Dr. John H. Watson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theblogger) wrote2012-03-11 04:33 am
theblogger) wrote2012-03-11 04:33 am
Keep Calm and...
CHARACTERS: John Watson (theblogger), Greg Lestrade (consultsdetective), Sally Donovan (cop_an_attitude), and Jilly Coppercorn (theoniongirl)
LOCATION: Community Housing 2, Flat 21
WARNINGS: None yet.
SUMMARY: They've all at least watched people solve crimes before? Surely they can make sense of this.
NOTES: None!
Flat 21 was nothing much to look at. It was empty, not just for lack of previous resident, but achingly plain. White-walled, sparsely furnished; the ambience reminded John of the one-room residence the RAMC had provided for him shortly after the war. He hated it.
Nevertheless, there was sentiment in the address 2-21, and if the prospect turned out to be that John was due to stay in this village tomorrow and for an indeterminable amount of days thereafter (and it was starting to look like that might be the case), this was where he was going to choose to spend it. If nothing else, it would remind both officers of where his loyalty laid, before this and ever after. In London, he had left behind the overflow of clutter, prepared to settle into a new life without the implication of odd hours and the saccharine stench of formaldehyde that seemed ever lurking behind an otherwise unassuming cupboard. But this wasn't London - this was an unknown territory where he wasn't certain of his status of civilian anymore. And in a crisis situation like this, this number was John's safe haven. It was a cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
John waited by the window, sitting on the edge of the sofa he'd shoved close to it. The outside world seemed so simplistic, so rural, but considering the fact that John had never asked for the vacation, he couldn't help but view it with some suspicion. A part of him knew that he was acting too on-edge about it all, that this was not the same as sitting in a bunker watching the gates in the desert, but he didn't know quite how else to act. True, there wasn't much for him back in London beyond his sister, who was beginning to show some signs of promise now that John had begun to come by and sit on her sofa every once in a while. She talked, he listened, nodded, smiled when it was appropriate. They were working on it. She'd be alright without him.
Nevertheless, he was brought here against his will, woken up unclothed and aching with a weight on his shoulders he'd never had before. John was rather sensitive about his chest, which was why he tended to keep so many layers over it - he knew something was off right away. There were wings on his back and a barcode on his neck; neither of these were very settling to find on his examination at the nearest private mirror. The wings were startling, certainly, but that barcode... that was a mark that indicated property. At least when he'd wore his tags in Afghanistan, he knew what master he was serving, and had elected for it. This was different.
John sat sentinel over the window, hoping to see a familiar face pass by or a knock on the door to indicate that he was not, in fact, alone here. His wings poked through several layers of undershirt and corded jumper, making themselves just another part of the armor as they flexed and fell tight around the curve of each shoulder, grimly consoling. As off-putting as it was to be in this situation, John didn't want to have to be by himself.
(( OOC: This is a private thread between John, Sally Donovan, DI Lestrade, and Jilly unless you have otherwise been invited in! ))
theblogger), Greg Lestrade (consultsdetective), Sally Donovan (cop_an_attitude), and Jilly Coppercorn (theoniongirl)LOCATION: Community Housing 2, Flat 21
WARNINGS: None yet.
SUMMARY: They've all at least watched people solve crimes before? Surely they can make sense of this.
NOTES: None!
Flat 21 was nothing much to look at. It was empty, not just for lack of previous resident, but achingly plain. White-walled, sparsely furnished; the ambience reminded John of the one-room residence the RAMC had provided for him shortly after the war. He hated it.
Nevertheless, there was sentiment in the address 2-21, and if the prospect turned out to be that John was due to stay in this village tomorrow and for an indeterminable amount of days thereafter (and it was starting to look like that might be the case), this was where he was going to choose to spend it. If nothing else, it would remind both officers of where his loyalty laid, before this and ever after. In London, he had left behind the overflow of clutter, prepared to settle into a new life without the implication of odd hours and the saccharine stench of formaldehyde that seemed ever lurking behind an otherwise unassuming cupboard. But this wasn't London - this was an unknown territory where he wasn't certain of his status of civilian anymore. And in a crisis situation like this, this number was John's safe haven. It was a cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
John waited by the window, sitting on the edge of the sofa he'd shoved close to it. The outside world seemed so simplistic, so rural, but considering the fact that John had never asked for the vacation, he couldn't help but view it with some suspicion. A part of him knew that he was acting too on-edge about it all, that this was not the same as sitting in a bunker watching the gates in the desert, but he didn't know quite how else to act. True, there wasn't much for him back in London beyond his sister, who was beginning to show some signs of promise now that John had begun to come by and sit on her sofa every once in a while. She talked, he listened, nodded, smiled when it was appropriate. They were working on it. She'd be alright without him.
Nevertheless, he was brought here against his will, woken up unclothed and aching with a weight on his shoulders he'd never had before. John was rather sensitive about his chest, which was why he tended to keep so many layers over it - he knew something was off right away. There were wings on his back and a barcode on his neck; neither of these were very settling to find on his examination at the nearest private mirror. The wings were startling, certainly, but that barcode... that was a mark that indicated property. At least when he'd wore his tags in Afghanistan, he knew what master he was serving, and had elected for it. This was different.
John sat sentinel over the window, hoping to see a familiar face pass by or a knock on the door to indicate that he was not, in fact, alone here. His wings poked through several layers of undershirt and corded jumper, making themselves just another part of the armor as they flexed and fell tight around the curve of each shoulder, grimly consoling. As off-putting as it was to be in this situation, John didn't want to have to be by himself.
(( OOC: This is a private thread between John, Sally Donovan, DI Lestrade, and Jilly unless you have otherwise been invited in! ))