A/N: Yeah, I know I promised Labyrinth and I was planning on doing a Pirate AU too but I wanted to do the 30 day OTP challenge so you get this one for now. I still plan on writing everything, but...here you go.

John Watson M.D. and ex-civil war officer looked at the small one horse town that he was now going to call home.

After they had patched up his shoulder, John had been on bed rest for six months and during that time the war had come to an end. John had been discharged and he had gone back to his home, but found it too hard to stay, haunted by many memories, and the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again. Suddenly, John hated the crowds of faceless people, even though it was all he had ever known before the war.

So he had packed up his meager possessions and had decided to head West, to Montana. His journey had landed him in White Gulch. Exactly the small quiet town his tired body needed. John had seen an ad in the newspaper advertising for a town doctor a month before and he hand't been able to send the telegram fast enough.

The ride there in the stage coach had been unpleasant and bumpy but it finally got him away from all the 'are you a blue or gray' nonsense. Out West, much of the political mess mattered little and that was how John liked it.

He had never agreed with slavery and so he had fought; thankfully on the winning side. Thoughts of the war brought a tremor through John's hand. He clinched his fingers and flexed them. John stepped out of the stage coach and took a deep breath of fresh air. Tightening the grip on his cane, John made his way to the sheriff's office.

"Hello. Anyone in?" John knocked on the door as he made his way into the small building.

"Yes, come in."

John finished opening the door and wiped his boots on the rough welcome mat. He made his way inside to be greeted by a man with premature graying hair. He gave John a toothy smile and extended his hand in invitation.

"Gregory Lestrade. The sheriff of this town. And you would be?"

John let go of the Sheriff's hand to reach for his bowler in greeting. "John Watson. I'm the doctor that answered your ad."

"Doctor Watson. It is a pleasure to have you at our sleepy frontier town. How do you feel about being deputy?" Sheriff Lestrade smiled again. Although this time it looked strained but also hopeful.

"Deputy? Surely you don't want a man with a limp as your acting deputy?" John tapped his cane on the floor to prove his point.

"Yeah, I know. It's just that the alternative is less than...Well, let's just way I would take a man with a limp and not a-"

Sheriff Lestrade was cut short as the door flew open and a lanky man with curly black hair came storming into the small office.

"Lestrade, I can't believe you are allowing that fool of a man to be the deputy! He's not fit for the job and who are you?" The man cut off his rant to stare hard at John.

John shifted uncomfortable. "John Watson-"

"Ah, yes the new Doctor." The man waved his hand dismissively and went back to talking to the Sheriff. "You can't seriously be thinking about making Anderson the new deputy. Although I would love to see him get shot by bandits or cattle thieves, he is going to cause a huge mess before anyone actually had the decency to kill him."

"Holmes, you can't go around saying things like that. And before you rudely interrupted, I was in the middle of asking the Doctor if he would like to be the new deputy." Sheriff Lestrade cocked his head at John.

John raised one hand in defense. "And I was just saying that as a man with a limp, I can't possibly be the deputy."

The other man rolled his eyes. "Please. It's psychosomatic anyway. You'd be fine." He placed his hand on his chin and eyed John. Suddenly John felt hot under his collar. "Yes, I believe you are an agreeable substitute. Lestrade, make the Doctor your new deputy."

"Wait, wait! You can't agree for me! Who the hell are you?" John clenched his teeth.

"Oh, forgive me. I'm Sherlock Holmes. I own the only saloon in town, I am the coroner and I dabble in chemistry." Instead of offering a hand, Mr. Holmes grabbed John's scar covered shoulder and squeezed hard.

John's cane dropped from his hand and his eyes widened as pain shot through his shoulder like red hot irons. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"I didn't think it was the leg." Mr. Holmes eyed him and then dipped down to grab John's fallen cane. John snatched it from his outstretched hand. He refused to thank him.

"Damn my leg! What right do you have to comment on it?!" John shouted. He invaded Mr. Holmes personal space ready to give the bastard a piece of his mind; preferably with his fist.

Sheriff Lestrade put his hands up and stepped between the two of them. "Now, now. Please, gentlemen. I would hate to lock you up for fighting. How about we get you all settled in Doc."

"He will be doing no such thing." Mr. Holmes straightened up and looked down at John from his nose.

"I'm not?" John bit back the snarky remark he wanted to add. He was tired and all he wanted to do was rest...and not in a jail cell.

"The rooms that Donovan rent out are deplorable, especially for a doctor and a man returned from the war. You shall stay with me above the saloon." Mr. Holmes crossed his arms and his tone was final.

"Oh, really? You've decided this for me?" John shifted his weight. Rubbing at his shoulder, he tried to dull the shooting pain the lingered from Mr. Holmes grabbing it so roughly. If John didn't care to admit to himself, but for a moment the pain in his leg had disappeared. John rubbed at his shoulder harder.

"Yes, I have. It is the logical conclusion. I will need assistance with autopsies and there is a back room that can second as a doctor's waiting room. The accommodations are by far the most comfortable and convenient."

John licked his lips and weighted his options. Mr. Holmes was certainly a brass man but there was a certain appeal about sharing a room with him instead of keeping a cramped room alone. After being wounded and sent home, he had spent too many hours alone and with his thoughts. Mr. Holmes was going to be a trying roommate but for some unexplainable reason, John welcomed the challenge. Life had been so intolerably dull lately. And although dull had been exactly what he thought he needed, the sane part of his brain couldn't win over the part that still craved adeline.

"Fine. Fine, I will." John said and tried his best to smile at ; even though he still wanted to deck the man.

The answering look Mr. Holmes's gave had his face lighting up and his eyes crinkled at the sides, making him look boyish. John's heartbeat picked up and his throat grew dry. God, he looks like a different man when he smiles.

The Sheriff eyed them both suspiciously and then turning back to raise his an eyebrow at John in silent question. The 'are you really sure you want to do this?' was just as clear as if he had spoken it.

"I'm sure if Mr. Holmes finds my company intolerable, I will still be able to move into another room." John gave his best reassuring look.

"Nonsense." Mr. Holmes waved his hand and walked past Sheriff Lestrade. He extended a hand. "Please, do call me Sherlock. No reason to be so formal."

"I suppose not."

They shook hands and held on a beat too long. Sherlock's fingers were long and practically engulfed his. John's fingers were short and stubby and the callouses roughed over Sherlock's smooth skin. Despite the summer sun, John saw for the first time just how pale Sherlock was when compared next to his bronze-tanned skin.

"Come along, John." Sherlock offered no other words as he swirled his coat and made his way out.

John turned to the Sheriff. "Is he always like that?"

"No. Normally he's worse." He tipped his hat.

John fought the urge to let out a manic laugh. What had he gotten himself into?