One more miracle

[nervesofsteel]

John doesn't take taxis much these days.

It had always been a little ridiculous in retrospect, the way he and Sherlock had taken London cabs everywhere. London born and bred though he might be, John had only ever stepped into one of those sleek black Fairways once or twice before meeting Sherlock. Black cabs were for tourists, toffs, and Stephen Fry. And for Sherlock Holmes, apparently, racing off on yet another adventure.

Now, John can barely look at them without flinching.

Instead, he is re-acquainting himself with the Tube - with the grime, and the press of people, and those bloody obnoxious Oyster cards that never sodding worked properly. John had had a day of it, too - a visit with Harry (never pleasant), a drink with Greg (in a faint hope of getting the Detective Inspector off his back), some very important mindless browsing to do near Picadilly in order to avoid the job interview he was supposed to be sitting in across town (his therapist would probably ask how it went, so he’d need an excuse for missing the interview by next Thursday).

At Shepard’s Bush tube station, John nudges his way through the rush hour crowd, longing for a real drink and a dreamless sleep in his new, still-bare flat. Without needing to look, he runs his Oyster card against the turnstile reader, only to have an angry beep jolt him out of his mindless march. Insufficient funds, the turnstile’s small screen informs him. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” he mutters, and tries again. The beep repeats, and John kicks the barrier with all his might.

A disgruntled line is forming behind him. John tries his card again, to no avail.

Comments

[yourprivilege]

It's not the first time she's seen him, in person or otherwise. Mary remembers faces, she remembers most things, and it would be hard to forget the face she's glimpsed here and there in papers or on the news, always somewhat obscured and in the background. She's noticed him anyway.

He's always sad now, she thinks, sad and distracted. It's likely why today has come to pass, she thinks as she pushes through the annoyed pack of commuters, ignoring their jeers with ease. "Come on now. It's never happened to you, has it?"

Mary swipes her card and steps in behind him, far too close for people who are arguably complete strangers. If they're fast about it, they'll both get through on the one fare. "Quick now. Before the guard notices."

[nervesofsteel]

John hasn’t jumped an Underground turnstile since he was a teenager, and now, despite the God-awful day he’s had, he almost laughs as she urges him through. A grin twitches at the corner of his lips as he meets her gaze, safely on the other side.

“Cheers.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, back to front. “I mean, thanks. Seriously."

[yourprivilege]

"You're welcome," she says with a smile, a smile that widens as she lets out a laugh, urging him a bit further along past the crowd and the guards with a nod of her head. "I don't think I've done that since I was sixteen. Of course, I don't think I've done a lot of things since I was sixteen. Thankfully."

It would be easy to let him go, to melt back into the peak hour crowd. But something stops her, something about his almost-smile, she thinks, and the way it's nearly there. "You can buy me a drink. If you're grateful, that is."

[nervesofsteel]

John stops short, the squinting half-smile on his face freezing there for a second. He glances away, and then back at her, gaze considering and a little wary. She’s striking more than she is conventionally beautiful, but there’s a warmth to her that John finds himself having trouble turning away from.

He’s so bloody tired. But John has been tired for four months. He isn’t getting any less tired. There’s nothing appealing about going back to his flat, really, expect for the bottle of scotch in the pantry. The thought of meeting up with Mike, or some other familiar face is even less appealing; everyone looks at him with a combination of pity and concern these days.

And here’s an alternative: a pretty woman looking at him, and smiling expectantly.

That crooked grin inches its way back onto his face. “I always know when to be grateful.” He offers his hand. “John."

[yourprivilege]

"Nice to meet you John. I'm Mary." She takes his hand, her firm grip but not too much so. She's practiced that handshake for a lifetime, nearly. It's that smile creeping out that makes her forget all the practice for a moment, forget all her rules and and everything practical. It's a dangerous sort of smile, that, and yet she doesn't mind.

It's just one drink. Not a life long commitment, she tells herself. It's just another night in a busy city, and she's doing exactly what thousands of other people are doing at this exact moment. "Good. That's an important trait, you know."

[nervesofsteel]

"Glad to hear I've met muster." His flirting isn't exactly up to par, but it's more than he has tried in a while. The pavement outside the station is less crowded, and John thinks he sees a warmly-lit bar at the end of the block that he's never noticed until now, despite having walked this way dozens of times. "I mean, after making such a great first impression, I wouldn't want to go disappointing you."

