~~John Hamish Watson~~
Occupation: Part-time surgery worker, blogger, assistant to the world's only consulting detective.
Bit of Background: Born in Dorset. He lived with his sister, Harriet, and his parents Mary and George there until he was old enough to go to University. He went to the University of London where he studied for his medical degree and went on to train at Netley as a surgeon in the British Army. Not long afterwards, he was posted in Afghanistan and returned after the injury of a bullet wound in the shoulder.
Hello, i'm John. John Watson. It's funny, you're probably looking at me now and thinking what a dull, ordinary life I must lead. Okay, perhaps there are days, Sundays in particular, where all I do is watch the telly and drink large mugs of tea; but my life is so much more than that. It's all thanks to my flatmate, Sherlock Holmes. He's the most brilliant, magnificent man i've ever met. And if you dare tell him that...
I was an army doctor in Afghanistan up until a few years ago. I saw the deaths of dozens of men, including my best friend. You would think I would never want to see the danger again, the horrors of the battlefield, but I love it. The adrenaline of being under the firing line of a sniper, the milisecond in which you have to make the decision to shoot an insane cabbie. I walk with Sherlock Holmes, I see the battlefield of everyday life. I am part of the danger and I love it. Every last bit of it.
I awake and groan as I can already feel the beginnings of a headache throb behind my eyes. Sherlock and that bleeding violin! I roll onto my side to greet the alarm clock's blaring red numbers 4:00 staring back at me. I groan once more, stumbling out of bed and pulling on my shoes. I once made the mistake of leaving the room without them; let's just say that I still don't think I have those shards of test tube glass out of my feet.
As I enter the living room I stare at my flatmate with a glare that he describes as the 'John's Army Stare'. Apparently I could use it to frighten away annoying children who ring on our door to ask us if we can solve the case of where their missing teddy has gone. Of course, i'd never be that mean. Sherlock on the other hand...
"Sherlock!" I snap and he looks up from the arm chair he is sitting in with a bored look on his face. He replies with a simple "What?" and I almost run over and slap him. Almost.
"You know bleeding well what! Violin at four in the morning? I've told you about this." I fume, hands on my hips, trying and failing not to look sassy. He just shrugs his shoulders but I can tell from the look on his face that something is wrong. I soften my gaze and move to sit in the chair opposite him.
"What is it? You can tell me?" I ask softly, gently coaxing the words out of his mouth. Mycroft tells me i'm the only one able to do it. It makes me sort of proud, in a way.
He shivers and I remember what he told me a few nights ago. The nightmares. Sherlock could have terrible nightmares sometimes. Especially recently with Moriarty coming back into his mind. I sigh and get up, sitting beside him on in the arm of his chair and pulling his head into my chest. He breathes against it softly and we sit like that for the rest of the night, until the both of us fall into a deep sleep.
I don't know if any of this is okay, tell me if it needs editing. I just really want John c: