A Study in Pink [Reader Insert]

Unexpected Greetings: The Beginning

     You were sitting in the park on a bench, fingers flying wildly across your blue flip-phone, not paying much attention to your surroundings. The reason you'd come to the park in the first place to text Detective Spencer about the latest case was because you needed limited distractions. Your ADHD brain needed limited distractions. Fewer things to deduce so that you could best find the words to explain to Spencer's pitiful little brain why the cat was responsible for the victim's death, not the poor brother.

     Suddenly you heard a  vaguely familiar sounding (yet strangely different) pair of footsteps hesitated near you, then whisked away quickly. It had to be someone who recognized you but didn't want to strike conversation. Back home, it would have been a familiar situation, but here in London?

     You finished up your text to Detective Spencer- who it should be mentioned was an officer back in Chelmsford, where you'd just been on an overseas case- quickly and looked up to see who it was that didn't want to see you.

     "John!" You exclaimed, suddenly recognizing him with a start. He kept walking, the regular thunk of his cane against the pavement ringing out. "John Watson!"

     This time, he stopped with an ill-conceived sigh, and turned to face you.

     It took you a while to catch up. Watson was your comrade while you were deployed in Afghanistan.  He explained to you everything that had happened since you were last side by side, although nothing you hadn't already deduced. You could spare enough kindness, though, to let John tell you his story. You even refrained from mentioning his psychosomatic limp, although it required much effort.

     As he talked, your ADHD screamed for you to talk about something interesting. You started paying less and less attention, much less than you should've.  And all of a sudden you were aware of an expectant silence from John.  "Uh- C- I-" you stammered, while looking for clues about John's body language to figure out what to say. "Couldn't... Harry help?"

     John laughed without humor and shook his head. "As if," he muttered, looking down. You were a bit relieved to find that your reply was acceptable, even if you had no clue what John had been saying.

     After a bit of silence, the uncomfortable feeling in the air prompted John to go on. "I... I could get a flat share, but who would want me for a flatmate?"  

   You chuckled. John gave you a confused look. "What? What is it?" he asked.

     "Well, I happen to know of someone looking for a flatmate- or, I know someone who knows someone. Apparently, he said the same thing. I hear he's quite the character."

     "What's his name?"

     You paused briefly, glancing at the ground, then up at John. "Sherlock Holmes."