docwithablog | trails.

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trails.

[ He's crossing Regent's Park across the middle, passing by the Ready Money drinking fountain without making halt, his pulse beating away in time with his footfalls. Thud, thud, thud. He's been running every day for the past five days -- and before that, a couple of times a week since Khan left him with no specific promises. It's done his musculature well, even if he's nowhere near the kind of toning that the other man's presenting, though to be fair, he isn't exactly aiming that high either. It's a mental thing. Moving. Staying in motion. Forward, forward, forward, soldier.

He's been at a standstill for too long as it is.

Drawing nearer to the Outer Circle on the other side of the Zoo, he keeps up the pace, his t-shirt clinging to his back wetly. Since Dr. Johnson suspended him (temporarily, out of the goodness of his heart, please), John has spent the time well, at least.

Takes lemons to make lemonade, they say -- and if nothing else, he's getting about ready to just quit this damn job already. ]

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[ It's been two months - by his own time - since his last visit to John Watson's London. To be fair, he hadn't actually meant to break pattern on that - having finally established the precise location of his crew, he's been quite busy trying to find a way to release them. Unfortunately, the thawing sequence on the cryotubes is sensitive, to say the least (waking up had not, alas, been altogether enjoyable) and moving 72 cryotubes out of an underground science unit is, safe to say, risky.

Then, naturally, Marcus came along and told him to bomb a small moon in the Beta Quadrant, taking out a decently sized mining colony along with half of the planetary structures. Supposedly, the man had been wanting to charge the atmosphere between Romulans and Klingons, though Khan managed to tweak the evidence sufficiently to avoid any major strife. That had been a boring exercise. It had also, regrettably, taken up most of his time, leaving him traversing space more so than anything else. The bombs had, of course, been excellent. What else would they be?

He deployed the dimension hopper only a few hours upon landing back on Earth, mind heavy with a mix of exhaustion and hopelessness. It wouldn't even be a minute's break and he's in need of re-charging. Thus, he's been in old!London for approximately three hours, spending the first two by himself, reaching an acceptable level of calm and fixing up his appearance. He's then been by John's clinic, where he was not - Baker Street, same result - and now, he's heading through Regent's Park, mostly on a gut feeling. The man may be here and he may not. No matter what, he's got time. He heads for one of the smaller roads, leading past the zoo, away from the Outer Circle and into the park area. ]

[ The trail that he's following is leading straight onto the Outer Circle and he can make out the paved road ahead. Lactic acid is beginning to build in his thighs at this point, however and he slows down marginally to accommodate the discomfort of it. His breathing is harsh, pulls out of his lungs at even intervals. Sweat dripping down his temples, John thinks about Dr. Johnson dismissing him with a note from the labs for, what did he call it, evidence, because of course Mary had been exactly as discreet as he'd expected her to be, the second time around too, though she did give him a look when he'd asked for her help all over again... No, Dr. Johnson hadn't found out about the second time or he'd probably have had John fired rather than suspended -- one incident of protocol breaching STD blood work was quite enough, thank you.

The week off has had its own advantages, if he's honest. Doing nothing has made it obvious that clinic work is getting slightly tedious for his tastes, that this particular job keeps him nicely settled in the same routines that he might just loathe, at the end of the day. He misses the casework, the excitement, yes, even the bloody running, hence his current choice of activity. John reaches up and dries off his brow on his arm. When he lets it fall again, he suddenly notices a figure up ahead that probably shouldn't be as intimately familiar as it is, but he does recognise the other man in an instant regardless.

Good, great. He was beginning to wonder, wasn't he? Slowing to a halt, John licks his lips and stops in front of Khan, bending over slightly to rest his hands on his knees while he catches his breath. Looking up at him from an angle, he eventually manages: ]

How do you keep showing up wherever I happen to be?

[ He sees John before John notices him, his form and movements instantly recognisable. He doesn't slow down, letting the other man get to him in his own time. It's interesting, finding him out, exercising. It's a sign of health, where as many of his other activities - pulling random people in night clubs, hopping into bed with Khan and having that conversation about STDs only after another two fucks - have been a sign of escapism. Running away from his grief. Khan pauses, looking at John as he comes to a stop in front of him, very much out of breath. The question makes him raise an eyebrow very slightly, a mix of humour and mockery evident in his voice: ]

The better question is, how does it keep surprising you?