[yourprivilege]

"I don't know. I've met worse," she says musingly, her hands stuffed into her pockets to try and avoid the chill that's in the air. Mary can't tell him that his first impression was long before, that she's noticed him any number of times on the train. It's not the sort of thing normal people talk about, and likely to put his back up, send him away. It's nicer this way, as if they've just met, everything new and equal. It's something she suspects is important to him, being on an even footing, even if he doesn't entirely realise it. "I might be harder to disappoint than you expect."

[nervesofsteel]

“Yeah? That a promise?” John huffed a laugh; he hasn’t had many reasons to laugh recently. “Careful, you have no idea what an idiot I can make of myself, given the right circumstances.” He stopped in front of the bar and held the door open as casually as he could - as though he had been there plenty of times before, as though he did something with his life besides avoid friends, eat takeaway in a tiny flat, and wander sightlessly around Central London.

[yourprivilege]

"No, no promises. But if it was?" It's a playful question, and one she shouldn't ask. Mary could tell herself that it was just flirting and a bit of fun, and perhaps it was. But flirting sometimes lead to other things, things she tried her best to avoid.

She smiles and nods her head as she steps inside, noting the slight awkwardness he tries so hard to hide. It makes it more endearing, she thinks, reveals a sweetness about him. "What sorts of circumstances are those?"

[nervesofsteel]

“Oh, no. You need to get at least one drink in me before I start spilling my secrets.” The bar is far from full, though enough people had begun to filter in for after-work drinks to create a low hum of noise. John chooses a table near the window with the same feigned casualness as before. “This okay?”

He looks up at her, and for a moment he’s like a deer caught in the headlights. What the fuck is he doing here, anyway? Soon she's going to start wondering that, too, and then things would get really awkward, and they'd sit here, obligated to make painful smalltalk-

John shakes his head. “Sorry, I’ve had sort of a day. I mean, not that I’m not happy to get you that drink, but if I’m- well, just-

“Sorry." A beat. "That was sort of what I meant about making an idiot of myself, in fact. If you're curious."

[yourprivilege]

She'd say it's fine again, but instead she just smiles, touching his arm lightly before slipping into the booth. Actions speak so much louder than words, and she finds herself wanting that drink and to spend some time in the company of John Watson, no matter what sort of day he's had. "I'll have a lager, please."

[nervesofsteel]

There are so many things Mary might have said, and John would have blamed her for none of them, not really. Not later, at least. He expects pity, or concern, or - God help him - some half-hearted offer to help. A lesser woman might have tried to awkwardly change the subject, or made a joke that fell flat and would hang like a pall over their drinks. And that would have been a best case scenario. Worst-case scenario, he would have shouted at her.

But by some miracle, she does none of those things, and a little bit of tension slips out of John Watson’s shoulders.

“Right.” That fractional smile has returned. “I’ll be right back."

[yourprivilege]

She slips her coat off as she waits, folding it over her handbag at the end of the bench. It's not a long wait, the bar not that busy even with the crowd slowly building. Mary doesn't bother with anything like her phone as a distraction, content to smile as he approaches the table.

It is dangerous, this, she knows telling herself anything else would be a lie. He's honest and sweet and awkwardly charming, and he's already caught more of her attention than any person should.

[nervesofsteel]

Ordering the drinks gives John just enough time to recover his sense of balance, and when he returns (larger for her, whiskey for him), some of that earlier trepidation is gone. He sets the pint in front of her and slides into the booth across. “So. Mary.” He laughs a little; now he can be embarrassed about something normal, like what to say to a woman you’ve just met and decided to take for a drink. It’s a relief, really. “Do you always go around rescuing damsels in distress in hopes of earning a free pint or two?"

[yourprivilege]

"I wouldn't say always, but it has happened once or twice. Not for some time, though." She takes a small sip of the lager, relaxing herself now that his smile is easier and she's heard him laugh. "And I don't always insist on pint in payment. I consider that a lucky extra. What about you? Do you often find yourself being rescued from a mob of angry commuters by strange women, or am I just lucky?"

