"East or West wing? You work at Bart's don't you?"
"I uh-" John's eyes were doe like in shock, wondering just how the male might have concluded as such, as well as being simply thrown off by the question, "Well, technically not- I study there at the moment, but West Wing : patient treatment rather than morgue work."
The other male replied with only a coy smile at first, tilting his head and seeming to drink in John's appearance as he did. All of a sudden the man felt exposed and he couldn't begin to explain why, closing over his tablet and placing it into the bag beside him. After a moment he cleared his throat and began to speak, "Well... okay.... um-" John sighed, backtracking his words and rethinking, throwing out his anxieties and plunging head first into the already intrusive conversation, "How on earth did you know that?"
This received a raised eyebrow from the brunet, and the flash of an almost mischievous grin as he crossed and uncrossed his legs, "Well it's quite simple really. You are dressed rather smartly, but not so much so be a lawyer or a businessman. From the creases in your shirt you usually wear a jumper, but you chose not to do so today, so something you must be doing must be hands on. However your hands are not that of a builder, nor an artist, and so that leaves a few jobs remaining." He paused for a moment and gestured over the bus, before quickly continuing, "You chose to sit at the back of the bus, meaning you had further to travel, but also meaning you hate the crowds and noise of the other passengers. Where you work is quiet- but you are under pressure. Taking into account the bus' route, your teetering on adulthood age and the fact that blogging is clearly no more than a hobby. You must be headed to Bart's hospital, and since you have no obvious ailment nor symptoms deemed hospital worthy, there is only really one other reason you would go there. Unless of course you were visiting somebody, but judging by the number of ignored and unopened emails you had I doubt you stay in touch with many family members. You do live with your brother, though you don't speak to him much more that necessary, maybe because he has a drinking problem, more likely because he just left his wife."
"Fantastic." The utterance left John's lips before he could stop himself, sat in great awe of the man that had managed to make his acquaintance that morning.
"Hm?" The brunet looked at him as though he was registering what the trainee Doctor had said, pondering over it for a moment before looking out over the bus and speaking again, "That's not what people usually say."
"What do they usually say?"
The two men shared a look upon that declaration, and in a mere moment the pair had broken into a small fit off laughter, muffling it behind closed lips, and hands as they tried not to disturb the rest of the bus. John glanced over to those in the seats in front of them, mouthing a 'Sorry' through his grin before the laughter began to die down and he turned to the intriguing character beside him.
"My names John by the way. Watson, John Watson." He gave the man a smile, sticking out his hand and nodding his head.
"Sherlock Holmes." A gloved hand gripped John's own and gave it a quick shake, the man he now knew to be Sherlock giving him a small smile in return to his own.
"So do you work at Bart's yourself?" He couldn't stop himself from inquiring, interest in the man peaking as the bus drew closer to their destination.
"Not exactly, I'm the same as you, still studying- though I work mostly from home. Occasional trips to Bart's either for the use of a lab or for-" He stopped himself and hummed, seemingly to be trying to figure out how to phrase his other occupation, "-consultations."
"Consultations? Like you see patients?" John shot him a glance, raising an eyebrow in his confusion.
"Of a sort." His lips tugged a little, like he was holding back a smirk, and he cocked his head, "Though the people I see are a little more dead."
John's lips formed a small 'oh' and he nodded, gathering that Sherlock worked on the opposite wing to him, the morgue. He didn't press for many more answers, not having the chance to as the bus pulled to stop beside the large hospital building. It was evident that he and Sherlock had the same idea at the same time, both standing to bump into one another, causing John's bag to fall from his shoulder. With a glare at the bag he uttered a swift apology to his new acquaintance before gathering his things and walking towards the doors, breathing a fresh of breath air in the open space.
"You seem relieved." The words startled him a little before realising whom had spoken them, and turning around.
"I am, being confined to that bus for an hour each morning isn't fun."
"I can second that motion." The brunet nodded, stepping forward to catch up with John and holding out a sheet of paper, "You left this behind, it was from your bag I believe."
The blond didn't bother to check the paper, simply smiling and taking it from the man, curling his fingers around it and placing it into his pocket, "Oh, thank you."
They shared a glance for a moment before decidedly walking towards their destination, Sherlock pushing the door open for John and the trainee give a gracious smile in a non verbal thank you. Once inside, the bustle of London streets died down and was instead replaced by the beeps and hums of various machines, the smog smell turned into one of harsh sterile air. The blond was about to speak a goodbye, when he was interrupted by a short girl.
"Sherlock! Hi... hello. I, um, the new body just came in. The recent murder?" The girl stood a little shorter than John, with a long brown ponytail tied low in her hair with a small bow. She wore strikingly coloured clothing, a jumper paired with light denim jeans, though the outfit suited her. On top of such she wore a lab coat, bearing a name tag that John was sad to find was smudged by chemicals, so there was no finding out her name that way. She swayed on her feet a little, wringing her hands in a clearly nervous state, finally noticing the blond's presence, "Oh! I'm sorry I didn't know Sherlock was bringing somebody with him, I'm-"
"Molly, you said something about the body? What room?" John looked over to Sherlock as he cut off her introduction, a clear look of concentration across his expression as he waited for Molly to direct him. John checked his watch, noting he had twenty minutes before he needed to be anywhere and spoke up himself.
"Molly, is it? I'm John, though I'm afraid I'm not accompanying him, we only met this morning actually." He stuck out his hand for the second time that morning, offering her a smile that he was glad to see was so broadly returned.
"Molly Hooper. Lovely to meet you, I don't believe I've seen you here before?"
"I'm fairly new, just got transferred here to start on my practical work. Plus I suspect you're mainly based on East Wing? I'm West." He nodded towards the opposite corridor, gesturing that was where he would be headed soon enough, and she giggled a little in response.
"Oh, a doctor! That must be fun. Though dead people can be just as interesting." She faltered a moment and waved her hands frantically, "Not that I'm not sympathetic towards what happened, I just... I-"
"It's okay, I understand." John gave Molly a warm smile and placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her, "Well I suppose I should be off, I'm sure Sherlock's waiting for you anyway. See you around maybe?"
"Yes. Of course. It was nice to meet you John." She smiled and crinkled her nose a little, giving him a wave before turning on her heel and walking quickly towards where Sherlock had disappeared off to. Leaving John to find his way back to the West Wing to find his lab.
Girlfriend? He couldn't help but ponder, questioning himself where the sudden interest had come from, No... he doesn't seem the type to date. Though they were close.
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When It Snows [Johnlock]Fanfiction
All is well in London. As usual; never changing; forever constant. Just Sherlock Holmes in his lonely apartment, a young man well known across London, yet whom chose to stay just as he was- alone. However in an unexpected turn of events, the rising...