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John Watson

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me..."

0 · 1,198 views · located in London

a character in “Superwholock: Games of the Moon”, as played by The(Doctor)Horrible

Description

Name: Dr. John H. Watson

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Gender: Male

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Species: Human

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Show originated from: Sherlock

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Physical description: John stands at a whopping 5' 6", but he makes up for his height with his presence. Having come from a military background he stands tall and proud, head up and hands by his side. He generally wears brown work boots (always better to be prepared), jeans, and depending on the weather either a plaid/plain button down or a sweater. Whenever he goes out he wears a black jacket with pads on the elbows and shoulders, obviously well cared for. He has military styled sandy brown hair, intense grey eyes, and if the observer is very lucky a small smile on his face.

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Personality: If one word could describe Watson it would doubtlessly be loyal. He hardly trusts anyone, not after his time in the army, but if he does he will defend that person with his life. His care for others is much more than his viewed self-worth. Brave, strong morals, and quick thinking, John has carried his military training into the real world with him.

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History: [Guys, I honestly completely hate making character sheets so I'm going to go the easy way out: http://bbc-sherlock.wikia.com/wiki/Dr._John_Watson For Greg there just wasn't enough information]

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Equipment: Wallet, gun, phone, laptop at the flat

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Allies: Sherlock Holmes- Sherlock is John's flatmate and best friend, the one person he trusts in the world with anything. When the two were introduced John was living in a dingy flat on military pension, nothing ahead of him but misery. After he met Holmes, however, his life became an adventure like he'd missed so much. The two are the best of friends, and though Sherlock may piss John off to no end at times and John's ways may escape Sherlock, the two are inseparable. John would defend Sherlock with his life and has on several occasions already.
Greg Lestrade- When John came to a crime scene with Sherlock one day, the serial suicides, there was a bit of tension as to Sherlock bringing a "friend/comrade." Regardless, Lestrade let the two work. John knew that the D.I. was sizing him up, but apparently he was deemed worthy to help. They've become good friends since then.
Mycroft Holmes- Though they have a rather rocky relationship, John knows he can count on Mycroft if the need should arise.



Enemies: Moriarty-After the monster had tried to use him against Sherlock, to ruin his only friend, not to mention murdering senselessly just for the fun of the game and trying to blow him up (twice), John has sworn to never let him hurt anyone again.
The general crime of London and anyone who would try to hurt another.

So begins...

John Watson's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: John Watson Character Portrait: Greg Lestrade
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Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade puffed out a sigh from billowed cheeks and leaned back in his office chair. It protested with a small squeak but was silent afterwards. More bodies. No leads. They had a serial killer on their hands. The press was going to be all over him with questions and ideas itching for a story to make him look like an idiot that shouldn't be on the force. The conference was in a few hours and he'd just gotten a call about another body. Almost gleefully he phoned Donovan and told her to cancel the meeting. She sounded almost as relieved as he felt. It wasn't necessarily a good thing, already the stations would know from the cancellation that there was another body, but it meant he could hold off the questions a bit longer.

Already there had been five bodies in two days and thirteen missing persons all centered around the same area. Along the same lines there had been complaints of nothing but off feelings in the area, people acting like they shouldn't, random ordinary people dropping off the grid if they didn't go completely stone cold missing. The bodies had gashes like, for lack of a better term, claws or teeth would have made... That in particular set Greg on edge. He felt a stirring deep in his chest, one he had dealt with for four years. The past two days had been strenuous for him as well... It was too much to be a coincidence, but he wouldn't accept the fact that another of those... those things were here. As for the other occurences he had no idea and no leads on anything period.

One thing was for sure, he needed help on this one. The D.I. scrubbed his haggard face and the silvery stubble on his chin before turning brown eyes to the mobile on his desk. He needed Sherlock, and come around an hour before twilight he needed to be ready for the last night of his condition.

