Chapter Text
John Watson was having one of the most boring days of his life. Relatively speaking, it was dull! No case, no explosion, no nothing; the know-it-all, annoying, and rather cute detective had rushed off leaving John stranded in favour of some bombing on the other side of London. He had been left in the dust of the overcoat.
"For the last time John, you cannot come." The frustrated genius had yelled when John continued to walk next to him.
"Why?"
"You fidgeted all through the report, so I could- if I wasn't me- have missed something."
"If I say sorry then can I come?" John begged his blue eyes wide, but no, although John had only fidgeted to stay awake that stubborn burk had decided he would just mess something up.
Mrs Hudson was too busy not being his house keeper to care, Molly was off doing Mollish things, and honestly John really didn't have any other friends.
After slumming at the flat for an hour, the ex army doctor went swimming. Really, he regretted it immediately. He hadn't been anywhere near a pool since The Pool. Ignoring the chills running down his spine, he jumped into the sparkling turquoise overgrown puddle. Kicking hard, John swam up and down, trying to block the inevitable images of the Irish madman. After ten minuets of mental torture, Watson gave up and got him self out of the pool. After towelling, and dressing quickly, he rushed back to 221B, not quite escaping from that echoing voice.
By lunch he was bored again, he had finally managed to wash the scent of chlorine out of his hair and had slumped into his red chair, staring bleakly at his laptop screen. He checked his email. Nothing. John wondered off and changed into his pyjamas. He checked his blog: no comments. He strolled into the kitchen, ran his finger along the shelf stuffed with jams, hmm... Apricot? No, no, no. Strawberry?
Nope.
Raspberry? That would have to do, making his sandwich, he then left the kitchen. Back in his chair he checked his computer. No change. And because he wasn't allowed on this recent case he had nothing new to write about.He took a moody bite of the sandwich and sighing, the blogger ran his hand through his hair, aware that he should probably get round to cutting it soon. After checking his email yet again, he decided to get an early night. Because honestly he needed one, the bags under his eyes just proved what non-stop violin playing and flashbacks every night would do to a man's sleep.
Ignoring his food he shuffled to his room, and sat down on the bed. John lay down and faced the wall, he turned over, and turned over again. At 3 in the afternoon, he definitely had the early night he wanted, but going to sleep would be hard.
When his eyes decided to stay shut, his brain welcomed a nice change to the reliving the war:
John was swimming again, the chlorinated blue water pushed against him as he ploughed his way through it. The heavy use of chemicals made his throat burn, but still he dived under. The warm water felt thick, and oddly comforting. Lights that hung from the ceiling shone through the surface down onto his hair, mixing gold and platinum streaks in with its base ashy blonde colour. One word shone in his mind, surreal. Then, reality slammed into his dream knocking it into a darker path: John couldn't breath, the chlorine burnt in his neck and set fire to his lungs; twisting his whole body upwards he battled the exploding pain in his head and the suddenly much thicker water and powered up to the surface- which was shrinking away from him. The pain increased. Screaming, he fought the ache in his muscles, the bubbles drifted lazily to the surface, taunting him. The doctor began to sink. He NEEDED air, flailing he pawed above him, the light which had once had loving caressed his hair, shone into his eyes. The doctor was blinded, drowning, his heartbeat pounded in his ears like bullets. Flashbacks of Afghanistan swarmed his thoughts as he began to loose consciousness- guns, screams, blood, pain, panic, death. With his last breath the solider yelled.
John broke through the surface, gulping the harsh cold air he realised two hands where gripping his shoulders. His eyes slowly followed the thin arms up. He found himself drowning again. But in a different sense entirely...