Please Be John

Chapter Three

     A month had passed by and Sherlock sat silently in his Military History class only half awake.        

          "I've gotten your replies back from your pen pals, they're on my desk. Come get them on your way out. You're dismissed." The Professor announced, Sherlock sprang up and gathered his things. Quickly dashing down the steps he went to the desk, shuffling through the envelopes to find the one that said, "Sherlock Holmes". Once he found it, he stuffed it in his inner coat pocket and went out into the cold. Snow came down lightly, school would be off for holidays.          

         Upon arriving at his flat he was greeted by his dorm-mate. "Hello Sherlock, going home for the holidays?" The young man asked.

    Sherlock was not fond of his roommate in the least. He was a petite man with long blond hair. He had enough street smarts but not academics. If he actually studied, Sherlock thought, maybe he'd pass a class or two. He often brought drunken girls home after parties and shagged them, never to speak to them again. Sherlock found this rude. Also quite odd. The two men didn't care for one another but did respect each other in some senses. His name was Wilson, well his last name was. Sherlock had never bothered to learn his first name. It was Wade, or Wayne, or something like that. He never really paid attention to what the woman cried out during climax.

              "Sadly, yes." Sherlock replied, setting down his bag and taking off his coat and scarf. He hung them by the door and sat at their shared desk. "Mycroft is making me come with him to see our Mother." He held the letter in his hand, gently rubbing the yellowish worn out paper. It was obvious that this parchment was nowhere near new, but it was freshly opened from its package. John Watson was right handed, he could tell by how his name was written on the front. He was also a doctor, he could tell by how quickly it was written. Prescriptions must always be written quickly.

              "What d'ye got there?" Wilson asked, striding over to the curly haired man.

      "Nothing, just a letter from a pen pal." He replied, setting it on the desk and heaving himself from his chair.     

                 "Oh really? Can ye do the ting where ye can just look and know?"       

    "Deduce?" Sherlock asked, not completely sure if that's what he meant.

               "Yeah! That!" He grinned. "Can ye deduce from the letter?"    

                 "John Watson is a doctor, he is right-handed, has an injury in his left shoulder, he was rather rushed to write my name- if not the entire letter. I haven't read it yet." He said entirely too fast for Wilson to understand. "Didn't catch a word of that, did you?"

              "Nope." Wilson grinned slightly, chuckling. The detective smiled slightly and shook his head, sitting down in his seat. He picked up the letter and carefully ripped it open. He unfolded the parchment ever so carefully, actually happy to read it.

             "Dear Sherlock, I'm actually quite glad you wrote to me. No one has written to me since I've left. Since you were very kind to tell me about yourself I might as well tell you about me. I'm a doctor, I studied in University for eight years. I've got myself a sister who raised me from the time I was eight until I was twenty. I've been in service for four years as well. I don't really play any instruments, I played a bit of clarinet in elementary. Haha. I apologize for being such a tedious assignment, I hope we do get along.

                                        Sincerely, John H. Watson."

             Inside the envelope was a picture of John. He was a short man, whom appeared to be a bit stouty. He was actually just muscle, he just thought he was fat. He held an AK-17 and a huge backpack on his back. Sure enough that was where he kept all his medical supplies. Sherlock could tell by the different amounts of dirt on the boots that he had a limp. His face and expression closely resembled a hedgehog. It was rather cute.