Human (Johnlock)

A Strange Beginning

Author's Note: This is an idea I've had for a while and decided I was going to finally try and get written down. Feedback would be great, but just you reading is appreciated. All mistakes are mine, and I own no characters. Enjoy!

Title Inspiration - "Human" by Christina Perri
___________________________

Doctor John Watson pulled his coat tighter around himself as he trudged along the snow-covered pavement on his way to work. It was the night before Christmas and he'd been called in to cover the shift of some doctor who wouldn't be coming in to work. Apparently, a 'spur of the moment' decision had been made and Dr. Evans was going to spend Christmas in America with his family. John had been the third person they'd called, and the first who hadn't left London for the holidays.

John didn't pass a single person on the way to St. Bart's, but he hadn't expected to. The streets were usually quite empty at this time. It had been just after eleven when the sound of a telephone ringing awoke John and he'd been asked to come in as soon as possible... if he could.

A nearly frozen hand pushed open the back entrance door of the hospital, and John entered the sterile prison that was his workplace. He said hello to the receptionist on duty and headed straight for the break room. There was one other person in the room, a small girl with mousy brown hair whose name always evaded John's memory. He did, however, remember that she was a pathologist, and that most pathologists didn't work night shifts. She saw John come in and a timid smile graced her shy features. John attempted to smile back, then poured himself a cup of coffee. They drank in silence, and when John finished his cup he poured himself another.

"Looks like someone's got a long night ahead of him." John turned and looked over his shoulder at the reticent pathologist, who had yet to finish her first cup it seemed. He could feel his cheeks warming, and looked away so the pathologist girl wouldn't see him blush.

"Uh, yeah I suppose."

"You don't normally work this late do you? I think I remember seeing you around, but never this late." She had now taken a small step towards him, apparently now a bit more comfortable in his presence. John shook his head.

"I'm covering a shift for someone." John brought the cup to his lips and took a sip. "Do you normally work around this time?" She shook her head.

"Not normally. I'm... helping a friend out by being here."

"That's nice of you." John finished his coffee around the same time she did and they threw their cups into the rubbish bin at the same time. With the caffeine now starting to flow through his system, John was able to give her a genuine smile before leaving the room and starting his shift.

The next few hours passed uneventfully and John was back in his bed, sound asleep by noon. His sleep was dreamless and when he opened his eyes he woke up to a silent flat. After a substandard breakfast of coffee and toast, John returned to St. Bart's to work the shift that was actually his. He wouldn't complain, because he supposed there were worse ways to spend Christmas than working two shifts in a hospital so his colleagues could spend time with their families. For instance, he could be at home spending time with his family, which would mean him mediating trivial arguments between his parents and sister Harriet, because she'd rather be called 'Harry' and their parents were having none of that.

There was a new receptionist for John to greet, and there had been no one in the break room when he'd gone in. He didn't grab a cup of coffee, because he'd already had three cups that day, but he did grab an apple from the basket sitting beside the coffee maker. Just as he was taking a large and rather unattractive bite of the red delicious fruit, he looked up and saw the pathologist girl from earlier walk into the room, looking a bit more flustered than when John had seen her before.

"Oh, hello again," she said when she saw him. Because his mouth was still full, all John could do was smile and wave. The young woman opened her mouth and appeared to be about to speak, but was cut off by a loud, booming voice bellowing from somewhere outside the room.

"Molly!" The pathologist girl turned her head to look out the door, then turned back to John with a strained smile on her face.

"That's my cue." John nodded his head in her direction, and Molly scurried away. For some reason, John didn't think he'd ever forget her name again.

___________________________

The main difference between working on Christmas and working on New Year's was the busyness of the day. While Christmas had been rather placid, New Year's Day was quite the opposite. Every year at New Year's there was copious amounts of drinking, and as a result there were an immeasurable amount of alcohol-related injuries, including, but not limited to, those caused by car accidents and bar fights. John had spent the entirety of his shift running from patient to patient and writing prescription after prescription, all while trying to solve a dispute between his parents and his sister through a series of phone calls. By the time the end of his shift came John couldn't have been more relieved to go. He did one final round of checkups on his patients before the next doctor took over, filled out some last bits of paperwork, and was out the door at around ten pm.

With his hands shoved into his pockets John roamed the streets of London, trying to decide if he should make a quick stop to the 24 hour grocery store that was near his flat before officially heading in for the night. John liked to keep his kitchen fully stocked for experimenting, which he tended to do quite often in his spare time, and would probably spend all of tomorrow doing. John was still trying to decide when he came across another person on the pavement, a tall, dark stranger in a tattered trench coat staggering towards him.