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John sat in 221B Baker Street updating his blog. The hit counter still needed to be fixed, but quite frankly he had no idea how to do that. Maybe Sherlock would know, but it "wouldn't be worth his time." The veteran huffed out a short laugh at his secret thoughts and continued to type up the case they had just wrapped up. Each different twist was fascinating, everything Sherlock could figure out by someone's cologne, the texture of cardboard, a nick on a cuticle. At the same time, however, he was bone dead stupid when it came to people. Not what they did or had or what had happened, but the way they thought, their emotions. In this case alone he had left two young girls in tears without a second thought. That had been interesting to explain to their parents. By himself. After Sherlock left him without warning. Again.

A jolt of noise caught the veteran by surprise and he mistyped a word. With a murmured curse he fixed the error and then looked at the offender: his phone. The ID said Lestrade. Must've been important. The man accepted the call and held the mobile to his ear. "Watson," he greeted professionally.

"John, this is Lestrade, tell Sherlock we've got a case for 'im," came Greg's gruff voice on the other end of the line. He sounded especially upset... maybe even a bit sick. John was a doctor, he was able to tell these things, but he didn't want to assume.

"Alright, where?" replied Watson.

"Corner of Henderson and Fifth, we're sending a cab for you two now."

"Great, I'll make sure he has his pants this time." With a quick goodbye John hung up and stood stiffly, stretching out his back and legs. He had to go fetch his flatmate now and make sure the man was ready. He was sure at the mention of case he would be.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: John Watson Character Portrait: Sherlock Holmes
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(Ignore words, but the visual is perfect)
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At the sound of a ruckus from Sherlock's room John snapped to attention. "Sherlock?" he ventured, taking a few steps towards the hall. Of course that's when his soaking wet flatmate stumbled in, panting like a dog and dripping all over the freshly cleaned floor. The veteran was silent a moment as a look of total disbelief turned to annoyance. "I just cleaned up!!" exclaimed John, gesturing towards the puddle Sherlock was leaving on the rug. Shiny spots in the hall betrayed wet footprints that had been left when the consulting detective made his mad dash fo--

"I understand I'm needed?" gasped Holmes as he continued to drip moisture onto the carpet and rub his soaked shoulder against the wall. John was at a loss for words, mouth slightly agape for a moment.

It took longer than it should have for the reasoning on how his psychotic flatmate knew hit John. "Have you been listening in on my conversations again?!" Watson realized aloud. "Sherlock, I-- Wh..." The veteran knew better than to take it any further, but damn it was tempting sometimes. The muscles in his jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth and turned back to his laptop, saving his progress and counting to ten mentally. 'One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.' He still required a couple of seconds to regain his full composure. Once finished, the doctor turned to his friend and sighed. "You probably already know from your ever so polite intrusion on my privacy, but Lestrade needs us for a-- well, you for a case. The one you've had your eye on from the sound of it." The man's condition brought a smile to John's face, even if it was small and ridden with stress. "Pants this time. There's a cab on the way." Leaving Sherlock to his own devices (probably not the smartest idea), John went downstairs to fetch a mop for the hall at least. The carpet would have to be dealt with later.

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Character Portrait: John Watson Character Portrait: Sherlock Holmes
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John grinned up at Sherlock quickly at the question. The mop was out of his hands just as quickly as his response.

"Oh, God, yes."

Smiling slightly in anticipation, John leaned the mop against the wall and slipped on a puddle he had yet to clean up. He caught himself on the balustrade with one hand as the other grasped for the floor. He was fine, just a bit frustrated. Hoisting himself to his feet, the veteran ducked around the corner and snagged his black jacket off of the rack, swinging it on smoothly over a simple tan sweater, denim jeans, and well used and cared for work boots. A final check of his pockets reminded him to grab his phone and wallet off of the chaotic desk. The army doctor was down the stairs and out the door with a yelled message to Mrs. Hudson that they'd be out for a few hours.

