#🌿john watson — interactions.🌿
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@demisereborn: ❛ what are you going to do? he needs help. ❜ / mary for john
“So he always claims and yet when I come to the rescue it becomes clear that he has been fairing superbly without my assistance.” John has promised himself not to be at the beck and call of Sherlock, especially now that he was engaged to Mary. So he had a dilemma at his hands — either set his foot down and ignore Holmes’ telegram, or step all over his own promises to himself and rush to the man’s aid. “Who’s to say that he’s not being melodramatic once again?”
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That’s not exactly his point, even if he would have preferred a minimal number of casualties. Minimal being zero, of course. So John just shakes his head dismissing her lacking show of empathy — considering he was in the same boat as her, the doctor had no grounds to judge her for it. “I have seen many deaths, on and outside of the battlefield. Death is. . . it’s never easy to bear or accept.”
The commiseration out of the way, John shifts in his seat, subtly glances at the screen of Anthea’s phone — she might notice or she might not; God knows the woman barely picked took her eyes away from that screen. “But what I meant — what I was trying to say — that agent had information. Information that he agreed to share with us. Sherlock and I were supposed to meet him this evening.”
@storyuntrue asked: " oh, that is... that is bad news." / from John !
"Yes, it would seem that way, wouldn't it," the Government's assistant said, barely looking up from her phone as they rode in the car. Sensing his discomfort she sighed, lowering her phone. "It is something that you get used to after a while. I thought you of all people would understand. You saw combat, yes?" Surely he, as a doctor in the military, had seen his share of death in combat. MI5 and MI6 were no different.
She also realised she was sounding a bit like Mycroft and probably Sherlock. Unfeeling. "It is always sad when we lose an agent," she finally said. She was so used to the Holmes men and her job that she doesn't really blink at losing an agent anymore.
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@theirmadness: good boy. - from irene @ john
In stupor, John can only blink at the praise, wondering where that came from. He tries to think of what he could’ve done that would’ve merited such a comment, and after half a minute he comes short of any answer. “Okay. . .? Why am I a good boy?” Slowly, John lets the words slip out of his mouth, shifting in his place, eyes trained on Irene, trying to judge from her expression what it could be.
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@poxsonmenace: don't be boring , everyone who says that always dies . - for Watson
“Only if you kill them for saying it.” Even with tension filling his shoulders, John still couldn’t stop himself from snarking at the consulting criminal. It’s a bit like pulling on a lion’s mane and expecting it not to bite you. Then again, what is he supposed to do? Get down on his knees and plead Moriarty to spare his life? Yeah, he’d rather take a bullet to his head. “I’m quite sure, in fact, I could bet, that you’ve killed someone even if they were entertaining rather than boring.”
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@frontlincs: i can patch this up myself. / from mary (demisereb0rn) for victorian john ! ( lol sure you can )
“𝑰’𝒎 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏.” Patience and amusement mixes into his words, John still sits down beside his wife, and lays out his medical instruments. Most of them were needed to clean, suture and wrap the gash on her, so while he has all confidence in her ability, he knows from experience how unpleasant it is to stitch yourself up. “But I want to do this for you, Mary. I want to take care of you. And as your husband, I believe I should get that privilege, wouldn’t you say?”
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He tactfully gives no verbal response to the insult of his profession and person, choosing to just land a bemused look on Holmes. John can handle pain, thank you very much, he has been handling it for quite a few years. It’s the poking and prodding that causes little zaps of pain to shoot up his leg that he finds unpleasant, and unnecessary to bear, all just for the consulting detective’s amusement.
“Why would you do that?” He parrots the words, astounded as much as he was amused by the put on innocence. “Because that’s your modus operandi. Because that’s what gets you out of bed in the morning. You thrive to know more about anything and everything, no matter the cost, or pain caused.” Perhaps said pain was what made John speak in such a biting manner, a sardonic smile curled beneath his mustache. “It leaves me to wonder if you haven’t left me in such a predicament on purpose to begin with.”
