleasantly surprised when Mike called his name on his way through the park. He’d always considered Mike a nice bloke, and John knew he himself was to blame for the loss of contact.
Meeting Sherlock Holmes was something John never could’ve envisioned. Instead of greeting him, the enigmatic man asked him a question John was totally unprepared for.
«Afghanistan or Iraq?»
From that moment, John knew he’d found what, or rather who he’d been looking for all his life. This man rescued him from a life of boredom or suicide, and in return John saved Sherlock’s life from that dreadful cabby the very next day.
***
«You, alright?» the familiar baritone murmurs.
John kisses Sherlock’s shoulder and nuzzles closer.
«Yeah, I was just thinking of how you saved me that day at Bart’s,» John says softly.
«I found a proper home the day I walked into this flat, for the first time in my life. But now the flat doesn’t really matter,» John concludes.
«What do you mean, John?» Sherlock asks in a puzzled tone.
John rises his head from Sherlock’s chest and looks down on his face, stroking a finger over a cheekbone.
«Because now, my precious, home is where you are.»
The amount of writing I get done as a passenger is quite satisfying.
UPDATE THE ARC TEST BED FOR NEW DISPLAY FOR HOLOGRAM AND UPDATE POWER SOURCE WITH LARGER TO SUPPORT INFINITY CLASS? ADD TO gundam AND optimus PROGRAM UNDER ALL OF ALL CHAIRMAN MANAGEMENT SYSTEM AND ADD TO SECTOR CHAIRMAN AND NEW FRONT LINE DEFENSE AND LIQUID JARVIS
Watch "Person Of Interest View From The Machine" on YouTube
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NFT 007 Agent Kevin Kim
Q Department of agriculture because food was given and now all this to the one above all management system AI for the presence to Imperium Unitron data gaps with time phased of zillion zillion years past. Update
START WITH AND SEE AND RENDER AND PATTERN FOR FOLLOWING AND MAKING ON IMPERIUM BLOCKCHAIN WITH YOUR STORYLINE AND HOW THE STORIES FLOW WITH JOINT CAMPAIGN FOR COC TYPE OF ACHIEVEMENTS FOR AND DISPLAY
Trusting the process [Starting out vs Finished piece series]
There are moments when I get greatly discouraged while working on a piece because things don’t look the way I want them to look like. And when that happens - I take a breath, slow down and trust the process. I let the painting process take as long as necessary, without any rushing. And somewhere down the line, I learn how to fall in love with the piece I’m working on.