His Doctor~

Chapter 7

Hey guys! This chapter is about how Sherlock and Jo-Ann met :D

Its told in Jo-Ann's POV. The next chapter will be the same flashback, but from Sherlock's POV :D

Enjoy and please review!

Chapter 7

Everything was dull.

At least that's the way it seemed to me. Doctor Jo-Ann Watson is the name, and this is the story of how my life truly began.

My life was in shambles. I had just been sent home from Afghanistan due to my... hindrance. I was shot, you see... I knew I was shot in the shoulder, and I knew I would recover. But they sent me home far too early.

I had a lot left in me.

But they sent me home anyway... saying I was "unfit for combat or service as a doctor." It burned. The war was my life; it told me that I had purpose... that I could do something for this world. But because of that bloody shoulder, my life of adrenaline and excitement was over. If I was going to be sent home for an injury, I wanted it to show.

So I made myself think I was shot in the leg.

I walked around with a cane, to show that I truly couldn't serve in the war anymore. After a little while, it even began to hurt... like I was really shot there. When people asked me about my cane or limp, I could tell them stories about the war. When I woke up in the morning, my leg hurt, constantly reminding me of the war.

But then it began to backfire.

The pain was in my mind, the limp was in my mind... but it all felt so real. Instead of being reminded of the times I enjoyed in the war, I was reminded that I couldn't serve anymore. I told myself I was useless... a troublesome woman that needed help up the stairs. People didn't care how I got my injury... I was just the injured gazelle that would be killed by the lion eventually. That damn leg... I was shot in the leg... right?

Everyday became dull and lifeless.

I woke up every morning trying to forget the nightmares I had the night before. I would visit my therapist that Harry so suggested I visit... that was the last time I took her advice. The therapy did nothing... all my therapist suggested was writing a blog about my life... but nothing ever happened to me.

But I kept going, hoping she would say something that I needed to hear.

I decided on one faithful day to just walk through London... weather to look for something or to make my leg suffer more I didn't know. But I found something, or someone, that led me to the biggest change of my life. I ran into Mike Stamford.

He caught my attention, recognizing me from college believe it or not. When we were classmates, he was like a brother to me. We would play pranks on piers and teachers alike, study and party together, and keep each other in check. He was the one who was most surprised when I told him I was going to be an army doctor. I may have been recognizable from college but he certainly wasn't. He gained a considerable amount of weight; he had brown short hair and a pair of glasses. Overall, he looked like a jolly ol' man with an amazing sense of optimism. He offered me a coffee to catch up, and we sat in a park in central London.

It pained me to tell him I was shot, to say I was out of the war. I snapped at him once, as I tended to be snappy those days, and tried to calm my shaking left hand. He noticed, and stopped asking me about the war.

We talked about our living conditions, and I told him how I was looking for a flatmate... someone to split the bills with and that sort of thing. Stamford said it would be easy for me to find one, with how many female students were looking for flats out of college.