[nervesofsteel]

“Well, you know how it is. Those commuters can be deadly, so it’s always a good idea to have some sort of backup.” The whiskey burns comfortingly on his throat. “It’s quite the privilege, though, rescuing me, so why not? You should consider yourself lucky."

[yourprivilege]

He drinks with familiarity, something that's neither good or bad in Mary's mind. Just another detail to be noted that she tells herself aren't even worth filing away. It isn't like she's likely to see John again, except in passing, is it? "You should really get some sort of badge made. If you're going to make a habit of this type of thing. 'I rescued John' in bold lettering."

[nervesofsteel]

John laughs in a knowing sort of way. "You have absolutely no idea." He has to take another gulp of whiskey to force back the sudden lump in his throat, and though he hates that, he can't fault her for it. Even when she's making quips that strike too close to home, he still feels comfortable around her.

"Anything else you do? Besides rescuing people?"

[yourprivilege]

Mary thinks that she perhaps has a better idea than he suspects. He's the sort to find himself in those sorts of situations, even if he doesn't expect or understand it. But that isn't what she's been asked, her smile warm. "Well, actually, I'm a nurse."

[nervesofsteel]

"Oh, yeah? I thought I said besides rescuing people." He grins a bit and settled a little more comfortably in the booth. "Good on you. I mean- I don't say that in a condescending way. Nurses don't get half as much credit as they deserve." Doctors, most of all, rarely gave them their dues. If he is honest with himself, John can admit that he might have been one of those doctors, had it not bee for Afghanistan. But he had seen what a nurse or an EMT could do after a firefight, and that's not something he'd forgotten quickly.

[yourprivilege]

"Don't worry, I'm not above thwacking you if I think you're being rude," she answers with a laugh and a shake of her head. Honestly she'd gone into nursing because she'd had enough training in her life to be able to teach herself the bits and pieces she didn't know. Being a quick study helped, and like John said, nurses didn't get credit. In fact most people didn't notice them and that suited her perfectly. "But thank you. Though I don't mind it, most of the time, it's nice to hear it."

"And you?" As if she didn't already know. "What is it you do when you're not irritating the crowds?"

[nervesofsteel]

“Erm.” John knocks back a swallow of whiskey, hoping to hide his initial hesitation. These days, it isn’t an easy question to answer - or at least, the real answer is a crap one. What, me? I sit around feeling sorry for myself, actually. Great work if you can get it. She doesn’t know who he is, as far as John can tell, thank God - there has been none of the, do I know you from somewhere? yeah, I definitely do- aren’t you that guy from the news with the nutter friend? which he gets sometimes. So perhaps the half-right answer is best. It’s not like he’ll be seeing her again, anyway. “I’m a doctor, actually. GP."

[yourprivilege]

"So you're well versed in the work of nurses," Mary says lightly, sipping at her beer at a steady but unhurried pace. His pauses are telling, a reticence at admitting to the profession that he'd earned. It makes her curious, and she likes to assuage that. She doesn't want their encounter to end so quickly. Too late she realises just what it is that she's said. "I'm sorry. I didn't think how that would sound. I don't mean it like that."

[nervesofsteel]

“What’s wrong with being well-versed in the work of nurses?” He laughed a little and looked away. “Sorry.” John eyed her, still smiling sheepishly. He had no interest in turning this impromptu drink into some kind of date - Jesus, dating was the last thing he needed to be doing - but that didn't mean flirting was off the table. Did it?

[yourprivilege]

"Well, there's nothing wrong with it, I'm sure," she says, "If you're a 70-something year old doctor trying to cop a feel every time he brings out a file."

It's mostly in jest, the doctor she's talking about not really existing in her life. "You've nothing to apologize for."

[nervesofsteel]

“Lucky for both of us, I don’t think I’ve quite reached that point yet.” There was something in his playful grin, a warmth and confidence, that had been absent for some time. “Are you from London originally? You mentioned something about jumping turnstiles as a teenager."

[yourprivilege]

"I'm not really from anywhere, originally." It's a story she's used to telling, a story she's told a thousand times already. To her it is truth now, the truth that she lives everyday. "I was an orphan. I moved around, but was mostly in London."

[nervesofsteel]

"Oh. Right." For a moment John is awkward, not because of his own self-consciousness, but out of discomfort at having stumbled into a potentially sensitive topic. He barrels ahead anyway. "Mostly London is good. I'm a bit biased, though - I've never seen the point in being anywhere else." He offers a crooked smile.

