Human (Johnlock)

Remember Me?

4 months later

By the time April rolled around John had nearly forgotten about the strange man he'd let sleep in his living room on New Year's. He had other things to focus on, like his demanding career, blossoming friendship with Molly the pathologist, and budding relationship with former appendectomy patient Mary Morstan.

John had been assigned to be her doctor for the duration of her stay at St. Bart's, and sparks had flown from the moment he walked into her room and saw her lying in the hospital bed, short blonde hair perfectly coiffed and beautiful green eyes showing no signs of pain, though John knew it must've been excrutiating. John had been instantly smitten, and apparently so had she. They'd been the centre of the hospital gossip for weeks, and when they'd gone on their first date it was all anyone talked about for an entire week afterwards. John hadn't minded though, for it had been a fantastic date. He hadn't been able to keep the smile off of his face when he told Molly about it, and she had been smiling just as big.

"I'm so happy for you," she said. "You're a really nice guy, and you deserve someone like Mary." John wasn't sure what to say in response, so he settled for taking a sip of the coffee he held in his hand. Molly walked around him to throw her cup away and continued to smile at him.

"Have you arranged to meet again?" John nodded his head.

"We're going to see a movie this weekend." Molly smiled and nodded her head, and John tilted his head remembering something Molly had said about a month ago. "Why don't we double date? You can bring that guy you're always talking about." Instantly Molly's face turned right red and she stammered out a negatory sentence.

"Oh, I- I'm not dating him." John saw the look on her face and figured it would be best not to pry, so he quaffed the remainder of his coffee and tossed the cup into the rubbish bin beside him.

"Pity," he said, turning around and backing towards the door. "You should still ask him. You deserve to be as happy as I am." He turned around, nearly bumping into someone who had been standing just outside the door.

"Sorry," he said, not looking up. He shuffled out of the room before turning back to face Molly, ignoring the tall stranger whose back was turned towards him. "I'll see you later Molly!"

"Okay Doctor Watson!"

"I keep telling you, call me John." He gave Molly one last smile before turning and strolling down the hall.

____

They'd been dating for about three months when Mary was diagnosed with a severe case of endometrial cancer, and because Mary didn't come from a wealthy family, she couldn't afford the hysterectomy that would prevent the cancer from spreading to her lungs like the doctors predicted it would. If it weren't for John's becoming a part-time paramedic, there was a big possibility that Mary wouldn't have made it to their one year anniversary. He used the extra money he made to pay for Mary's life-saving operation, and he got to ride in the front of an ambulance, something he'd always wanted to do.

There was just something about the rush of adrenaline he got while the ambulance sped to the rescue, and the action that occurred right then and there that John had come to love during his short career as a paramedic. Most people would find blaring sirens to be rather abrasive, but the sound was music to John's ears as he and his partner sped down the road to the crime scene.

"Are we almost there?" he shouted to his partner Mike, who nodded his head, eyes trained on the road as he drove, weaving through traffic.

"Should be there in less than a minute," he said. John took in a deep breath and readied himself. When the vehicle came to a stop John and Mike both sprang into action, grabbing what they needed and rushing to the crime scene. It was an attempted murder-suicide apparently.

The hotel was far from five star. The wallpaper was beginning to crack and he hallways stank of mildew, and the carpet was faded. John couldn't imagine why anyone would pay to stay here, but then again he'd never known what it was like to be desperate and broke, two criteria he was sure had to be met for one to even consider lodging in this dump of a hotel.

When John entered the room in which everything had taken place he saw two bodies laying on the floor, a man and a woman, both lying in pools of blood. The man seemed to be completely lifeless but the woman was still alive. As John got closer to her he saw that it was only barely, and it was obvious she wouldn't be alive for much longer. Her face and neck were covered in bruises, and the entire front other shirt was soaked in blood. Her eyes were half closed and already beginning to cloud over. John crouched beside her and brushed her strawberry blonde hair from her face and began the necessary protocols for treating stab wounds, which this woman had a substantial amount of. Though he knew this woman would no doubt be dead in minutes, he continued to speak words of encouragement to her as he worked, while Mike checked for any signs of life in the man. As John had expected, there were none. He continued to work on the woman while Mike retreated to the ambulance, for what John didn't know.

The woman began coughing and her eyes grew wide. She raised a hand and threw it outwards, eyes focused on a door at the other side of the room. John stared down at her, confused, and she mouthed 'sorry' before her eyelids fluttered shut and she stopped breathing. With a sigh, John stood and shook his head. Mike reappeared and put a hand on his shoulder.

"So we lost them both," he said, shrugging. "It happens. The police are almost here, and I guess they'll want the bodies to remain undisturbed, so I suppose we can leave now."

"Erm, actually..." John said, remembering what the woman had done in her final moments. "I think I should stay. I need to talk to the police about something she...did before she died."

"Oh, very well then. I'll wait here with you." John gave him a small smile and the two men walked outside. A small crowd of people had gathered, and one police car had already shown up. A young woman with curly black hair and tanned skin came up to them, wearing a scowl on her face.

"I suppose you two are the paramedics," she said. John and Mike both nodded their heads and she took in a breath. Before she could say anything, however, an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair approached them, a subdued look on his face.

"This appears to be another Red Rum case," he said to the woman. "I've called Sherlock. This kind of stuff is right up his alley. He should be here momentarily." His eyes met John's and he tilted his head. "Not to be rude or anything, but, who are you?"

"We were the paramedics called to the scene. John here was the last one to see the woman alive and he'd like to speak with you."

"Oh really?"

