All I Ask Of You (Johnlock/Phantom Of The Opera)

1.2

"Another successful surgery, boys," the head surgeon for the past 19 years, Anderson, told his assistants. "Of course, I did most of the heavy lifting."

All of the assistants rolled their eyes. Anderson was definitely arrogant, no one could deny that, but he was a brilliant surgeon.

John stood in the corner of the room, perfectly happy with not being in the spotlight. His best friend, Molly, approached him. "What an arse."

John chuckled. "You got that right, Hooper."

Anderson continued. "Also, if I have one suggestion, it's that you boys..." He droned on for a while, but Molly and John weren't actually listening until Anderson said, "John, you were the wor-"

He was cut short by the light bulb directly above him bursting into a waterfall of sparks and heat. Embers fell directly on his head and everyone in the room heard the small sears as they made contact with his skin, undoubtedly burning him. All the lights in the room began to flicker madly and Anderson's tray of surgical tools clattered to the floor, most of them breaking or denting.

When the lights finally stopped flickering and the room was silent, Anderson emitted a low growl. "This fucking hospital! These things happen all the time! And only to me, God, never to any of you babbling idiots! For the past three years these things happen! And, with God my witness, if these things keep happening," he spat furiously. "This thing," he pointed at himself. "DOES. NOT. HAPPEN!" He stormed out of the room, only stopping to shout back into the room, "I QUIT!"

And he was gone.

Within two minutes, the owners of the hospital were already bursting into the room. The assistants were still silent, not entirely sure what just happened. "Well," one of the owners, the shorter one, began. "We've got a list of patients scheduled for surgery with Anderson a mile long, and no new head surgeon to replace him."

"John Watson could do it, sir." Molly's voice was small, but strong.

"The assistant boy?" the owner scoffed.

Molly raised her voice slightly. "He trained here."

The taller of the two owners gestured for John to come to him. "Watson, eh? Any relation to the neurosurgeon?"

John nodded, afraid to make eye contact. "My mother, sir."

"Let him perform the surgeries." Everyone whipped around to see the source of the voice. It was Mrs. Hudson, the one who had trained most of the assistants. "He has been well taught."

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John had just escaped to the break room when Molly Hooper entered. "That was truly brilliant, John."

He chuckled softly. "Thanks." He stared out the window, his mind nowhere near his job. John thought he could hear something ever so quietly. Violin music, he thought to himself, his eyes narrowing as he focused on a shadow behind a nearby tree.

"John?" Molly placed her hand on his shoulder. "Your face, John, it's white."

John snapped back to reality. "Sorry, bit...distracted."

Molly took his hand. "Your hands are cold! John, what's wrong?"

He paused for a moment. "Mother once told me of...well, she called him an angel. I used to have dreams about him. Now I...I see him. Well, no, I don't see him. I hear him. Playing the violin. He plays this...this melody, wherever I go..."

"John, you must be exhausted. Stories like that can't come true," Molly said softly, smoothing his hair reassuringly.

"He's here," John whispered, listening intently for the music.

Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door and entered. "Molly Hooper, get back to work." Molly nodded and scurried away. "Mr. Watson, I was asked to give you this," she said softly as she handed him a letter. His name was written on the front in neat curly handwriting. "You are a very talented surgeon, John." And with that, she left.

John opened the letter.

A blue scarf. The basement. Little Lotte.

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(618 words)

k this story is kind of trash but I refuse to give up on it so sorry if it sucks but PHANTOM!LOCK

Samantha xoxo