[ He turns away and starts off in the opposite direction, taking the lead but latching onto John's initial path of direction. It's a compromise, in a way. He's not worried. On the contrary, his body already feels the slightest bit lighter, despite the frustration still clouding his thoughts. It's becoming a matter of course, being glad to see John Watson. Perhaps this should cause him pause somehow but so long as his goal remains the same, his priorities unchanged, then surely, it simply doesn't matter. Whether or not he loses himself from time to time, in this. ]

Obviously -- [ John comments, following Khan with his gaze as the man turns on his heel and starts off in the direction John was initially going anyway, not waiting for him to catch his breath, catch up. ] -- because I'm an idiot.

[ He shakes his head -- possibly at himself, definitely at Khan, before straightening up and breaking into a jog to get up next to the other man, his trainers thudding against the ground discreetly, thud, thud, thud. It's too easy, falling into step next to him, really, like it's something they do, like their relationship isn't based on a frantic fight to keep up, hold on (momentarily) and then, let go. At least the man lets it stay an implication, right? Sherlock would just have blundered it out, the stupid sod.

His features tighten slightly for a second, before relaxing again. A ripple of emotion, come and gone. ]

Good of you not to leave me looking like one.

[ Khan moves quite efficiently and it's an easy accommodation, striking a marching pace to stay at his side. While it's not an outright relief seeing him again, let's be real, relief is reserved for -- well, it does leave John with a sort of tender lightness in the pit of his stomach. The early stages of excitement, too. ]

[ John catches up to him quickly, still somewhat out of breath. He doesn't comment on whether or not John's an idiot - to be fair, compared to him, everyone's just less. It's not a matter of some sort of socially constructed set of values, like beauty or bravery or goodness - it's just a factual reality. Back in the day, they did try to teach him that it came with responsibilities towards mankind as if his own people wouldn't always, always rank higher. His face darkens for a second, then smoothes out completely. Not now, he thinks. It doesn't matter now. ]

You've started running. [ He glances sideways at John. ] Why's that?

[ He thinks he already knows. ]

[ His breathing only slowly eases back into a semblance of normality, although he's certainly not in the worst of shapes, he's still slightly out of it. Catching the other man glancing at him, he raises an eyebrow at his question, shrugging mostly as an automatic reaction, halfway defensive, halfway neutral recognition of the interest. Before Dr. Johnson threw him out on his arse (temporarily, of course, let's be fair), it had mostly been a way to feel like he was doing something for himself, for his own damn good. If not -- for someone else, too. The past couple of days, though, it's been a sort of physical frustration management. Not that he tells Khan any of this. ]

I'm in a sitting down kind of job. [ Well, he was, at least. Clearing his throat, he manages a small smile. ] Need the exercise. Probably the way it reduces stress is good for me as well.

[ He frowns. It's testament to how tired he is that he hasn't made the obvious connection before now. ]

You are? Meaning you've been, what? Suspended?

[ Not fired. Haven't quit, either. A couple passes them with a dog on a leash and he doesn't bother side-stepping them, knowing full well that the way he carries himself alone will make most people think twice before barging into him. In general, he really only moves for people if they're being obviously inattentive; he doesn't particularly care, but sending people sailing through the air out of the blue tends to have awkward consequences. He fixes his gaze on the path ahead, waiting for John's answer. Trying to imagine what would have caused him to be suspended and drawing a blank.

It must be a relatively minor thing, however, seeing as most mistakes you could make as a doctor would probably get you fired. ]

[ A pause. Then, a grimace. Why are all his -- his people so God damn clever? Seriously. ]

Chief physician found out about the STD testing which, sure, is a protocol breach, but not anything severe. As it is, he doesn't like me very much, so... [ Another shrug. Tiredly. John, on the other hand, does move aside for the couple with the dog, drawing closer up against Khan's side to make room for them, their little yapping pooch. Walking close together like this is quite nice, actually and he doesn't put the extra distance back between them, even once the path has cleared and they're the only people left the next twenty yards ahead. He keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead, shoulders slightly squared against the implications, because however much of an old-fashioned nutter he thinks Dr. Johnson is, a suspension is a suspension and it sounds about as good saying aloud as it'll look on his papers. ] I got an unpaid leave, let's put it that way.