"Um, yeah," John stammered. "She might have given me some information that could be of use to you."

"Ah, very well then. You can just speak to Sherlock when he gets here. I've got to go talk to the..." John didn't hear the rest of his sentence because he'd started walking off, the woman trailing behind him. John turned to look at Mike, who seemed to be nearly bursting with excitement.

"What?"

"Didn't you hear? Sherlock Holmes is going to be here! Oh, I've heard so much about him."

"Who?"

"Sherlock Holmes. He's an up and coming detective with a lot of potential. He's been really active for around six months, and they say he's got a bright future ahead of him. I'm surprised you haven't heard of him yet." John nodded and kicked at the ground with his shoe. He and Mike waited in silence until a cab pulled up to the crime scene and everyone's attention turned towards it. This Sherlock guy was some sort of celebrity in the forensic world, it seemed. John watched as a figure emerged, and his breath hitched in his throat when he got a good look at the man who exited the vehicle. Those eyes, that hair and trench coat... though the Belstaff he wore now was much nicer than the one he'd had previously. This was the mystery man he'd met over four months ago on that dreary New Year's Eve.

He took a look around at everyone, and when his eyes met John's all time seemed to stand still. John waited for some sort of acknowledgment, but none came. The man simply looked him up and down before strolling over to were the police officers were standing.

"That's him," Mike gushed, pointing at the man. "That's Sherlock Holmes."

John watched in awe as the man whose name he now knew to be Sherlock conversed with the brown eyed man and the curly haired woman, and held his breath when the man pointed in his direction. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, then walked over to where John was standing.

"So Lestrade tells me you might have some useful information." His voice was as smooth and dulcet as ever, perhaps even more so than John remembered.

"Yes," John said, pleased with how normal his own voice sounded. "While I was trying to save her she pointed to a door on the other side of the room, and mouthed sorry. I don't know if that really means anything but I figured I'd tell someone."

"Yes, of course," Sherlock replied, staring vacantly into the distance. John bit his lip and sighed, thinking that he'd just made a fool of himself by thinking he could help with something like this. Then Sherlock's eyes widened and he let out an exultant sound, clapping his hands together and smiling.

"Oh this is perfect!" He turned around to shout at who John guessed was Lestrade. "I need to see the room. I need to see the closet!" He darted off towards the entrance to the building, and John turned to Mike.

"I guess we're free to go." Just then Sherlock reappeared and stood directly in front of John.

"Feel free to stick around. Your assistance may still be required." He gave John a pointed look, then turned and dashed into the building. John turned to Mike and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Who knows how long this may take. You can go back to the hospital and I'll just take a cab or something."

"I wouldn't dare leave you here. What makes you think I'd want to get away from all this excitement?" They shared a laugh, then headed towards the ambulance to escape the cold. They waited for all of ten minutes before Sherlock and everyone else came out of the building, and John could see Sherlock's lips moving rapidly while he gesticulated, and everyone around him seemed to be hanging on his every word. He just seemed to be the sort of person who commanded all of your attention; He certainly had all of John's.

After several more moments the crowd began to disperse, and John wondered if he and Mike were meant to leave as well. He hoped not, he wanted desperately to get a word with Sherlock, and ask if he remembered him. He couldn't have forgotten him, could he? If he had, what had that look meant?

"Where is that paramedic?" he heard Sherlock's orotund voice shout from somewhere nearby. "I need to have a word with that paramedic again!" John and Mike shared a look before he opened the door and hopped out.

"If you want to leave you can," he said before closing the door. Mike seemed to be arguing with himself, so John gave him a sincere smile. "Really. I have my wallet with me and can get a cab. You need to be at work." Mike sighed and nodded his head. He buckled his seat belt and pulled away as John tottered over to Sherlock. He waited for him with his hands clasped behind his back, cold eyes trained on his face. There was no indication that he recognized John, and he could feel his heart sinking at the thought. Still, he put on a brave face and managed to meet Sherlock's firm gaze as he stood in front of him.

"You wanted to speak to me?" Sherlock glanced down and busied himself with dusting invisible lint from his person.

"Yes, I did. You see Doctor Watson, I never got the chance to thank you."

"Oh, it was no-"

"No, I mean thank you. For everything." John scrunched his face up, struggling to comprehend Sherlock's words and when the realization finally hit him it came with full force, and it took all his willpower to keep a straight face while he replied.

"You're welcome."

"I suppose you understand now why I couldn't go to St. Bart's."

"I do completely." Sherlock gave a curt nod, then stared at something past John's head. "Your secret is safe with me," John added, bringing Sherlock's attention back to himself. His lips stretched into a friendly smile and he took a step closer to Sherlock. "As long as you don't tell anyone about the cooking." A smile slowly made its way onto Sherlock's face, and John felt a strange sense of pride at being the one to have put it there. Sherlock held out a gloved hand, which John took and gave a firm shake.

"Deal." There was a brief moment of silence that passed between them, with neither of them saying a word and staring into the other's eyes, hoping the man in front of them would speak first. At least, that's what John was doing. Sherlock was the first to speak, though what he said was far from what John had been hoping to hear.

"Well, farewell Doctor Watson." He turned and left, climbing into a cab that had been waiting for him and disappearing into the night. John stood with his hand still outstretched, eyes locked on where Sherlock's had been, mouth open and ready to speak, but no sound was made. Instead, John hailed a cab of his own and ventured back to the hospital, staring out the window at the other cars they passed, wondering if Sherlock was in any of the other cabs on the road, wondering if he had just seen Sherlock Holmes for the last time, and hoping desperately that he hadn't.