The critique washed over a Holmes who, if not oblivious, was not taking particular note either. "They say doctors make the worst patients. I am inclined to think they are right. Do hold still, Watson." His aquiline features screwed in concentration, he attempted to return to his task but found that the leg in question had wandered off again. Holmes let out an impatient sound, following the trail of movement with his eyes. A familiar and this time unamused gaze met him halfway.
Responsible he certainly felt, and he was deeply invested in a good outcome here; but his medical knowledge was more commonly applied to the dead than the living, and he did not feel the need to hold his friend's proverbial hand as he sometimes did the clients. "Come now, my good fellow, would I do that?" His look traveled fast from mock hurt to a flash of genuine feeling. "When it's down to me that you're in this predicament?"
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@tcbefearless: who's afraid of little old me? / John Watson from Irene
“Many people are, men more so than women, I’m sure you know that by now.” It's an obvious, stating-the-fact tone that John takes with her, eyebrows raised and head tipped low. Some amusement is curling at the corner of his mouth, but hopefully his mustache covers that up. She must have known that the innocent act wouldn’t work on him, right? Or does she truly believe him to be the obtuse friend to the consulting detective? “Maybe even Sherlock, at certain times. Though that fear soon turns into some. . . perverse fascination, because whyever else would he constantly keep tabs on you?”
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@reverdies: 🛁 for your Watson from Holmes
A hiss sounds from behind his tightly gritted teeth, flinching away at the sting the ethanol caused to his wound. Be it his luck to injure his good leg, he also got a nurse that was more fascinated with the process of cleaning the wound rather than making sure his patient was comfortable and not in pain. “ Dear God, Holmes. When you volunteered to help me patch myself up, I did not think it meant me having to endure additional poking and prodding. ”
And considering the consulting detective was inadvertently responsible for the injuries John sustained, he thought the man would be more gentle about this approach too. He sighs, setting down a suture kit he used to patch up a knife wound in his side, and looking Sherlock straight in the eye. “ If you want run your experiments on me while cleaning my wound up, do be more careful. ”
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@frontlincs: [ seek ] sender seeks out receiver for a protective hug / from nancy for victorian john !
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒈𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆; even John, an experienced military doctor who had seen the horrors of war, wanted to turn away in disgust. So to him, it was really no wonder that it was exactly what Nancy did, turning her entire body the opposite direction of the corpse, colliding into him in her haste. John, on his own part, wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her midriff, hoping like some mad man that an embrace could shield the young woman from the terrifying sight. “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” he mutters, not really sure why, while rubbing his hand soothingly across Ms. Drew’s back. “We’re going to catch whoever did this, and they’ll get their comeuppance, trust me.”
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@demisereb0rn: i can finally breathe again. ( mary to john - victorian au ) !
A good natured chuckle emits from deep in John’s chest, taking a step back from her, but waiting nearby, should she need more help. “I don’t imagine a dress like that is very comfortable. Though you do look gorgeous in it.” Perhaps he will not admit it out loud, but at least with himself he can be honest that the moment he had seen Mary in her wedding dress, his throat had clogged up and tears welled up in his eyes from the sheer beauty of his now wife.
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TAG DROP! JOHN WATSON.
#🌿john watson — interactions.🌿#🌿john watson — appearance.🌿#🌿john watson — aesthetic.🌿#🌿john watson — headcanon.🌿#🌿john watson — inbox.🌿#🌿john watson — character study.🌿
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They leave him a bit off balanced, Sherlock’s genuine words, he doesn’t know exactly how to react. Would a hug be something that the consulting detective would appreciate? Or would it be misunderstood? There is only one way to find out the truth, but John’s not entirely sure he wants to take that path of discovery. So instead his own hand claps at Holmes’ shoulder, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “I shall try my best to incorporate it seamlessly, and organically. No praise for myself when undeserved, though. I can only hope that I will do it successfully, but we will see how it will transpire with the future stories.”
