MATE.

Sherlock smirked before turning around to face the other. He held out a gloved hand for Murray to shake. “Of course I already knew. Obvious.” The detective couldn’t help but to do what he did best, analyse the man. Luckily, he hadn’t already run him off yet, John would’ve been very disappointed in him.

{ @nottheactor​ }

Look at him, being offered a hand to shake by the famous hat-detective himself. Murray beamed widely, unclasping his hand to reach forward and accept the notion. Why, he was a lot friendlier than John made him out to be——he wasn’t getting bombarded by observations yet. Though, he was just a little disappointed not to be able to witness it.

Sherlock hadn’t expected to return to the flat to see an unexpected guest. Perhaps John had warned him, but it must’ve slipped his mind. It always did. If it didn’t pertain to Rosie, or a threat to John, it wasn’t really worth storing away. He strolled over toward the other man before leaning over to pick up his dropped skull. He’d already observed enough to realize that he was correct in his early deduction as to who this man was. He was ex-military, which usually pointed to the doctor. 

He dusted off the skull, placing it back in its regular spot on the mantel. There. “A friend.” He spoke, still turned away from the other. 

{ @nottheactor }

He got to hear two words out of the famous detective’s mouth, and they already had a chilling effect on him. Yet Murray offered his friendliest grin anyway, stepping back and clasping his hands together behind him. Looks like his ‘friend’ was still in tact, thank God. What was it made of anyway? Not plaster for sure.

            “So a he, I’ll presume. Like John and I. Sorry, it’s Murray,             by the way. I was his nurse in Afghanistan, commented             on his blog a number of times too. You know.”

Shit. Murray didn’t mean to drop it. He was startled――yes, he was surprised by the sudden entry of another person when he thought he was absolutely alone, waiting for his mate to return from an errand with the daughter. For now though, he froze, the skull that had been sitting on the mantelpiece now on the floor on its ( his? her? ) side. Hopefully it didn’t crack. He looked up tentatively.

Surviving years in Afghanistan is a godsend, he always said. Not that it was much of an achievement, as the number of casualty was less significant than bigger wars in humankind’s history, and of all people he knew what it meant to cherish individual lives.     Nearly four fuckin’ hundred of them, and that was just the British side.

But that was precisely why he survived. Nurses didn’t fight; they could get close enough to the front line, but even then they were well-shielded in order to care for those that had gone down. It almost seemed like the sissiest profession to have, an army nurse――but how many really had the opportunity to keep stubborn jocks in a hospital bed and give them a good talk down?

So Murray loved his job. Even more so when he was assigned to difficult civilians.

            “My name is William Murray, most call me Bill for the kicks,             but I’m sure I’m as much qualified to be a nurse as Bill Mur-             ray’s qualified as an actor. You can just call me Murray though.             Do you prefer Stephen, or Steve, or, uhm, Strange?”

“Nothing mere about being a nurse, but if you could use the help then I’m happy to give it.” 

        "For that I'm truly grateful! Even John didn’t wish to do this         for me, though I have realized that a female's touch would         be more effective than a man's."

Bill placed the teddy bear on the table, its ear hanging on the smallest remained seam and stuffing poking out of its hole.

        Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat and a lump form         within his throat at the mention of Irene’s name.

                          “ The Woman; Dominatrix. I had a minor encounter with her                                       due to a case my brother wished me to deal with and solve…                                       She was a tricky one to deduce until sentiment bettered her…                                                                          But what about her? ”

      "Oh yes, the Dominatrix. What a title. Don't tell John, but I did       look up her website once since his mention----out of curiosity.       Weren't you in love with her as well?"

“That’s usually what they are used for, yes. Doesn’t mean that I will, though I do have a short fuse and I get easily annoyed by stupid questions.”

            “Well that’d be incriminatin’ myself, wouldn’ it?”

He’d been a crap mate of late. John did know that. Never the one to contact Bill first to make plans, always talking about Sherlock and the cases the two of them went on when John finally did deign to show up… And now Bill was buying their drinks, too. Yeah, that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.  

Never even mind the fact that some part of John’s mind always thought of gunfire and blood whenever he was near Bill, phantom pain faintly burning in his left shoulder. That, too, was beyond unfair to the other man.

“ Ah, cheers, Bill. I swear it’s not that interesting this time. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to instead, eh? Been ages. ”

And whose fault was that?

Bill never did mind if John only talked about himself, his ups and downs of life. He had taken the liberty to proclaim himself the first fan of his blog, catching up faithfully since day one; honestly, those adventures he described seemed more exciting than his everyday life-saving duties. -----Yet it was clear that today was different. Almost very new. Enough to cause brows to rise as he placed the bottles on the table. Into his chair he sank down, thinking a bit. 

         "Mmm, nothing as exciting as yours, I'm sure. Been visiting         the trauma centre, met some nice chap, heard stories; you         could learn plenty about emergency procedures from them too,         so long they had been conscious. This one young fellow had his         leg caught in a landmine, and he’d been barely out for two years.         Reminded me of---"

An abrupt stop. And his lips closed, corners quirked up in a pleasant, apologetic smile.

        "Sorry. Should've asked if you mind hearing stories like that.”

                     “Why are you so intent on know my preferences of the type                          of person I would consider forming an intimate relationship with? ”

“Oh I’ve been called stupid a lot of times and I tried therapy, didn’t work out too well. So thanks but no thanks.”

      “Medicine is kind of an important thing to lose. You leave it        laying around very often? Because that sounds like a bad        idea all around.”