Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock BBC or any of its characters. Obviously.
Drabble fic. Basically a mish-mash of h/c, fluff, some angst and large dollops of John and Sherlock friendship/ interaction. A to Z of John H. Watson, ex-army doctor, blogger and companion to one Sherlock Holmes. Or a trip through Sherlock's mind palace and all he keeps in there about his blogger.
A to Z of John Watson
Sherlock is currently engaged in a Very Important Activity, otherwise known as cataloging the information in his mind palace. His mind palace is a storage place, really, and as all storage places go, there is a limit as to how much could be put in there before things start going missing or mixed up.
Obviously, it is time for a little spring cleaning of sorts.
He glances over at the screen of his mobile phone. "3.14p.m." says the small glowing text.
Perfect. John's shift at the clinic won't end until 4.30p.m. and it might be even later if there are any particularly difficult patients.
He shifts into his customary thinking pose, eyes glazing over. When he gets into his mind palace, he does not like being disturbed. Nothing short of the flat collapsing on him or an exploding bomb (Or John coming home, supplies his mind snidely) can pry him out from the depths of his mind.
Right.
Information he deemed unnecessary and useless should be deleted immediately.
Pah. Who needs the Solar System anyway? He has deleted it a long time ago. Until John brought it up and ceaselessly teased him about his eviction of such an apparently vital piece of information from his mind.
Which brings him to his next point of interest, or target, whichever you see it.
John.
He has been meaning to sort through the information he kept on his flat mate for some time now.
He sifts through his mind palace for a door labeled 'John'.
Ah, there we go.
He pauses upon opening the door, bemused yet unsurprised by the onslaught of information and little pieces of memories cascading through, toppling onto him.
Hmm... Perhaps a bigger room is in order.
He pries the striped jumper (John's favourite, pipes up a voice which he quietly hushes) from his head, sniffing at it.
It smelt like wool and jam and home and just simply, uniquely John. It felt scratchy and warm beneath his touch.
Oh.
The information he keeps in his mind palace usually comprises of sights, pictures, moving and still ones, sounds, an occasional smell or two. Sense of touch?
Not really.
Well, it makes sense that John should be the exception.
He is already, after all, a lot of exceptions for the many rules and walls carefully constructed by Sherlock.
He peers into the room. The very, very big room, he might add.
It seems to go on and on and on, stuffed full of items, names, places, faces, smells associated with his blogger.
A whole cache of information on John.
He has no idea how it had escalated so quickly. When has the short, sandy-haired army doctor with the warm smiles and steady hands wormed his way into his mind palace, his only refuge so completely?
He feels a slight pang in his chest when he realises he has to throw some of these information out. He needs to do that in order to fit in the recent Havington murder case, with enough space to spare for him to move and mould things about.
The Work takes precedence over everything else.
Maybe not everything per se, just the general dull and mundane world at large that doesn't include John.
Well, if he has to delete some of it, he'd better take a closer look at what's important and what's not-so-important so he can at least keep the important bits of John in his mind palace.
Everything about John is important though, says a voice in his head sadly.
Sherlock agrees.
Perhaps he'll take a look and realise he doesn't have to delete anything at all, he muses.
Hopefully.
Alright, I'm open to suggestions or any requests (anything you'll like to see in the following drabbles). I've already thought of something for the letter 'A' but I'll be happy to hear any suggestions too!
Cheers,
Rainflower