Shifting away, John returns to the task of setting the medical kit back to its rightful place, limping his way to the cabinet. “However, for that to happen, we do first need to finish a case, you know.” There is some merriness to the way he taunts Holmes, his eyes twinkling with a touch of mischief. “The audience rarely finds the unsolved stories to be that of a satisfactory nature. I’m sure that even my brilliant inputs wouldn’t help them feel otherwise.”
While he does enjoy a spot of mischief, a hint of dramatic license at times, the rare occasion of actual sentiment passing his lips is never that. It is difficult to draw from him in the first place. When it does emerge, it can only be sincere, if delivered in Holmes' particular (and peculiar) manner. He can see that Watson still suspects his motives from the slight narrowing of his eyes, an angling of the head. That is his own fault, naturally. If he were more forthcoming in such matters, it would all be much more clear to the doctor. There would be no room for vague speculation.
"Hardly, so long as you balance it well," Holmes assures him coolly. "I believe I have told you of my brother Mycroft. It is simple fact that he possesses those same faculties which you praise in your stories, in far greater quantity. There is no humility in admitting it. But it would be just as false to deny that my abilities in the art of deduction outstrip most others. Do you see? Both are disingenuous, Watson. The exact truth. Your readers deserve that, as do you." A beat, then Holmes strides over impulsively , seizing his friend by the shoulder. "They should know you are invaluable to me."
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The medical kit neatly packed and set aside, John grasps onto the arms of his chair, so he could push himself up into a standing position. The grimace on his face quickly fades into a curious smile, clear eyes searching Holmes’ features for any traces of lie or mischief. It’s a habit, to make sure that his leg is not being pulled, and that the words the consulting detective uttered were honestly meant. Of course, his success rate at spotting such things was not entirely admirable, but that didn’t deter John from trying.
“Wouldn’t that fill the stories with my own vanity, then?” A challenge to Holmes’ statement, John gives him a knowing look, snatching the medical kit from the coffee table in order to bring it back to its usual place. “Should I start boasting about my own involvement, help and expertise within these stories, don’t you think that people will start calling me a jealous fraud? Rumors would start flying, no doubt, that I’m attempting to steal your fame and intellect. No, no, Holmes, I believe it’s best to keep the stories as they are, for the sake of both our peace.”
Holmes knows he doesn't say it often enough. He couldn't possibly, as it would be a near constant distraction if he tried. But the truth is he values Watson's loyalty, his readiness to action, his bravery, and his expertise as well. He may be no genius, but possesses plenty of intelligence (if a writing tone more inclined to mawkishness than scientific enquiry) that combined with his other qualities make for an admirable human being and a marvelous friend.
But how can he bring himself to say all that? He, whose great brain supposedly chafes at sentiment like an oyster with a grain of sand. Well, perhaps if he lets it past his shell, it will become a pearl in time— perhaps it already has. "Yes, all right, Watson," he says in a tone not in fact meant to dissuade him, "no need to lay it on quite so thick." The amused sparkle in his eyes tells a different story. Of course he enjoys a bit of praise, even wrapped up in teasing. But the corners of his lips flatten at receiving his friend's full stare. He feels pinned; the unfortunate metaphor that springs to mind is one of the murderer Stapleton's butterflies. "Just this: you have often underplayed your own contributions to either 'improve' the story or to emphasize my own efforts. I abhor false humility as much as vanity. You must tell the precise truth of how much an asset Dr. John Watson is."
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Somehow getting Mary’s blessing didn’t settle John entirely, still unwilling to leave her side. Yes, the adventures were thrilling, the adrenaline providing him with a high that can hardly be found in alternative measures. But his marriage to Mary was still so fresh, so new, and so unexplored that John wanted to spend as much time as he could by his wife’s side. And a question loomed over his head anytime he was required to assist Holmes; what if he leaves and never comes back? What then?
