Chapter Text
“John, you have to figure out something…”
John Watson sat in his chair and resolutely stayed quiet. He stared at his therapist, Ella, who stared right back.
They sat in silence.
Ella finally sighed, “Look, I’m only trying to help you. It’ll take some time to readjust to civilian life, and it can feel very lonely.” She perked up a bit and asked pleasantly, “Why don’t you try helping out some place? Do something while you’re still looking for a job. You could volunteer. How about at a hospital? Or a nursing home?”
John only sat up straighter in his chair.
Why would he want to volunteer some place where he would only watch more people die?
He limped home that day.
Sat in his chair and stared at his gun.
Lied in bed that night and stared up at the ceiling.
Felt the cold creep in and settle in his bones.
Wished for the desert sun.
~ - - - - ~
He limped to Tesco the next day.
Limped to the park and stared at the ducks.
Limped home and ate beans on toast for dinner.
Sat and stared at the telly until bedtime.
Dreamed of bullets and blood.
~ - - - - ~
A dog barking pulled him out of his trance.
He stopped and looked across the street to find a little girl, giggling as her pup licked her face. Her parents were watching fondly, holding each others’ hands and looking like the ideal family.
He looked up at the building behind them, tilted his head and pursed his lips.
An animal shelter.
Why not?
~ - - - - ~
“Alright! So, you’ll mostly be manning the front – you know, answering phone calls, greeting visitors, things like that. There’ll be other volunteers who’ll come by and help out, but if we’re a little short on staff, we may have you head to the back and take care of the dogs and cats. If you have any questions, just ask me or Jill – she’s the woman you met when you filled out the paperwork – most of the other volunteers should be able to help you out too.” Sarah Sawyer, one of the veterinarians and lead volunteers at the clinic, gave him a sunny smile. “You wanna meet some of the animals?”
“Yeah, sure,” John said with an answering grin.
An older, scruffy looking mutt was the first dog he met.
Gentle brown eyes, shaggy brown coat, pink tongue and cold nose.
Scraps was his name, and he sniffed John’s hand before stretching out and licking his face with abandon.
“Oh, he likes you,” Sarah said with a laugh.
Warmth seeped in and wrapped around John’s heart.
Made his eyes light up.
His mouth stretch into a smile that lasted the rest of the day.
His dreams that night be a little less gruesome.
~ - - - - ~
He had never had a pet.
His father wasn’t very fond of animals. Wasn’t very fond of anything, to be honest.
Other than the bottle…
Each day he went in, each cat or dog that purred or barked, made him wish he had.
~ - - - - ~
He got a job. One at a hospital, no less. He was only a secretary and he worked late into the night, but it was better than nothing. It meant he could stay in his pitifully small flat and keep volunteering at the shelter.
Seeing the animals were what got him through those long nights.
What made him take out his gun less and less.
~ - - - - ~
As the months passed, he felt lighter.
Not free from the heavy weight of night terrors and ill thoughts, but he was coping.
He was healing.
He hadn’t taken his gun out of the drawer in weeks.
He was walking to the shelter, the approaching winter whipping through his jacket and making his shoulder ache just a bit. The steady click, click, click of his cane was background noise in the empty street as he kept his eyes resolutely forward. He was late, had had a nightmare in the wee hours of the morning and didn’t pass out from exhaustion until a few hours later and accidentally slept through his alarm.
Sarah would be upset.
The thought made him click, click along faster. He couldn’t wait to see the animals and pet his favorite dog, Scraps.
He was always more of a dog person.
If he could actually take care of himself, he’d consider adopting the pup. Poor Scraps had been in there a while, too old to appeal to most. Maybe if he saved up enough, he could adopt him…
A cat trotted past, so close it nearly tripped him.
He stopped, almost falling over from putting pressure on his bad leg. He glared over at the feline, who was curled up in the middle of the road and peering down into a manhole with extreme interest. Git.
It was a beautiful cat, he had to admit. Dark brown fur, nearly black. Bright blue, almost gray eyes. Pink nose and ears, long tail.
He never liked cats.
What was it doing staring down a manhole? It seemed fixated on something.
