Work Text:
From the Blog of Doctor John Watson
Hello again, readers. It’s been a while since I’ve posted, I know, but I’ve been busy taking care of Sherlock. The bloody git decided to provoke a suspect into a fight in order to determine whether or not he was our man. Did I mention the suspect was a champion boxer?
Yeah.
Lestrade chewed him out for it after, as did I, and banned him from the Yard until he’s healed. Of course, as a result Sherlock has been in a foul temper all week (let’s just say that the wall has several more bullet holes in it than previous). As the resident Sherlock-whisperer, I’ve had my hands full keeping him amused as well as handling Mrs. Hudson’s concerned fussing.
Thanks for reading that; I feel so much better having said it (err…. typed it). Since I don’t have a new case to share with you all (sorry), how about I relate the adventure of being kidnapped by one of the deadliest men in Britain? (And no, it wasn’t Mycroft this time).
It happened like this:
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
I came to to find myself tied to a chair in what looked like a deserted warehouse. Which was odd, since the last I could remember I was on my way back to the flat from Tesco’s. Slowly, the memories trickled back: checking my mobile while walking down the street, suddenly being pulled into a nearby car, and being knocked out?
I blinked and looked around blearily. At first I assumed I had been kidnapped (again) by everyone’s favourite British Government, before reconsidering that Mycroft would never be so uncivilized in his methods. (Plus, he’s mellowed a bit since beginning to date Greg Lestrade. But that’s a whole other story). But if this wasn’t him… then who?
As if my thoughts had been heard, a low chuckle sounded.
“Finally awake then, mate?”
I squinted into the dimness, but could only make out the vague outline of a man. The voice had sounded vaguely familiar, though…
“Yes, I am. But who are you, then? And if I may ask, what’s with the warehouse? It’s always abandoned warehouses for shady dealings. Is it a criminal thing?”
As you might be able to tell, at this point I wasn’t really scared. I’d faced down both Mycroft Holmes and Moriarty before; I was pretty sure this guy couldn’t possibly as bad as either of them.
The man just laughed again.
“Same old John Watson, eh? You haven’t changed much since the war.”
The war?
The comment became clear as the man stepped closer, into the light. I recognized him as Colonel Sebastian Moran, a sniper that I’d known back in Afghanistan. The last I heard of him, he’d been dishonourably discharged for a reason I’d never been able to find out. But why the hell would he kidnap me?!
“Sebastian, why the hell did you kidnap me?!”
He held up his hands in a placating gesture.
“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you, I could have easily killed you earlier anyway.” (How comforting, I thought). He continued, “I just want to have a little chat.”
Well that didn’t sound very promising…
“…A chat about what?”
“You’re dating that Holmes fellow, yeah?”
Not quite what I was expecting.
“Um, yeah, I am…”
“How do you do it?”
“…do what?”
Sebastian sighed.
“How do you put up with that arse?”
Now, believe it or not, I’ve been asked that question a lot (I think it has something to do with Sherlock’s sparkling personality). Everyone seems to think living with him is a trial. Which it is. But despite the midnight violin playing and colons among the cornflakes, I do love the bugger. He’s superior and arrogant and insufferable, but he’s also the most brilliant man I’ve ever met. So yes, he’s an arse, but he’s my arse.
“Wait, you kidnapped me to ask me about my relationship with Sherlock?”
Seb grinned.
“See, I’m sleeping with my boss, and he’s a fair bit like yours. I love the blighter, I do, but he is bloody impossible to live with. Since you’re Holmes’s keeper, I figured you might know a trick or two.”
Huh?
I stifled my immediate response that Sherlock was most definitely not my boss, only to freeze as my brain processed what else Sebastian had said.
“What type of lunatic are you working for?? Not that I think I can help you, my relationship is pretty… weird,” I finished.
However, the colonel just looked…amused?
“He’s just my nutty little Irishman, that’s all you need to know. First question: how do you cope with the poisons in the kitchen cupboards?”