As if on cue, the cab rolled up to the curb and beeped twice. John walked to the window and confirmed that he and Sherlock were the intended passengers. After that he simply waited for his flatmate.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: John Watson Character Portrait: Greg Lestrade Character Portrait: Sherlock Holmes Character Portrait: The Doctor
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John was out of the cab just as quickly as Sherlock and took a few quick hopping steps to catch up to him. "Hold on a second," he murmured with an eye kept out for Lestrade. Usually the man was here waiting, but not this time. Odd. Shaking his head quickly Watson walked beside his flatmate as he crossed the tape. He always did this, waltzed right in as if he owned the place, but to be fair, in a way Holmes actually did. When Sherlock was called in it was because he was desperately needed. That left him in charge.

John stifled a chuckle to himself at this revelation under a clearing of his throat and followed Sherlock into the building, holding the door as had been done a bit earlier for him. It was highly uncharacteristic of the detective to do even the slightest thing for anyone other than himself and Watson knew this possibly better than anyone. That gesture earlier had been apology enough for the mess. A voice drifted down the stairs, then, and caught his attention as well as Sherlock's. The man's head swiveled up and a moment later he was dashing up the stairs intent on his new mission. "Oh, Christ, here we go," John murmured.

The veteran was up on the next floor seconds after Sherlock, but the newcomer was completely forgotten under the appearance of the man stumbling to the wall and slumping against it. "Greg," John called, halfway questioning and halfway alarmed. He had a patient. Brushing by Sherlock, obviously caught up in his own measures against the phony, Watson knelt by Greg and placed a hand out in a silent gesture of "let me make sure you're alright."

The oddball "consulting detective" was there by Lestrade's side right after, forcing John to back away. Anger roiled within the doctor. He had no clue who this man was, but he was intruding upon his friend's privacy as if it were his own personal business-after entering a marked crime scene, no less!- thereby pushing a medically trained officer away. To top it all off he started pointing some sort of buzzing pocket torch at the DI.

The words he said next were the final straw.

"Excuse me, but who the bloody hell do you think you are?!" John accused, putting himself between Lestrade and the trespasser.

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Lestrade growled lowly under his breath and hissed in pain as he brushed away John's hand to watch Sherlock. "I'm fine, Jo--" then the new man began his odd diagnosis.

And was correct.

Fear, sheer terror, crossed Lestrade's eyes for only a moment before anyone could see. Covering it quickly with the guilt and anger welling within him, the D.I. decided he'd had enough. This... this person had discovered his darkest secret, knew about Sherlock's job, the crimes being committed, and now he was in Greg's face when he needed his distance and time. There was nothing he could do but get him out of the way. The Yard could deal with the broken protocol later.

In a blur of motion Greg grabbed the man's shoulder and spun him to meet the wall face-first, ergo breaking the intense eye contact shared a moment before. "Put your hands behind your back," he spat. Without giving the "detective" time to follow through he grabbed each wrist and pinned them under one of his hands, holding the other out for cuffs. Donovan supplied them and the D.I. confined the trespasser. "I'm taking him downstairs, Sherlock, scene's yours." Against his will he cringed and stumbled to the wall again. It was time to go. Now. "D-Donovan, you're in charge... I need to call it a night, John, call me when 'e's got somethin'..." With a deep breath the detective began to lead the Doctor for the door and headed for the stairs.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: John Watson Character Portrait: Greg Lestrade Character Portrait: Sherlock Holmes Character Portrait: The Doctor
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John watched with concern as Lestrade roughly apprehended the trespasser and marched him down the stairs, out of the building, and out of sight. Something was off about the stranger, but something was also off around Lestrade. With a start he realized that Sherlock had already gone into the flat and Donovan had followed Greg outside to leave "the freak" alone. Upon entering he found his flatmate licking a gloved finger and murmuring frustratedly to himself. "Sherlock," the doctor ventured, "I don't thing we should leave Greg to himself, he's not well and I couldn't diagnose what was bothering him, could be pretty serious if he was reacting so violently..." The detective continued about without a word and ducked into another room, obviously ignoring him. "Are you even listening to me?" No response. Clenching his fists a few times to relieve some of his rising frustration, John tried to make a couple deductions of his own. He remembered from the Chinese smuggling case that certain factors could be used to determine a person's dominant hand. He wasn't sure if it would help and was certain Sherlock would have already filed it away, but he needed to practice anyway. The mug's handle was facing the right, coffee table was further to the right, so logically the victim was right handed.