He blinked when it suddenly meowed and started pawing at the crack where the manhole had been shoved aside. It was trying valiantly to… push the manhole cover? It was too heavy, it’d never be able to. Yet there it was, pawing and huffing and hissing and twisting every which way to try and get it open.
What the bloody hell was it –
He could hear tires speeding down the street.
He turned to see a cab nearing them, right in the direction of the cat.
He looked back at the feline, saw that it had noticed the car as well, then watched in horror as it tried to move out of the way, only for its paw to get stuck in the crack. It began yeowling, screeching and trying to pull its leg out, but the manhole cover was too heavy.
He didn’t think, he just burst into a sprint. Out into the middle of the road. With a cab only a few yards away and quickly speeding towards him. To save a cat.
In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the brightest idea.
Then again, he wasn’t thinking about that as he pumped his legs as fast as they would go.
Bent down mid-sprint.
Grabbed the cat around its middle.
Heard the horn blaring.
Pulled the cat to his chest.
Barrel-rolled to the other side of the street.
He laid there on his back, staring up at the gray sky and tried to catch his breath. After a few moments, he looked down his chest, still heaving.
Very wide, very frightened eyes met his. The cat was poised in his arms, claws out and frozen in terror.
He stared at the unmoving furball for a second, then burst into hysterical giggles.
It was only then that the cat blinked.
“Oh my god,” he cackled, “That was – that was the craziest thing… I’ve ever done.” The thought that he had just risked his life for a bloody cat made him laugh even harder. He let his head thunk against the concrete and laughed so hard he cried.
When he was no longer giggling so violently it made his stomach ache, he looked back down at the cat, who looked right back at him and blinked again. And again. And then some more. Poor thing was probably in shock.
“You alright,” he asked, sitting up and putting his bum safely on the side walk as he cradled the feline in his arms. He gazed down at it, spoke quietly so as not to spook it. Lifted a hand to gently take the injured paw in his fingers.
The cat hissed and pulled its paw away.
“Shhh, shhh it’s okay, let me take a look. Don’t worry, I’m a doctor,” he cooed, ignoring the fact that being a people doctor didn’t exactly translate into being a cat doctor. Or the fact that he was talking to a cat like that.
The feline stayed still, but kept its ears down and its gray eyes narrowed.
John felt the paw carefully, pressed between its pads gently. The cat didn’t react other than glaring harder. “Well, looks like you’re alright. I should probably take you to a vet though,” he said absentmindedly.
He cried out when the cat scratched his hand and wriggled out of his grasp. He stuck his bloody knuckles in his mouth, giving the cat a venomous look as it leered back a safe distance from him. “You arse, I just saved your life,” he snarled. He glared harder when the furry devil merely licked its paw and looked away from him. “Fine, be a cock. That’s the last time I ever do anything for a cat,” he growled as he shakily got to his feet. He’d stick to dogs, thank you very much. At least they show gratitude.
He looked down at the cat again, who was keeping its gaze in the opposite direction of him. Git. Bloody, buggering arse. He was regretting his moment of blind bravery as he looked across the street and saw his cane.
He shook his head in disbelief, let out a quiet laugh. Who knew running out into the street would make him forget his limp?
He checked to see that no cars were coming, then unsteadily made his way across the street. Passed by the manhole and stopped. Stared down at it for a second, then bent down and grunted with effort as he slid it open. He let it go with a heavy clink, then stood and looked over at the cat.
The feline only stared at him with wide eyes.
He huffed and grumbled, “There. Stay out of the street.”
It blinked.
He shook his head, grabbed his cane, and limped away.
~ - - - - ~
Sarah hadn’t been happy.
John had apologized profusely, but refrained from telling her the tale of that morning. He had the feeling she wouldn’t believe him.
That afternoon, he was sitting comfortably in his chair at the front counter. All of the dogs had been let out for a walk that day, two had even been adopted. The cats had been played with in the cat room, one had been adopted. Everyone had food and water and there was nothing else to do but wait until his volunteer shift was over.
“You can head home,” Sarah said warmly after emerging from one of the rooms.
John looked up and frowned a little. “You sure? I still have an hour.” He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to limp back to his sad, lonely flat and stare at the telly for the rest of the night.
“Yeah, it’s a slow day. You head out, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He didn’t actually watch anything that night, he was too busy thinking about that damn cat.