Johnlock - Our Story

Chapter 1: First Impressions, Am I Right?

HIIII, Just a reminder that this story takes place before EVERYTHING, before the fall, before their meet, before John and Sherlock became John and Sherlock

ALSO PLEASE JUST IMAGINE THAT JOHN GOT SHOT IN HIS RIGHT SHOULDER PLEASE 🙏 

Also English is NOT my first language, so Im sorry for cursing ur eyes with my horrible grammar. 

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In the heart of the bustling city of London, there stood a small bookstore tucked away in a quiet corner. Its sign, weathered and faded, read " Mrs. Hudson's Books and Stuff, store number 221A." 

The outside of the building wasn't impressive despite being on a very populous street in London. It looked like it hadn't been renovated since the day it first opened. The window ledges were caked in a thick layer of dust, the walls were covered in old vines that had long died out. Above the store, there seemed to be another floor, but it seemed to be empty as all the windows had been boarded up using strong wooden planks. As John stood outside the store, he started having second thoughts about his decision.

 It had been 2 months since he got shot in Afghanistan, 1 month since his pension got reduced due to "cost management" and a week since his last mandatory therapy session. 

"Couldn't they have just gotten rid of that blasted session instead of cutting my bloody pension", he thought as he sighed. His therapist had told him that he needed to find a way to "connect with society again". Apparently, according to his therapist,  his lack of socializing was to blame for his limp. "This is so bloody stupid", he thought as he built up the courage to open the door.

He had tried getting a job almost everywhere, he had been to every clinic, and every hospital but had quickly gotten fired due to customers not wanting a "disabled" doctor to perform their surgeries(or even get near them for that fact). After that, he tried getting an office job but quickly realized that he had almost no skills when it came to computers, which had been proven by his feeble attempt at writing a blog (writing 7 sentences in an hour isn't exactly what's considered skillful in the office world).

He had almost given up until an old friend of his, Mike Stanford, mentioned an old bookshop tucked away in the corner of Baker Street which seemed to be looking for help.

Pushing open the creaking door, he was greeted by the musty scent of aged paper and ink; a little bell rang(or tried to though it sounded more like a metal pot being hit by a rolling pin) above his head. Inside, the old wood shelves (mahogany wood by the looks of it) were lined with dusty books and piles of paper which could have been mistaken as a pile of dust at this point."Erm-, Hel-Hello!" John called out, awkwardly standing on his toes in an attempt to notice someone over the shelves, "Anybody home?". After waiting a few seconds (and receiving no response), he made his way deeper into the store.

 As he walked, he trailed his fingers over the spines of books, the dust clearing from wherever his finger touched. The titles of the books had worn away over time and there seemed to be no organization whatsoever as he noticed what seemed to be encyclopedias placed together with books about local myths.

"No wonder they need help", John muttered to himself,  "this place is a bloody mess." 

THWACK

One of the books, which had been placed on a very steep pile, fell on Johns's head. Shocked by the sudden impact, John attempted to lean on (what he assumed) was one of the nearby shelves. 

Turns out not all of the books were placed on the shelves as the wall of books which John had tried to support himself collapsed under his weight, taking John down with it.

Sherlock POV:

The person who stumbled into my corner was certainly NOT Mrs. Hudson. As the blonde noticed my presence in the room he quickly straightened himself off of the pile of books he had mistakenly knocked down, "Bollocks-, erm ah hello mate", he muttered, "sorry bout your um - pile?". He's a solider my brain provided as soon as I noticed his posture, he recently returned from the war, and got shot in the shoulder seeing that he preferred using his left arm to support himself even though he is obviously a right-handed person seeing the paint mark on his hand from grabbing the handle outside after missing the wet paint sign. He has a bad sunburn on his wrists, but not because of a visit to the beach, since it doesn't extend to his arms, which must have been covered during his time abroad, the only war zones where there had been intense sun would be either in Afghanistan or Iraq. 

"Sorry for um bothering you- do you know where I can find a Mrs-"

"Afghanistan or Iraq", I cut him off, wanting to know the answer. I watch as the usual confusion fills his face as he steps closer to my makeshift table. 

"Sorry, what- "

"Which one was it? Afghanistan or Iraq"

"Afghanistan- How did you- did Stamford tell you something about me?"

"No"

"then how did you-"

John POV:

I get cut off as me I hear a shrill gasp of a woman from behind me. As I turn around I notice a squat little woman, probably in her 40s standing with her eyebrows raised

My stomach drops as I realize this is most likely Mrs, Hudson, aka my last chance at a job. Stumbling over myself I bend over to grab the book that had fallen on my head"I'm so sorry ma'am", I stutter out, "I'll start cleaning up right away, I was just looking-"

"You must be John Watson", she gasped, "oh Mike told me all about you, you know, such a lovely lad that boy is, used to come here all the time as a young boy." Rushing forward she tries to usher me towards a nearby door (which I guess leads to some sort of room)."Oh, I um-"

Pausing abruptly she looks at the strange psychic man and scolds him (in almost a loving way?), "Oh Sherlock dear- clean up your mess, I'm not your housekeeper you know, and we have a guest."

I began to explain myself before she once again cut me off, deciding to go against her previous decision and instead pushing me into the nearest chair, right next to the man.

"Wait right here, I'll get us some tea," she said before shuffling behind the door.