“Why don’t you come with me?” The question slips out of his lips faster than he can think of the idea itself, his clear eyes fixing on the woman beside him. “Not for the adventure itself, mind, should there even be one. Just for the visit. It will be easier for me to deny him if it proves to be a trifle and not a serious matter.” John’s well aware that it won’t be something that Sherlock himself will enjoy in particular, but his marriage came first.
when mary married john , she knew how important his friendship to sherlock was. she could remember how angry she had been at sherlock when they first met. they hadn't been at the table for long & he was able to figure out every little detail about her & her life. while it angered her , her opinion changed when the male went undercover to check up on her fiance. it wasn't a horrible disguise but mary had been able to see right through it.
while sherlock could be reckless , it meant a lot to her that he had gone out of his way to check in on her fiance & it was a friendship that she didn't want to come in between. there were plenty of things around the house that she could do to keep herself busy for the time being. taking a breath , she nodded her head before moving over to pick up her husband's jacket & handed it to him with a soft smile. ❝ I understand my darling. just promise if there is more to this that you'll be safe okay? ❞
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They would be living in an ideal world if it would be as simple to visit Sherlock as Mary had detailed. Merely stopping by 221b Baker Street was a downright impossible task; mostly due to the fact that he’d no doubt find Holmes once again disregarding his own health. That in turn, would end up with John going on a spiel about his carelessness and reckless behavior. It’s a tune as old as time, the steps repeated so many times they were polished and memorized to the bone. So why is he still giving in, a sigh escaping from his lungs and signaling his defeat?
“Very well, I’ll stop by his place and see what it is that he wants.” His tone is weary, but mostly because the both of them knew that Mary hit the nail on the head; he was indeed missing running around London with the consulting detective, solving crimes and catching the criminals. “But you must be aware, that if there is indeed a serious issue upon which he is calling for me, that I might not return home for a day or even more. Is that alright with you?”
@demisereborn
the female let out a sigh & made her way over to her fiancé. resting her hand on the back of the seat, she looked down at the telegram in his hands, the request from his friend to come 𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝟸𝟸𝟷𝚋. she knew what the man was capable of & there were definitely times that sherlock requested for john to stop by & it turned out to be nothing.
while this could very well be one of those times, a part of her worried that perhaps he could be telling the truth this time. “ why don't you simply swing by & if he appears to be in good spirits, simply leave him be ; don't let him trick you. if you get there and there is some sort of problem, then you can help him solve it. i'm sure a part of you misses those adventures, right darling? ”
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Where Holmes abandons the task of dressing the wound properly, John steps in himself. It’s not the first time he has had to patch up his own injuries, and if he continues his friendship with the consulting detective, he is certain it won’t be the last. Not that he minds too much; the work he does on himself might be less meticulous, but it’s certainly quicker. And less painful, so he really doesn’t mind adding up the finishing touches to get himself in tip-top order.
“No we cannot; someone needs to be efficient and capable of solving the oddest of crimes.” He agrees with a lightly sardonic tone of voice and a smile to match it. The both of them were comfortable with a banter that could seem biting to an outsider, but mostly it was just good natured teasing. The next bit that comes from Holmes’ mouth piques John’s interest and a singular eyebrow rises, redirecting his full attention from wrapping the gauze around his leg to his best friend. “And whatever do you mean by that, pray tell.”
Even Holmes can sense it, the danger lurking somewhere just out of sight. He trusts Watson more than any other. But in the time they've spent together, he has also observed his friend's flaws, how they can at times collide with his own. Which is why the detective has made the effort to apologize. It's rare enough; either he's not wrong, or he relies on the patience of those who know him to brush it off. He can see why a wounded leg, which in the circumstances could have been much worse still, might be harder to dismiss.
"Good." His tone is crisp and brisk, bordering on that lack of emotion that Watson often criticizes him for; yet the sharp grey eyes following every move are not quite as clinical as usual. At times circumstances remind him that these dangerous situations put not only himself but Watson in jeopardy, and for that he does chide himself now. In an attempt to lighten things with a bit of humor, and perhaps distract Watson from his pain, he shakes his head, clicks his tongue and says, "I was trying to mend you. We cannot all have had medical training and first-hand experience in Afghanistan. Have I ever told you that you do yourself a disservice in your chronicling of our adventures?"
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