Edited 2019-07-31 09:50 (UTC)

[ Small eyebrow raise. He doesn't react to John drawing nearer, apart from staying on course. He certainly isn't about to draw away - the mere implication of proximity is making him feel almost acutely bereft. It's not enough, clearly, walking side by side like this, small-talking. Then, he thinks about fucking him and just imagining it is making him feel doubly exhausted.

To hell with that, he'll get what he came for. He blinks once, re-focuses. A bird flies low above their heads, heading for one of the fenced-off areas of the zoo. ]

You should just test yourself at home if you absolutely must. It can't be that hard to set up a suitable kit.

[ At Khan's comment, John falters slightly, cocking his head and giving him a very unimpressed look that says something along the lines of excuse you, which one of us is a certified doctor? Is the man seriously giving him advise on how to do his own extra-protocol STD testing? Isn't that sweet? And mildly provocative, really. Before you know it, he might need another run to get the angry excess energy out of his body -- or, of course, they could do something else entirely. His eyes darken slightly at the thought and he shakes his head once, before looking away again. ]

Sherlock's got a system. With his lab equipment. Woe will befall me if I mess it up -- so far I'm letting Mrs Hudson take the blame.

[ Implied: When Sherlock gets back. If he gets back. If ever. ]

[ He notes the way John looks at him for a moment and it takes him a few seconds to interpret it correctly; oh, the doctor won't take advice from the soldier, is that it? The notion makes him smile slightly, briefly. Out of his crew, he's hardly the medical expert but chemistry is no mystery to him and basic lab machinery certainly isn't, either. His mind flashes to John's kitchen. To things one could use, put together. Then, he realises the significance of John's words - Sherlock's got a system.

Well. ]

Once he returns, he can put it back in order. [ He doesn't waste his time, speaking in what ifs or maybes. If the man never returns, then he won't. It's that simple where as grief... His gaze falters. Drops to the ground. Yes, grief is complicated. He inhales. Exhales. His voice hardens. ] Is it that hard to believe? That you're the only one?

[ That I'm fucking is left implied but unspoken. He's just not that crass. ]

Yes, very hard, very difficult -- near impossible.

[ It's not just the man's looks. Come on, John has actually not been dumbed down enough by Hollywood to believe appearance is the main denominator when it comes to sex. He's pretty sure a whole bunch of the butt ugly rock stars and old, fat men with money get laid like it was no one's business. In the same way, there are pretty boys (and girls, sure) with personalities ugly enough for two who leave people scrambling after the first shag. No, it's not Khan's looks that make it difficult to believe, it's the way he acts. Raw masculinity, magnetic personality, you know, pretty much sex on legs, whether you're a guy or a girl, you're bound to react to it, case in point now, right? Case in point.

John licks his lips and glances sideways up at the other man. ]

But it seems I'm taking your word for it anyway.

[ Is the man with the trust issues, bloody hell. Even if it wouldn't get him in more trouble, even if they go back to Baker Street now and fuck the living daylights out of each other, anal, oral, whatever, no protection, he's really kind of over doing blood work in the clinic's staff bathroom. Because... yes, well. ]

Perhaps in time, I'll prove it to you.

[ Hm. He leaves it at that for now; the next point of discussion, after all, would pertain to John rather than to himself and that, he thinks, is bound to be a losing battle. After all, he could attempt to explain that in reality, he doesn't have the time to do even this - and he certainly doesn't have the time nor the inclination to run about in 23rd century London, looking for someone to fuck when his people are being held hostage. But something about John, about the notion of family, trans-dimensional as it all may be, keeps drawing him back. There's no other person he'd return for.

And even then, there's just something about John that he finds too interesting.

He gives John a quick sideways glance, expression not quite as blank as usual, a hint of something less cool behind his eyes. It's there and gone again in a flash. ]

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