HC One-Shot, John loses his memory! Three days. He wouldve called me an idiot a dozen times by now. He wouldve laughed a dozen more.He wouldve smiled more times than even I could count. He would reassure me when I would act like I didnt need reassurance, or anyone to tell me it would be okay, because he would obviously be okay. But hes not okay. Hes quiet. Hes not laughing. Hes not smiling. Hes not okay. And its my fault. ... ... ... Well, Dr. Watson, you gave us quite a scare. The large male nurse, who looked more like a rugby player than someone who could handle delicate instruments, smiled at John and finished taking his vitals. I made it out of Afghanistan, this accident isnt going to stop me, John said briskly, shifting uncomfortably. For a doctor, he hated being in a hospital. Of course. He spent too much time there after his first accident. What was the accident, again? he asked the nurse, Nurse Commick, his name tag said, but before he could answer the Doctor walked in, trailed closely by another man, who seemed very frustrated and pompous, like he owned this hospital and everyone should listen to him. He was tall and lanky, almost too much so. John definitely thought that while he didnt seem unhealthy, a couple extra meals wouldnt hurt him. His eyes were bloodshot like he hadnt slept for three days, and his curly mop of black hair looked even worse than that, like it had never seen a brush before. His skin, which John could tell was naturally pale, look almost translucent in the white lighting. The man was a wreck. John didnt recognize him. But there was something. A prickling in his chest, like excitement. The kind of excitement he was drawn to. The kind of excitement he didnt have anymore. John quelled it as best as he could, but it lingered. Well, Mr. Watson, looks like everythings back to normal. Im Doctor Carmichael, the doctor said, an older man with thinning gray hair and tiny spectacles. Doctor Watson, John corrected testily. Just because he wasnt the one on duty didnt mean he didnt have a the title. My apologies, Doctor Carmichael sniffed. John saw out of the corner of his eye the man behind Doctor Carmichaels mouth twitch up, like he was fighting a grin, bringing some animation to his haggard face. But when John looked at him, it was gone, replaced by a look of intense concentration, like he was waiting for John to do something, maybe a flip. John stared him down. The man seemed to be struggling to figure something out, like an intense math problem. He was starting to annoy John. Well, whats happened? John asked, partly just for the sake of it, but more so because he was tired of not knowing why he was in the hospital. Obviously, hed had an accident, and hed been out for awhile, judging by the others in the room. John shook his head. Where was this coming from? He didnt think along those lines. Like... like a detective. Its normal to have some confusion, Doctor Carmichael said sympathetically, noticing. Youve been in the hospital for three days, you had an accident on the job and suffered several fracture bones and a concussion, Doctor Carmichael explained, checking Johns vitals as he spoke. How could I have had that type of accident on the job? John asked impatiently. Im a doctor, and besides, Im out of work. Doctor Carmichael gave him an amused look. If thats what you want to call being an unofficial detective, sure. Johns head spun. He looked at the tall man, whos face had suddenly close off, gone blank, putting up a dozen walls in a split second. For some reason, the expression annoyed John, and angered him, and even made him sad. He struggled to control his emotions. What. Are. You. Talking. About? he said in a measured voice, leveling a look at Doctor Carmichael. Doctor Carmicahels face was started to look as worried as Nurse Commicks, though with a lot more confusion. At least one person knew what was going on. John wished it was him. Doctor Carmichael started looking through Johns papers, searching for something. Tell me, Doctor Watson, who are you? he asked nervously. John lost his temper. Im Doctor John Watson, I just got out of bloody Afghanistan last month, now somebody better tell me what is going on! Doctor Carmicahel took a shaky breath. Suddenly John didnt want the answer. Doctor Watson, Im sorry, but youve been out of Afghanistan for two years. You were in an accident two days ago, and suffered several fractured bones and a concussion, he repeated. Johns fists clenched. Doctor Carmichael leveled a steady look at him, all nervousness gone. He was a good doctor, pompous attitude aside. Youve got amnesia. The only sound was the door banging shut, so hard the glass cracked as the tall man ran out of the room. ... ... ... I dont believe it, John said for the fifth time, though