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

[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.