Johnlock - Our Story

Chapter 2: Sherlock Homes Who?

NOTHING I WRITE IS EVER COMPLETELY SCIENTIFICALLY ACCURATE PLEASE KEEP IN MIND

⚠️WARNING: Mentions of Brain tumours ⚠️

John POV:

"Ok then- I guess I'll just wait", I mutter as I awkwardly sit next to the man who seems to have moved on quite quickly after giving his uh prediction? Psychic reading? Whatever you may call it had returned to the scroll he had previously been pouring over.  

Due to lack of something to do I drum my fingers on the book I still had in my hand. Bored I turn it over to read the words on the cover. The title read 'Good Omens' in a pretty golden font followed by two names 'Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett'.

"Two books, Cliffhanger ending, goes against many things in the Bible, bunch of people grouped to try and sue a company that didn't even air the show, interesting yet so predictable", the man beside me sighs without looking up from his papers.

Surprised at the sudden outburst I raise my eyebrows, tilling my head slightly to look at the man, "Sorry what-"

Sighing deeply he now turns his head fully to look at me, his blue eyes seeming to pierce into my soul as he deadpans, "That book. In your hand. The one you're holding."

I look down at the book, my confusion still not leaving me "Right this book, so-"

"I was trying to 'make a conversation'" he says, apparently disgusted at his own words, obviously we are going to be spending long amounts of time together once you start working here so I was trying to, as people say, heat up to you-" 

I open my mouth to ask him something but quickly get off as he continues his rant at a fast pace," also before you ask no, I did not ask Mrs Hudson or this "Mike" about you before your arrival, I know who you are and why you are here simply based on common sense and the obvious"

"And what would that be, the obvious I mean."

Taking a moment to think he asks,"You want to know?"

I nod my head and he takes that as a signal to take a long breath and continue, folding his hands under his chin in a tepee structure. 

"You're an army solider, that much is apparent by the way you hold yourself, you have only recently been removed", I cringe at the word as he continues, "Against your will I presume by your reaction, you got shot, in your right shoulder, which is apparent by the way you lean for support with your left even though you are right-handed"

"How did you know I was right-handed-", I ask cutting him off, which startles him a bit.

"you grabbed the door with the right hand, which left the fresh layer of paint on your palm-", I look down and finally notice the fresh brown paint coving my palm

I groan at the sight, "Aw- Bollocks-"

 "Also you picked up the book with your right hand ", he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

I try to wipe off the paint in vain with some tissues from the tissue box sitting on what I had previously assumed to be a table, "are you working on a coffin- "

"A casket actually, now as I was saying-"

"An actual coffin-"

Seemingly annoyed he narrows his eyes, effectively shutting me up.

"Casket- do keep up now as I was saying,  you are a doctor which is apparent by the glove burns on your wrists caused by long hours of wearing rubber gloves, you had a job before this, many actually in the span of 5- no 6  weeks seeing the state of the acid burn you have on your left hand caused by you trying, and failing, to perform a surgery with an injured shoulder and a limp," he says, popping the 'p' for added effect.