[OPEN]

Who| John Watson and OPEN
What| John's been having a lot of trouble sleeping and settling since waking up in the Capitol, and so is doing a lot of wandering for wandering's sake, catching up with friends (or at least people who haven't murdered him) ~~and going on adorable coffee-dates with Effie~~ Basically this is here to catch all
Where| Wandering around the capitol
When| Any time after his death, just let me know when you want to set things in the title of your reply pls
Warnings/Notes| Possible mentions of PTSD?

Death, John decided, was something no-one should have to live through. Where being shot and being absolutely certain he was going to die had been terrible, and had taken months of physical and psychological rehabilitation, dying and being brought back in a perfectly functional body was much more of a disorientating disconnect. He felt detached from reality.

Before Sherlock had rejoined him in the Capitol, John had spent much of his time trying to prove to himself that he was actually here, not always consciously. He walked as far as he could along the streets, visited strange little cafes and bars and hauled himself back to his suite, exhausted and burned out, hoping he'd be too tired to dream. His mood lifted a little once his friend returned, and there were a few notable people whose company he not only enjoyed but looked forward to enjoying, but the itch to get out for the sake of getting out only intensified the longer the days dragged on. There was nothing comfortable about life here, no routine he could settle into and feel like he had a handle on. The long and short of it was, he was useless here in the Capitol, and it was eating away at him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He nodded. "I arrived before the last Arena. Not much to do about it at all, it seems. Eat your greens and wait to get thrown into the next deathmatch."

"Isn't that always the way?" Then again, maybe not for him. Shepard may have been used to the seemingly endless cycle of rest, and planning, and battle; John didn't look like much for that life. He was short and had a mild face, the kind of thing you could see more on an actuary than a soldier. But then, she'd never been in the habit of underestimation. Every now and then you thought you had a wet noodle on your hands, and then...well, Mordin.

"Where you from, John?"

It...seemed like the thing to say.

He smiled. In a way, he supposed, he had lived that life before. Just not quite as literally.

"London," he said, glancing up at the sky. "London, England. I'd say I'd been settling down after being invalided out of the army, but I don't suppose anyone would call running around solving crimes with a madman who wears a bloody wool coat in all seasons 'settling down'."

"Huh. I was in London just before...All this," She gestured vaguely at the lights of the Capitol. Small world, or was it worlds? Hell, what did that even mean in this context? Maybe the ones driving this inter-dimensional craze were just that lazy, "I don't know, you settle down too much, eventually you've got to get bored. Kidnapping notwithstanding."

"Get kidnapped a lot, do you?" he chuckled, thinking about how right she was. He'd have gone mad at home without Sherlock, no doubt about it. "Can't say this is my first rodeo myself."

"Kidnapped, killed, revived. Even got cloned, once. I get around," and when you look back over all that, it really has been a crazy ride, hasn't it? "It's never boring, anyways. What makes you such a priority target?"

"Cloned. Christ, well you've got one on me," he chuckled. "I was in the army, before I got injured- but I don't think I managed to get myself kidnapped on her majesty's service, just shot. Sherlock's the one with the creative enemies. Getting in with him means getting in with them."

"Shit, that's right, they used to let people get out of army commissions for getting shot," That gets a chuckle and a grin, "Times sure have changed— I've taken enough bullets that I have a template for the paperwork. It's always seemed kind of sadistic to me; I got shot, I shouldn't have to do homework on top of it."

Well, alright, so she likes this man. He makes it easy.

"The clone was a hell of a fight, though. Kinda freaky, fighting somebody with your own face."

"Tell me about it- though I'd take paperwork over the enforced therapy to get your pension paid," John chuckled. "British army pays for supervised physical and psychological rehabilitation with a list of requirements as long as my bloody arm, and I found out exactly why doctors make the worst patients, believe me."

He paused, tilting his head slightly as he appraised Shepard. He liked her, he decided. "...Though I think I'd probably need a few sessions on the couch after fighting myself," he added. "Did she- I mean, you're here, so I assume you won?"

"I don't tend to let people who try to steal my identity live, if that's what you're asking," she hadn't thought her life would come to that, but it had felt good to kill...well...herself, "Besides, she was gonna donate my pets to charity— just, not okay."

Because between the murder, property destruction, grand theft frigate and deeply personal insults, the life of a space hamster was the most important detail.

"I did used to have an assigned therapist but— well, y'know. She was actually passing intel about me to the same people who spent most of the last year of my life trying to kill me. So, now I generally just suck it up and keep moving," or get extremely drunk in public, one or both of the two, "Kind of a long story."

"Ha. Well, no clones, but mine was passing on my personal details too, though not to someone who wanted to kill me. As far as I know."

He grinned, leaning back. He liked this woman, he decided, clone-killer or not.

"Almost makes eternal gladiatorial death matches sound relaxing, doesn't it?"

"I do like the simplicity of it; it's been a long damn time since I've had a fight with stakes this low," and she could admit that honestly. Find the next guy and stick a knife in his neck, move on, and don't worry too much about the consequences: there was something to be said for a fight where everything was bullshit, and the deaths didn't matter.

"Sounds like we've got a lot in common," What the hell ever happened to patient confidentiality? "Were you an officer, John?"

"Captain," he said, immediately- instinctively. It wasn't so strange, probably, how naturally the rank fell from his lips- it had been his life, once. A lifetime ago.

Two, if you counted life with Sherlock as the second.

"I was an army doctor, before all this, and then just a doctor, once I got shot."

"Damn, if I weren't a Spectre, I'd have to call that injustice; I only ever made Commander."

Not that it seemed to matter to anyone for whom rank might have had significance. She took a moment then, to think about it and maybe that was alright. After this long, it'd be strange not to see the block lettering 'CMMDR' appended before her name. Didn't seem right; others deserved it more. A lot of them would never see it.

"I don't think I've ever met 'just' a Doctor," it was a bit late, an awkward gap, but she pressed on as gamely as ever, "Way I see it, you've done your time, you earn the respect."

Edited 2013-07-19 04:35 (UTC)

He smiled, pleased for the recognition but not quite sure how to process it. He was, after all, a damned good doctor and not a bad shot, either- but he wasn't certain either of those things had much of a value, here.

"No Commanders in the British Army," John told her, his tone sliding into the playful, a gentle ribbing. "A Commander in the Navy's two pay grades above me, so I think your pride's safe-- and that's without me even asking about what a Spectre might be."

"Black ops," was the easy reply, almost a scoff. He seemed like a solid sort, but it was caution that made it come out as nearly a joke. Some people saw the necessity of it, and some people... If your government has to deny taking an action, did that make it a bad one? How else to explain the Spectre program to someone who lived in a world with no Citadel Council?

Maybe it didn't matter. No Council, hell, that sounded pretty damn nice, when she thought of it, "Big jobs, no rules, no budgets. It's a pain in the ass, but at least nobody can sue me. Like I said; never boring."

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