"Did somebody call for a medic?"
She was John's best friend, a bubbly energetic and slightly sarcastic combat medic who had a taste for adventure and Sherlock Holmes was absolutely in awe...
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The door stood so welcomingly in front of her, sheened in a black gloss that allowed it to wink over her as the light glimmered across it and she stood silent for the longest moment. Just on the other side lived the person she had closest to family; Doctor John Watson. He knew she was coming, they had planned it in letters and phone calls yet standing there, in the bustling streets of London with the prospect of actually knocking to enter struck nerves through her.
After a final gulp of stiff London air, she knocked briskly and then allowed her arms to drop weakly, brushing against the splattered camo of her uniform- She hoped that this could be home, that somehow 221B Baker Street would become the place she longed for when she was away, just as it now did for John. And when the door opened, she remembered that home wasn't about the place... But the people.
"Did somebody call for a medic?" she grinned, teeth glinting in the fading light that shimmered from the entrance hall, illuminating the short frame of the doctor on the threshold. "Hey Doc" she smiled, stepping up to hug him and he laughed in pride as he grabbed her tightly in his arms, shimmying them from side to side as he rocked slightly on his feet. He was slightly shorter than her, she was glad to find that that was the same.
"Welcome Home Marnie" he breathed and to somebody who had never had much of a home- those words were everything she could have dreamt of. In the arms of her unofficial older brother, the worries and terrors of the war finally lay silent in her mind, if only for a moment and her crisis-junkie, workaholic mind took a breath of comfort. Home. "How was Afghanistan?" he lapsed into comfortable chatter easily because that had always been their way, months apart seeled by a single hug. She found herself easily stepping into the hallway as if she had been there many times before and shortly, Marnie was swallowed into the warmth of the house.
"Dusty" she winked easily, allowing John to take the large bag from her shoulders and he seemed to flail with it slightly, like an outbalanced toddler, having forgotten the weight of such things. A stream of laughter swept through Marnie's lips at the sight. He was accustomed to a civilised life now, reintegrated into society once more with his sweaters and smiles... Marnie was far from there yet, feeling exposed without a gun to hand and ready to jump into action at the drop of a hat- she would get there eventually, breathe easy, she was sure of it.
"I forgot how heavy these things were" John chuckled, seeming slightly reminiscent, sad maybe and Marnie could understand that- she didn't know if or when she'd go out on another tour, perhaps her next would just be a humanitarian tour, she'd been on them before. But already, she missed the hyperactivity and adrenaline. She knew for certain, at least, that the British army hadn't seen the last of her yet. "Anyway" he coughed awkwardly, pulling himself from whatever memory was floating around between his ears. "Mrs Hudson!" he called briskly. "She's the landlady, lovely lady, more than happy to rent you out a room." he swept briskly but the conversation with cut off rather quickly.
From around the corner of the stairs, a short lady emerged, flapping her arms as she excitably proceeded forward, her hair a coppery, fading grey nest atop her head and her face friendly as she took in the people in her hallway.