he most certainly did believe he was capable of it. Dang his adrenalin fixation. Well, believe it pal, because thats what youve been doing the past two years, Greg Lestrade said, slapping him on the shoulder. John appreciated that at least, the fact that Greg wasnt treating him like he was broken, like everyone else. Even if it was just from someone he only dimly remember. For whatever reason, when he saw his face, the only thing he could think of was Greg. Not Graham. Greg. He had not idea why. Obviously. Molly Hooper, the tiny, sweet girl who didnt fool him for a second and was obviously as sweet as she appeared but was also able to throw a decent punch, John had no doubt, had broken down in front of him and cried so hard he ended up comforting her. Or well, awkwardly patting her on the back and desperately trying to remember for the dozenth time, this time just to make her calm down. Mrs. Hudson, who he had for some reason recalled instantly, thought nothing else to his intense frustration, fussed around him all the time and gave him worried looks that shifted from him to the bedroom door that always stayed closed when she thought he wasnt looking. A lot of people thought he wasnt looking. Most of the time. But he did look, and notice things hed never noticed before. It was aggravating, to say the least. Here he was, noticing all these things, and yet he couldnt remember where hed been working for the past two years. But, is that even legal? John asked now, looking at Greg and trying to ignore the stares he was feeling behind him, through the glass walls of the office at the yard. Greg looked thoughtful. You know, I dont think I want to know that. Im leaving things as is, so if it comes to a head I can claim unwitting accomplice. He grinned at John. John tried again to figure it all out. So, for the past two years, Ive been running around London with a man I moved in with after knowing him for a week, and I solve crimes with him unofficially and without getting paid half the time? he asked, confusing himself. But Greg nodded like all that made sense. Exactly, he said. John paused for a beat, trying to come to terms with all that, then exclaimed, louder than he meant to, Am I the only one questioning this? Well, weve had two years to get used to it, so pretty much, yeah, Greg said. John groaned, burying his face in his hands. Hey, mate, itll be alright, Greg said, getting up and patting him on the shoulder, seeming just as uncomfortable as John did when someone upset. Whoever Greg was, John was sure theyd been close. Just another fact to make him mad when he tried to remember. John sighed and stood up. Thanks, Greg, he said, and then, after hesitating, held out his hand. He shook Gregs stiffly twice before letting go quickly. Greg seemed disappointed, but that was all John could do at the moment. You know, John, Greg said, sounding more sincere than before. John turned around, his hand still on the doorknob. Sherlock was a mess before he met you. You really helped him. Try and remember that. Greg gave him a fierce look. John left the room before he said something he would regret. John walked out of Gregs office, ignoring the stares and keeping his head held as high as he could as he limped toward the elevator. They told him that hed gotten rid of his limp member that, he had to go back to using the cane. He wanted to take the cane to whoeverd made him lose his memory, but sadly, they had him in custody, apparently thanks to The list of things he couldnt remember was starting to be longer than his cane. Hey, I think this is a good thing, someone said behind him. John sighed. It was the woman with the upturned nose, the one John wanted smack, honor be darned. He turned around slowly. Oh joy. She was with the rat-faced manas well. Maybe now you can stop hanging around with freaks, she said, and Rat-Face laughed, high and reedy. You cant punch a woman, John reminded himself. So he took two strong strides forward and punched Rat-Face right in the nose. He turned back around and punched the button on the elevator, feeling lighter than he had in awhile. Lestrade! the woman cried, holding up Rat-Face as he held his bleeding nose, Arent you going to do something? About what? Lestrade asked innocently, so innocently you knew he saw everything. I didnt see anything. John got in the elevator and laughed, actually laughed, before stopping suddenly, looking at something he couldnt believe through the rapidly closing doors. His cane. On the floor. John looked at Lestrade through the doors, right before they closed. Lestrade smiled at him knowingly and winked. And then the doors closed. Theres part one! Who wants me to finish it? 20 Likes for part two! ~TA Polling-As-I-Post
Posted on: Sun, 10 Aug 2014 18:22:44 +0000