Fic: It's fine (John, pre-"Sherlock")
He never really expected all that much.
He became a doctor because, let’s face it, it’s always going to be a solid job. Maybe he wanted to be able to help people, too, at least occasionally, but it was never any kind of 'calling' for him. It was just a job - first the grueling years of med school, then the even more grueling hours and weeks of work.
He doesn’t bore easily. He can do locum work for months on end without complaining. He dates occasionally - he’s not looking to be entertained or amazed, and certainly not swept off his feet, he just likes to be around somebody, make them smile, keep them warm. Mostly girls, but the occasional bloke as well. He’s not really what you’d call picky -he’s not easy, really, he just, well, seems to get along with most people he meets. People see him as inoffensive, a good guy, friendly, nice to have around. It’s a good quality for a doctor, and it means he never has to sleep alone unless he really wants to. Somehow, however, after he turned 30 it’s like he’s started to use up his supply of energy and can’t seem to get any back from the people he ends up with. So he sleeps alone now, mostly.
It’s fine. It’s not good, but it’s fine. It’s all fine.
Afghanistan was, strangely enough, more familiar to him than he would have imagined. Not the shooting, the bombs, the screaming soldiers, his own terror, not that. But the fact he ended up being quietly dependable John Watson, useful and trustworthy, but never anything more than that. Everybody’s mate, nobody’s best friend. Everybody’s comrade, nobody’s hero. He just kept on doing his job as best he could, and that was all anybody asked him to. [And he’s not disappointed. He didn’t think he was going to be a hero, or that it would be exciting, or that it would somehow, in the end, make a difference. He did not. Because he’s not the kind of guy who has those kinds of dreams.]
He did his job, like they asked him to. At least until he was shot himself. After that, they stopped asking him to do things and sent him home. If he can’t be quietly dependable, if he can’t be steadfast, useful, boring John Watson, they apparently had no use for him. He has never expected to be taken care of, so he’s not bitter about it. [He’s not.] After all, he’s nothing remarkable. Nobody has ever thought he was.
Maybe nobody is truly remarkable? People are basically the same, all of them. In real life, that is. At least in his experience. And he’s old enough to have quite a bit of experience with people. He’s rarely surprised by anyone anymore.
It’s all fine, though. He never did expect life to be exciting or thrilling or - or wonderful. Not really.
He does, however, need a new place to stay.
He became a doctor because, let’s face it, it’s always going to be a solid job. Maybe he wanted to be able to help people, too, at least occasionally, but it was never any kind of 'calling' for him. It was just a job - first the grueling years of med school, then the even more grueling hours and weeks of work.
He doesn’t bore easily. He can do locum work for months on end without complaining. He dates occasionally - he’s not looking to be entertained or amazed, and certainly not swept off his feet, he just likes to be around somebody, make them smile, keep them warm. Mostly girls, but the occasional bloke as well. He’s not really what you’d call picky -he’s not easy, really, he just, well, seems to get along with most people he meets. People see him as inoffensive, a good guy, friendly, nice to have around. It’s a good quality for a doctor, and it means he never has to sleep alone unless he really wants to. Somehow, however, after he turned 30 it’s like he’s started to use up his supply of energy and can’t seem to get any back from the people he ends up with. So he sleeps alone now, mostly.
It’s fine. It’s not good, but it’s fine. It’s all fine.
Afghanistan was, strangely enough, more familiar to him than he would have imagined. Not the shooting, the bombs, the screaming soldiers, his own terror, not that. But the fact he ended up being quietly dependable John Watson, useful and trustworthy, but never anything more than that. Everybody’s mate, nobody’s best friend. Everybody’s comrade, nobody’s hero. He just kept on doing his job as best he could, and that was all anybody asked him to. [And he’s not disappointed. He didn’t think he was going to be a hero, or that it would be exciting, or that it would somehow, in the end, make a difference. He did not. Because he’s not the kind of guy who has those kinds of dreams.]
He did his job, like they asked him to. At least until he was shot himself. After that, they stopped asking him to do things and sent him home. If he can’t be quietly dependable, if he can’t be steadfast, useful, boring John Watson, they apparently had no use for him. He has never expected to be taken care of, so he’s not bitter about it. [He’s not.] After all, he’s nothing remarkable. Nobody has ever thought he was.
Maybe nobody is truly remarkable? People are basically the same, all of them. In real life, that is. At least in his experience. And he’s old enough to have quite a bit of experience with people. He’s rarely surprised by anyone anymore.
It’s all fine, though. He never did expect life to be exciting or thrilling or - or wonderful. Not really.
He does, however, need a new place to stay.