Your earlier actions would not dictate such. Abbreviations are used only by the pedantic, which you are not. Why did you text me again if you know I'm the wrong #? I'll answer a question, if you answer a question. "Dammit," He turned his full attention to the mobile, smiling at his follow up message. John looked at his laptop, then at his phone, then back at the laptop again. John breathed out loudly through his nose, eyebrows rising as he muttered to himself, "Bit of a git, aren't you?" Your number was only one digit away from my intended recipient, yet you initially chose to pose as him. He scratched at the back of his head before choosing to text back. Something silly and inexplicable that made him shift in his seat, not entirely uncomfortable but sort of.shy. John felt a strange emotion blossom in his chest. John picked up the mobile and clicked on his new message to see: Ella only left voice messages and the idea that it was actually SH again was laughable. She hadn't tried in over a week but there was no one else it could possibly be. He sat in his room, laptop open, the blinking cursor on his blog mocking him as the time crept closer to midnight when his mobile sounded again. This thought gnawed at him and he chose to try and do as Ella suggested, no matter how asinine. He did nothing, he felt nothing, he was nothing. Though 'nothing' was a pretty apt description of his current existence. After all, her best solution to his problems was to write a blog.īecause a blog would certainly help him forget the sound of gunfire, the smell of blood, the glazed, hopeless look in one of his patient's (fellow soldier's) eyes when they knew their death was fast approaching.īut then, he supposed a blog was something to do. Instinct wise, he felt she was a bit rubbish. Which was why he had chosen not to discuss it with her. She would probably label him an agoraphobic along with his 'trust' issues. He was positive his therapist, Ella, would have had a field day with his avoidance tactics. His sister Harry had tried to contact him a few times but he had dodged her and when walking through the park yesterday he had seen, and chosen to elude, one of his old friends, Mike Stamford. He couldn't remember who had he been before the war and now after it. Most of his days were spent wasted away in front of the telly in his hotel room or walking around the city, trying to reabsorb a life he no longer felt connected to. Since returning home, John had hardly spoken to anyone and done even less. The (most likely) ensuing embarrassment meant that they would not answer back. SH was probably double checking the number now and realizing their mistake. There was no immediate response and John fought down a sudden surge of disappointment. Maybe SH was trying to reach a younger sibling through John's number? But then he had referred to sacking someone, so probably a work colleague.Įither way, it was time to set the record straight.Ĭan't have been one of my fingers, seeing as I don't know you. Not quite friends.relatives, perhaps? His messages did seem a bit haughty and overbearing. He didn't know who SH was intending to reach but it was obvious that their relationship was a unique one. SHĪ surprised chuckle escaped him at that. You frequently display one of your middle fingers towards my back when it is turned. John bit the inside of his cheek before typing back. Your reluctance to answer quickly displays a weak mind. John licked his lips, prepared to send a message when his mobile beeped again with another text. One mistakenly sent text was understandable, but this newest message indicated that SH had yet to realize his or her mistake. He also debated whether or not to finally correct 'SH'. Now he wondered who the hell Anderson was and why he was so incompetent. The second one came on Saturday.Īnderson belligerently incompetent. ![]() John recognized that it had obviously been sent to the wrong number and chose to ignore it. If brother has green ladder, arrest brother. So, if you're reading the story there, then I've now been unmasked for you! ) Thanks go to the Anon who came up with this great prompt and consideration must be paid to Little Numbers, a very popular (and awesome!) Glee fic by iknowitainteasy that has a similar premise. Instead, they meet because Sherlock accidentally sends one of his deduction-texts, meant for Lestrade, to the the wrong number. Sherlock and John don't meet the way they do in canon.
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