“What the hell?!”
Sebastian just stared at me expectantly.
“Um…well, for the chemicals and body parts, we… I put labels on everything so I don’t accidently put arsenic in my tea or something.”
He nodded.
“I do that too. Plus moving the stuff on different sides, but Jimmy always mixes them back up again. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s trying to kill me.”
Who the bloody hell was he dating?
“What about that bloody constant texting thing they do?”
I groaned.
“God, I hate that. It’s always some imperious summons for something completely unimportant. Once, Sherlock texted me sounding like there was an emergency, and I came home to find out that he had just wanted to ask me if we had any more tea in the flat.”
Sebastian laughed.
“Mate, sometimes it’s not even over text. I can’t count the number of times Jim’s woken me in the middle of the bloody night to send me to get some bleedin’ chipsticks. I’m a killer, not a servant!
“But then again,” he mused in a softer tone, “I’m usually just glad to get him to eat anything. He’s light as a feather, my Magpie. I have no idea how they do it. ‘Course, it’s the same with sleep.”
“Yeah,” I agreed absentmindedly. To tell the truth, I was surprised; Seb’s lover really did sound a lot like Sherlock, and Sebastian seemed to really care for him, for all that he claimed he was impossible to deal with. It just made me wonder who the bloke was.
All of a sudden, what I knew about this mystery bloke went through my head: a criminal (Seb did say he killed people for this guy), Irish, like Sherlock, Jim…!!!
(In hindsight, I really, really should have figured it out sooner. Sherlock would call me a moron the likes of Anderson if he knew. Which is why I didn’t tell him. But at least I fell to the answer faster than I did with Mycroft and Greg?)
“What. The. F***.”
“What?” Sebastian broke off what he was saying to stare at me.
There was only one conclusion. One horrible, horrible conclusion.
“ YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH JAMES MORIARTY?!”
And Colonel Sebastian Moran, ace sniper and former soldier of Her Majesty’s army, just grinned at me and casually replied, “Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
“Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”
I was stunned. Was that a legitimate question??
Apparently, it was.
“What’s…what’s wrong with that?! EVERYTHING is wrong with that! He’s a psychopath!”
“Sociopath. As is yours.”
“He’s a criminal!”
“So am I. I work for him, remember?”
Valid points.
“He tried to kill Sherlock! And me!”
Seb rolled his eyes.
“I know. I was there, at the pool showdown.” Seeing me open my mouth to speak, he hurried on, “Don’t worry, I was never going to shoot you; I was never meant to in the first place. Everything went just the way Jim wanted it to. We’re all still alive, aren’t we?”
Morbid, but also a valid point.
“………Okay, I concede defeat. There’s no reason why you, fine upstanding citizen that you are, shouldn’t date the great consulting criminal. Personally though, he’s not exactly my cup of tea.”
“Thanks mate,” Seb shot back sarcastically, “there I was, just desperate for your approval of my relationship. Wouldn’t want to go against doctor’s orders, now would I?
“Anyway, this has been fun,” he straightened up and stretched. “But I have things to do, people to shoot, I’m sure you’ve the same. So here’s how this is gonna go: I’m gonna blindfold you, you’re gonna count to 200, then you can get out of here. Try and follow me, and I will have to shoot you. And I won’t miss. Got it?”
I had no choice but to agree. (Wouldn’t you?).
He did all he said he would and made his escape.
Five minutes later (better safe than dead, I always say), I stumbled out into the cloudy London afternoon, with a splitting headache and more knowledge of Jim Moriarty’s love life (*shudder*) than I ever wanted to have.
Later, when I was on my way back to Baker Street (take two) and trying to figure out what excuse to give Sherlock, my mobile beeped to alert me to a new message.
From: [Unknown Number]
Hey mate, ever need some advice or someone to bitch with, you know who to call ;)
Why is it always me that gets involved in the crazy relationships of those around me?”