thecapitol | [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

"Okay," Howard says quietly, rubbing one skinny wrist in his palm. He keeps looking at the table, looking as if he doesn't want to actually talk about it. He changes the subject. "Why medicine?"

"My grandfather was an army doctor, like me. He had all these old anatomy books in his house in the country that I wasn't supposed to touch. And later, I suppose, I liked the idea of being able to help." He smiled. "Most doctors are a bit like that, I think. Need to feel like they can actually do something useful."

"I kind of just assumed the money and the fancy cars were a chick magnet." Howard looks back up, grateful that the conversational bait and switch worked, and grins. "On that note, are you and Sherlock like..."

He leans on his elbows and pokes the tips of his index fingers together.

"Not... really what you get as an army doctor," John laughed. "It's definitely not a career choice if you want money. And no, we're friends, but I appreciate the subtle hand gesture."

"Ah." Howard has a confusing expression on his face, somewhere between relieved and disappointed. "Well, that's okay, I guess. I wouldn't judge if you were. Okay, maybe a little."

He makes a hand gesture for that, too.

"A lot of people assume we're together," he said with a shrug, as if it had never bothered him. It had, once, but somewhere along the way he'd mellowed out to the idea, and it just became warm, comforting evidence that the friendship they'd stumbled on was something intensely special. "Probably comes from the way we argue like we're married, but trust me, you would too if you lived with him."

"I wouldn't," Howard says quickly. "Live with him, that is. I'd probably end up smothering him in his sleep. He does sleep, right?"

"Damned if I know," he laughed, his face creasing up. "No, he does, just- not often, and not for long enough, and definitely not when I wish he would. Like 3am, when he decides it's time for violin practice."

"It's weird to be awake at 3am?" Howard asks, and then waits a moment too long to laugh like it was always intended as a joke. "Hey, Dr. John, you got any tips for that, by the way?"

"Theoretically, yeah. But I'm not so good at sleeping myself lately. Are you having trouble?" he asked, carefully.

"I have for a few years, just a little bit more lately." As if it has nothing to do with the fear and torture and starvation. As if they don't have this common ground. "But if your advice doesn't really work then you don't have to worry about it."

"Depends on what your trouble is. I can generally get to sleep, I just can't stay asleep," he offered. "There's a lot more I can suggest if it's getting to sleep you're having problems with."

"It's both, but mostly getting to sleep. I've tried like, the counting sheep and an hour without electronics and warm milk stuff before bed and it doesn't really work." He shrugs again.

"How's your sleep hygiene?" he asked, remembering the first time they'd met. Howard hadn't been staying in the tribute tower, if he remembered correctly. "That's about what else you do in the place you try and sleep. Only using your bed for lying on when you want to sleep, for example, rather than sitting up in it to read or whatever else."

"Ah." Howard pauses for a moment, picking at the nuts left on the table, not sure how to tell John that it's only recently that he's been able to sleep in his bed again, that he still spends more nights than he doesn't sleeping in alleys or under cars or behind trash cans. "I don't really sleep in my bed much. There's someone who tried to kill me in my suite - two someones, now - and I just...can't. Usually."

John nodded, thoughtfully. "I'd offer a room swap, but I don't think you're on the best of terms with some of my room mates, either," he mused out loud, thinking of Aunamee's broad, welcoming smile. He wasn't particularly fond of it. "What if you brought it up with your mentor, or your escort? I'm not really sure which of them covers what, to be honest, but one of them might be able to arrange for something to make you a little safer in your room?"

"You're in Seven, right?" The blood seems to go out of Howard's face a bit. "Yeah. I don't want to be in Seven. My Escort doesn't get it, she thinks what happens in the Arena stays in the Arena, and they haven't replaced my Mentor yet after the last one quit."

He folds one hand over the other on the table. "I'm okay sleeping outside my room, though. It's okay. I'm used to it."

"Seven, yeah," he agreed, thoughtfully. Though, of course, both he and Sherlock were spending more time out of their suites than not, recently. "Well, as long as you are comfortable. Maybe they'd let you pay for a hotel room? They've got to have some in this city."

"I'm out of money. I didn't kill anyone last Arena so I only had my credit limit, and I spent it on stuff for my girlfriend." His cheeks flush a little.

John chuckled, amused but amicably so, his eyes bright. "Girlfriend? Now I see why you get me to buy the coffee."

"I don't get you to buy the coffee. I just don't say no when you offer it." He gets up and takes John's empty cup and the wrappers. "You don't have to get up, I got it. And yeah, Eponine Thenardier. We met after my first Arena. She's..."

He blushes ever harder, clearly twitterpated.

He smiled, quietly grateful for Howard's insistence on taking care of things.

"Beautiful, talented and kind?" he offered, filling the gap left by Howard's slide into wordless adoration.

"Yeah. And scrappy, too. And smart." He puts the cups away in the bin and returns to the table. "You ready to go? We can write up a list of my exercise routines later."

"Sounds great," he agreed, heaving himself upright out of the chair with a quiet groan. "God, I could do with some exercise myself..."

[OPEN]

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