[yourprivilege]

"It's fine. It is what it is," she says with a gentle smile, used to reactions that were much worse than that one. "It's not bad. Has some nice pubs, doesn't it?"

[nervesofsteel]

“And pretty good company, too,” John says with a playful arch of his brow. “amongst the women, at least. The men-“ he tips his hand in a so-so gesture. “Can’t saw much in their favor."

[yourprivilege]

"Oh I don't know. I don't mind the men that much," she responds quickly, favouring him with a smile and a bit of a wink. Flirting, yes, it seems she has desceneded completely and totaly into flirting.

[nervesofsteel]

“Thank God. Someday, you’re going to wake up and realize what terrible taste you have, and we’re going to be the ones who have lost something.” He grins, the self-consciousness leaving his expression, at least for now. “How’s your pint?"

[yourprivilege]

"It's fine," she says, nursing the drink. Mary's not the type to drink too much, especially when she's just met someone for the first time. "The company is better than the beer."

[nervesofsteel]

“Either I have absolutely awful taste in larger, or I just got quite the compliment.” He takes a sip of his drink, but it manages to go down the wrong way, and he’s left coughing like an idiot. So much for charm. “Christ,” John half-laughs. “Now I’m going to have to guess it’s the former.” He shakes his head a little and smiles sheepishly.

[yourprivilege]

"I don't know. It's pretty nice lager," she adds with a laugh, her eyes bright and happy. It's enough to take a chance, to go with her instincts and reach out for once. "Nice enough that if you were to ask me on a proper date, I might be inclined to accept."

[nervesofsteel]

John’s eyes go wide with surprise, but soon enough, he’s chuckling. “Oh, yeah?” A playful grin settles on his face as he sits back in his chair. “You’re just hoping to get more free drinks out of me, aren’t you?”

A date. Christ. Don’t fuck this up, Watson.

[yourprivilege]

"Exactly. All the men in London and I pegged you as the best to get all the free drinks off of." She says it entirely seriously, no single bit of mocking in her words. Mary reaches out to touch his hand, winking. "Am I on the right track?"

[nervesofsteel]

“If it buys me more time with you, I say it’s worth the investment. So I think that means yes.” It’s funny, the way the instinct to pull away from her touch jolts through him, like he’s playing that stupid kid’s game - Operation - and he has just hit the heart. But he resists the instinct, even as something wars within him. This is a God-awful stupid idea. This is the best thing that could have happened. It will never work. Maybe I have a chance. She must already know I’m crazy.

Maybe she won’t mind.

Quickly enough, though, John is smiling again, forcing down his spiraling thoughts. “Have you got a number. Or am I going to have to call all the Marys in the book to find you?"

[yourprivilege]

A part of her can read him, at least, can read that something is warring within him. His actual thoughts aren’t obvious, but she can piece them together well enough. He’s wondering if they should go out and if she’s aware of what a mess he feels like. Mary is, and she likes him anyway. “I do have a number, and I’ll even give it to you.”

[nervesofsteel]

“Even better.” John laughs a little and looks away. “I mean, I would’ve called every Mary in the book if I had to, but this way, I can spend more time looking for a restaurant."

[yourprivilege]

"Then this Saturday?" She knows she's told him that he should be the one to ask, but she's still convinced that if she doesn't set it out he might get a case of the nerves and never actually ring. Mary pushes across a scrap of paper with her name and number on it. "Let me know where to meet you."

[nervesofsteel]

“Saturday. Sure. Saturday’s great.” Now there will be no getting out of it. No excuses. No pretending to forget. John’s terrified - but he’s sort of exhilarated, too. How long has it been since he has really done anything, since he has wanted to do anything?

John slips the scrap of paper in his wallet, smiling crookedly. “You’ll be hearing from me."

[yourprivilege]

"Good," she says, finishing the last sip of her beer. She's sure, now, that he'll call and the date will happen. "I should go. I have work tomorrow."

[nervesofsteel]

“ ‘course. Me too. I mean, I should... I’ve got things to get to.” Smooth, Watson. Really smooth. “Thanks again for the help back there. You made a crap day a hell of a lot better.”

It was one of the most genuine things he had said to anyone in a long time.