And These Strange Steps Take Us Back
John had been at a hospital outside of London for nearly three weeks. It was time for him to go back. To go back home.
It was home wasn't it? John could feel some apprehension in returning to the life he was leading but, all in all, he missed it. He missed it enough to go back and give it another try. Talking over certain things with his nurse, Mary Morstan, had made him realise that (as odd as it sounded, that was what had happened).
He was better now. Physically, anyway. His mental and emotional well-being was still debatable but then it always had been, hadn't it?. He was doing much better than he had been nearly three weeks ago. He had "broken" but had picked himself back up again. Maybe all he had needed was some time away from all of it (and every one attached to it). "It" being his life. He had been made to question his purpose and meaningfulness in the grand scheme of things and being reminded of all he had lost in being discharged from the army had only brought it to a head. He had, in essence, been made to face what he had been avoiding ever since getting back to London and... it had not been pretty to say the least.
Every one had their breaking points, including John Watson. Facing such things and getting through them was never easy.
On the way back to the flat, as he silently watched the world pass by from the cab's window, he realised that this was his new life. Just as the army had at one point been new to him, just as going to medical school had been new to him, this life - after the army and with Sherlock - was just another new phase for him to live out. For however long he was meant to.
During his time away, he had had plenty of time to think over his return to London and Sherlock, Mycroft, Sarah, all of it. In doing so, he found that... it truly wasn't as bad as he had thought it was. But then, he hadn't exactly been in the best state of mind when he thought all those other things... Even if he felt a few of them were still true.
He really would have to apologize to Mycroft for all he had said. And thank him for handling all of John's medical bills and keeping his location quiet. He was certain if the other man hadn't then Sherlock would have showed up there.
John, now as he entered London, couldn't help but smile softly to himself at that thought. Odd how much he missed the other man. He hadn't really thought he would but he did. He honestly did. Talking to Mary about Sherlock as much as he had only made it more obvious to him. He even found himself wondering if there were any new and interesting cases to solve.
As he finally reached the flat at 221B Baker Street and got out, he remembered with a smirk that he was arriving much as he had left: dressed in nothing but his formal dress uniform, no phone, his keys to the flat in one pocket, somber attitude overall. But this time the weight he had felt all through him had... lessened. If only slightly, it was enough to make a drastic difference in his attitude. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was "rejuvenated" but he certainly did feel well-rested and, for the lack of a better phrase, renewed.
He also had Mary's number in his other pocket. That was really just a perk on top of the rest.
When he entered the flat he was first greeted by Mrs. Hudson; she was practically ecstatic to see him, hugging him and calling him "dear" over and over. After finally assuring her he was fine and was here to stay he climbed up the stairs, not sure if Sherlock was there or not (Mrs. Hudson hadn't really said).
As he entered the living room and saw Sherlock, John smiled - he couldn't help it - saying softly, warm. "Hello, Sherlock."
It was home wasn't it? John could feel some apprehension in returning to the life he was leading but, all in all, he missed it. He missed it enough to go back and give it another try. Talking over certain things with his nurse, Mary Morstan, had made him realise that (as odd as it sounded, that was what had happened).
He was better now. Physically, anyway. His mental and emotional well-being was still debatable but then it always had been, hadn't it?. He was doing much better than he had been nearly three weeks ago. He had "broken" but had picked himself back up again. Maybe all he had needed was some time away from all of it (and every one attached to it). "It" being his life. He had been made to question his purpose and meaningfulness in the grand scheme of things and being reminded of all he had lost in being discharged from the army had only brought it to a head. He had, in essence, been made to face what he had been avoiding ever since getting back to London and... it had not been pretty to say the least.
Every one had their breaking points, including John Watson. Facing such things and getting through them was never easy.
On the way back to the flat, as he silently watched the world pass by from the cab's window, he realised that this was his new life. Just as the army had at one point been new to him, just as going to medical school had been new to him, this life - after the army and with Sherlock - was just another new phase for him to live out. For however long he was meant to.
During his time away, he had had plenty of time to think over his return to London and Sherlock, Mycroft, Sarah, all of it. In doing so, he found that... it truly wasn't as bad as he had thought it was. But then, he hadn't exactly been in the best state of mind when he thought all those other things... Even if he felt a few of them were still true.
He really would have to apologize to Mycroft for all he had said. And thank him for handling all of John's medical bills and keeping his location quiet. He was certain if the other man hadn't then Sherlock would have showed up there.
John, now as he entered London, couldn't help but smile softly to himself at that thought. Odd how much he missed the other man. He hadn't really thought he would but he did. He honestly did. Talking to Mary about Sherlock as much as he had only made it more obvious to him. He even found himself wondering if there were any new and interesting cases to solve.
As he finally reached the flat at 221B Baker Street and got out, he remembered with a smirk that he was arriving much as he had left: dressed in nothing but his formal dress uniform, no phone, his keys to the flat in one pocket, somber attitude overall. But this time the weight he had felt all through him had... lessened. If only slightly, it was enough to make a drastic difference in his attitude. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was "rejuvenated" but he certainly did feel well-rested and, for the lack of a better phrase, renewed.
He also had Mary's number in his other pocket. That was really just a perk on top of the rest.
When he entered the flat he was first greeted by Mrs. Hudson; she was practically ecstatic to see him, hugging him and calling him "dear" over and over. After finally assuring her he was fine and was here to stay he climbed up the stairs, not sure if Sherlock was there or not (Mrs. Hudson hadn't really said).
As he entered the living room and saw Sherlock, John smiled - he couldn't help it - saying softly, warm. "Hello, Sherlock."