"Excuse me sir, are you alright?" He received no response from the man other than a guttural groan, and it was then that John realized something was seriously wrong. He cautiously approached the man and placed his hands on his arms to steady him. Just one look at his handsome face and John could tell this man was under the influence of something, but he couldn't be sure of what without the proper tests. Still, it was obvious that he needed help, and John Watson always helped those in need. Not only was it his job to do so, but it was just who he was.

"Come on," he said, "let's get you to the hospital."

"No!" the man shouted, wrenching free of John's grasp. He tried to get away but John grabbed a hold of his coat and pulled him back. "Let go of me!"

"No." John said as forcefully as he could. "You need help."

"I don't need anything," the man predicated, trying once more to free himself. However, John was prepared for it and managed to hold on. "If you don't let go of me now I'll-"

"You'll what? Whatever you do if I do let you go can't be better. Who knows what kind of trouble you could get yourself into while in this state?"

"Why does it matter to you what happens to me?"

"Because..." John searched for an answer to the stranger's question but was unable to find one. "Because I just do. Now let's get you to St. Bart's."

"I can't!" John looked into the man's eyes, and when he saw the genuine fear on his features he felt his stomach drop. There was no way he could get this man to willingly go to St. Bart's, that much was clear. Still, he argued with the strung-out stranger and after a good few minutes it was somehow decided that the stranger would come with John to his house where he could at least be monitored until he was lucid.

John wasn't too keen on inviting a complete stranger into his home, but it was the only way to appease the man and keep his conscience clear. As soon as they'd gotten inside the man paced throughout John's living room for an hour straight, then threw himself onto John's couch and didn't move or speak for the next few hours. When he did speak it was only to ask where the restroom was, and after his quick trip to the loo the man returned to John's couch, closing his eyes and and steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

"So tell me, how long have you had a cooking obsession?" he asked after several elongated minutes of silence. John stilled in his current action of flipping through a cook book and glanced up at the man lying on his couch.

"Pardon?" The stranger sighed heavily, then pushed himself up so he was sitting cross-legged on John's sofa, blue-grey eyes staring intently at him.

"I've noticed you have many medical journals and magazines scattered around your flat, as well as a medicine cabinet full of medications that most common folk wouldn't own. I'm judging that from the direction you were walking that when we met on the street you were leaving St. Bart's. Am I correct so far?"

"Quite so." The man was now quite animated and was pacing once more, talking rapidly and slurring his words a bit, as if his mouth couldn't keep up with what his brain was telling it to say.

"Right, so, it's safe to assume you are a doctor. And yet, you have a substantial amount of cookbooks on display in your flat and from what I can see here..." the man had paused in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, "you have a very well stocked kitchen that has seen quite a lot of use. Now it would be safe to assume cooking is just a hobby of yours, but that isn't the only possibility. Perhaps the medical stuff is the hobby and the cooking is the profession. Though looking at you now I can tell I was right the first time, and you are in fact a doctor with a cooking obsession."

"Well I wouldn't call it an obsession..." John muttered, tossing the book he'd been holding onto the coffee table in front of him. The strange man smirked, and his cool eyes lit up, and for a moment John forgot that this was a man he had only met today, and not known his entire life, for in that moment he felt as if he'd seen that smile a million times, and hoped to see it a million more. Content to see that the stranger had returned to a lucid state, but not yet willing to part ways, John offered for him to spend the night if he'd like. The offer was accepted almost as soon as it had been made.

"I don't suppose you would be open to us sharing a bed?" John nearly dropped the magazine he had picked up and coughed. When he looked to the stranger and saw the teasing smirk on his face, his body tensed.

"Um-"

"Relax, I'm kidding. The sofa is fine." John nodded his head, then went to his room to retrieve a blanket and extra pillow. He sat in his armchair and watched silently as the stranger struggled to find a comfortable position in which to sleep. When an hour had passed and he hadn't stirred, John figured the stranger had fallen asleep, and so decided that it would be right for himself to so the same. If he were to be violently murdered that night by the man who could have been pretending to be sleeping on his couch, so be it. It wasn't like he had much to leave behind anyway, and at least it could be said that he died trying to help a stranger, quite an honorable death in his opinion. That was the last thought to cross John's mind before he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

When he awoke he next morning, only somewhat glad to actually have woken up, the stranger was gone and the flat looked exactly as it always had, save for a folded blanket resting atop a pillow on the floor in front of John's bedroom door. It was almost as if the stranger had never been there, but John knew that wasn't true. Though he hadn't left any evidence of his existence in John's flat, he'd made quite the impression on John's memory.

_____________________________________________________________________________

I know this chapter wasn't very interesting but it'll get better, I promise. Thanks for reading so far. :)