Batman

Very often, John Watson is the under-appreciated flatmate of Sherlock Holmes. Nevertheless, hardly anyone suspects what he actually means to Sherlock.

This particular little epistle came to me when I was going through Tv Tropes and stumbled on the page concerning the Battle Butler. It turns out that the term 'Batman' originated way before the DC hero. It refers to a soldier or airman who served as a servant of a superior officer. The 'Battle Butler' was really the tradition of the British Army, going back to when most soldiers in the military were born of the upper class and thus would bring their servants into battle with them. On occasion, battle butlers would follow their superiors in times of peace to serve in a domestic capacity, and in wartime, battle butlers can act in espionage as well. I think that to live with Sherlock Holmes, one would truly need all the patience and skill of a battle butler, hence the below interpretation of John Watson.

Another reason I wrote this: I need crack. And epic. There's not enough good-quality crack and epic, hence, I make my own.

Sherlock is the product of BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

When Detective Inspector Lestrade stumbles into 221B Baker Street on another fake drugs bust, this was really not what he had in mind.

"Why is it," Lestrade growled at John, "that every time I even come near you or Sherlock, that somehow or another we get involved with serial killers?" It wasn't even his case, for crying out loud. Unfortunately, the serial killer in question who had undoubtedly seen one too many slasher films, who also happens to have a religious fixation, and who coincidentally thinks that John and Sherlock were engaged in a homosexual relationship. Because really, there are some things that just require brain bleach. The only upside to this sticky situation was that Sherlock had stepped out to Bart's for more fingers (yes, the literal human appendages) and that he had gone out with all the requisite evidence necessary to convict said serial killer locked up in his head and therefore no matter what the perp did, the perp was still going to get the rope. Or the lethal injection. Or any method of execution used by the British justice system these days, come to think of it.

The oddest thing was that John merely seemed bored, opting to struggle with the duct tape that held him tied as the perp gloated.

"Best to wait for the cavalry," Lestrade muttered. "Anyway, weren't you supposed to act like a civilian? Start whimpering and all that?"

"And my whimpering like some maiden in distress is supposed to change our fate?" John hissed, deft fingers working on the tape.

"Maybe I'll get your boyfriend here," the perp continued. "Cut a few fingers off for you. He likes fingers, doesn't he? Maybe I'll mail you back, piece by piece..."

Really, enough was enough.

They were tied up, in some dark, dank place that seemed to have seen better days that had been sometime last century. The serial killer loomed over them, secure in the belief that God was on his side. Talk about clichéd.

And then, John that stood up, the duct tape holding them captive falling harmlessly, and went for the armed man with a holy vengeance.

The man never stood a chance.

When Sherlock finally arrived with Scotland Yard in tow about an hour later, the serial killer was found tied up with his own duct tape, Lestrade and John sitting on him, drinking tea from some Styrofoam cups they found. John in particular seemed to take extreme pleasure on crushing the poor guy's solar plexus.

The contingent of police officers gaped at the scene, all except Sherlock, who shoved his wonder into a zipped folder in his hard drive of a brain to gape over later and merely said: "John, mind if you get off the man sometime soon? He'll die at this rate."

"Sure," John shrugged and hoisted himself off the man as deliberately painful for the receiver ad much as possible, eliciting another muffled groan of pain from the man who had killed seven morally questionable people.

As the constables rushed to secure him, the perp asked the consulting detective: "Who the fuck do you live with?"

"Who, John?" Sherlock shrugged. " Former Army surgeon..." Right?

John shrugged. "I was a batman and doctor to the chief surgeon in Afghanistan. My superior kept getting himself caught by the enemy. Meant getting him and myself out of more secure facilities than this one. Believe me, this is nothing after the war."

They believed him.

Lestrade frowned as he absorbed this news, knowing that due to Sherlock's lack of ignorance to popular culture it had nothing to do with the Dark Knight. It took a while, in fact three hours of guesswork finalized by Google, but soon he found the answer, staring him in the face:

Batman: a term for a soldier who served as the servant of a superior officer in the British Army. Usually highly trained and skilled.

He told Sherlock immediately.

It took a bit more research, but the batman hint that John had mentioned paid off. Mycroft soon e-mailed him the file on the even buried deeper past of John Watson, with a single message: What on earth have you gotten yourself into, Sherlock?

Operation Batmen:

Special agents of the British Secret Army... recruited from lower-ranking non-combat personnel from different sections of the Army. Arguably the most dangerous of the British Army Battle Butlers are the Batmen, a nickname for an SAS team based in Afghanistan...composed of twelve highly trained soldiers, who were mostly killed during a raid on main headquarters of the local Taliban cell...(most of the file was censored with only the important bits left)...only survivor was the medical officer...John...sustained wound in leg and shoulder...Approach only when heavily armed..medical officer killed most of the cell single-handedly...heavily injured...

Sherlock, what have you gotten yourself involved with?

After about half an hour, John came out of the shower to see his flatmate staring wide-eyed at him. "Is something wrong?"

Sherlock stared at the enigma he shared a flat with. The flatmate who could kill him with a single finger. The only survivor of an attack on Taliban main headquarters and managed to do what other soldiers had failed.

John Watson, the batman.

Sherlock found all this very interesting.

See? you review enough, I may just get to writing the sequel: Battle Butlers.

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