That was when the detective stepped out of the bedroom with blood on his knee and shirtfront, old blood which had begun to dry, so not his. He was such a careful man, so there had to have been a lot of it if he couldn't avoid getting some on himself. Sherlock's face was pale... that wasn't good. Taking a few tentative steps towards his friend, John reached out a cautious hand. "Are you al-"

"Watson..." Oh, God, his voice was so shaky, already the doctor knew that whatever was in there was not going to be good. "Come look at this corpse. I want a doctor's opinion."

Definitely not good.

John stared and tried to think of something to say for a moment before swallowing and nodding curtly, hands by his side and shoulders squared. His footsteps were suddenly startlingly loud as he walked to the door and nudged it open with an elbow. The first thing he saw was blood. The next was glass. Then the pawprints, and finally...

"Oh, Christ..."

The body was among the most mutilated he had seen in his life. He'd seen the most grotesque deaths imaginable on the front, but this was in a home. From the outside appearance no one would have suspected the horror and gruesome spectacle present in this tiny room. Sherlock's uneasiness was easily explained now, but he was rather used to bodies, wasn't he? Watson clenched his fists a few more times and knelt by the body as close as he could without getting himself bloody before realizing that it was going to happen anyway. One knee in the red and brown puddle, he put his face as close as possible to the dead man's. No scent other than blood and decay. The attack had been made with something long and sharp, huge diameter, nothing he was familiar with. And it had been brutal. His right hand (dominant) had nearly been torn off and his entire arm was nearly gone. He had... the poor sod, tried to defend himself by curling up, but it hadn't deterred his attacker. He would have bled out quickly, but in extreme agony. It was almost as if it were an animal attack, but what animal could get in through a second story window, be this large, ferocious, unable to be stopped or redirected, much less escaped? Not to mention clever and stealthy enough to sneak up and leave the other room untouched.

Another deep breath as he stood from the sticky floor and looked back to the door. "No alcohol, so whoever it was got him fast. They'd be strong and bloody agile to get through that window with no leverage and to inflict this damage. Looks like a multi-pronged weapon, large sharp points and two different types, one seems to be a clamp and the other like ah, a rake or something..." He glanced back at the body sadly. "Once his throat was gone it was quick... but all the other injuries are pre-mortem... He was played with... What the hell did he get himself into?" And, on the same note, what the hell did they get themselves into?

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: John Watson Character Portrait: Greg Lestrade Character Portrait: Captain Jack Harkness Character Portrait: Sherlock Holmes Character Portrait: The Doctor
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John huffed out a very unamused breath and shook his head. "No, Sherlock, we are not doing any of that 'hound' business again, alright?" That had been an absolute nightmare back at Baskerville and he wasn't too keen on redoing any of it. Sherlock's irritation was even similar to that night at the inn. God, he was livid. Was he doubting himself again? John stood awkwardly in the middle of the trashed bedroom with blood on his trousers and the side of his cheek, unsure of what to do. "Look," he finally managed, "whatever you decide to do I'll be right behind you, yeah? You don't have to take this case, they can't make you, but if you want to I won't disappear..." With a sigh the doctor walked back out into the main room. "Maybe a wolf escaped from the zoo or something?"

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The sweat on Greg's forehead began to bead and run as the pain down his spine multiplied. The device in his face would've been batted away if the D.I. were able to control himself. The light, the sound, they hurt his eyes and ears as he became more sensitive. Tense and in agony, he did his best not to make a scene. Granted, the trespasser was doing that well enough on his own. Then another man came cracking jokes and smiling. He didn't have time for this. Giving the cuffs in his hand a short, weak jerk he turned desperate eyes to the odd man lying to his side. "I-I have a cella... a cellar... off of Hack-Hackney-y... Got to get there..." The shadows lengthened even more, increasing the D.I.'s anxiety and fear. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he hurt anyone, wouldn't ever live down leaving bodies like the one in the flat behind him.