a fine detective—better than some of the so-called professionals I’ve met."

work will have shown him plenty of that, I expect. Police don’t get half the thanks they deserve. Nor doctors, for that matter." A faint glimmer of humor passes across his face, though his tone stays sincere.

"Stick to your principles, Yu. Value the truth, value your friends, and you’ll make +

"An amateur detective, is it? Then you’ve already got the most important part figured out—the truth isn’t worth much if you’re chasing it alone. Friends, people you trust they’re what make the pursuit bearable, even when the work turns dark."

He allows a small, wry smile. "Your uncle’s line of +

settling over London. John took a slow sip of tea, content to let the quiet stretch on.

John sat by the window, hands wrapped around his mug, watching autumn leaves drift across Baker Street. The flat was unusually calm; Sherlock lay fast asleep on the sofa, one arm hanging loosely, curls a tangle. No clatter of experiments, no restless violin — only the hush of the season +

/ rest easy! thank you for writing with me! let's continue some other time. 😄

‘hakase.’ Watson will do quite nicely."

He gestures lightly toward the street, as if inviting conversation to continue. "But I must say, it’s not every day someone recognizes the name without the fuss my flatmate attracts. You have a sharp eye—or a very good memory."

"Well, I can’t argue with that, though I suspect your uncle and I might disagree on the number of beers I deserve." He tilts his head slightly, studying Yu with a friendly, assessing gaze. "I appreciate the sentiment all the same. And please," he adds, voice softening, "you needn’t call me +

with a faint smile.

"John H. Watson. Doctor. Soldier. Occasionally written about. Not nearly as famous as my flatmate thinks."

John lets out a quiet huff of laughter, shifting his weight. His tone is polite, edged with dry humor.

"Depends who you ask. Some know the name from my work. Others because of a companion of mine who attracts more attention than he should."

He slips his hands into his coat pockets, then softens +

絆.

━━━━━━━━━━━━
𝐈𝐟 𝐰𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠
𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐩, 𝐰𝐞’𝐥𝐥
𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬.
━━━━━━━━━━━━

絆.

curious but friendly look, adding after a beat.

"And you—does your brother often leave his gadgets lying about, or is this more of a one-off?"

John tilts his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips, the hint of a soldier’s amusement showing through his composed demeanor.

"Not quite mine, no. Belongs to a friend of mine—he’s. .a bit careless with his things, I’m afraid. Always drops something or other."

He glances at Yu with a +

John straightens up, surprised but grateful, and takes the phone with a small nod. Extending his hand firmly, he says with his usual clipped courtesy.

"Ah—cheers. Slipped right out of my pocket. John Watson."

“John H. Watson, at your service. And yes—odd notions like that tend to find me rather more often than they should."

"Nearly October, yes, but let’s not rush the ghosts and ghouls. I’d quite like a quiet evening before I get dragged into another mystery involving fake séances."

#SherlockRP #SherlockHolmesRP #DrJohnWatsonRP #DrJohnHWatsonRP #MartinFreemanRP

Doctor. Former Army medic. Blogger. Flatmate of a consulting detective. Not the hero—just the one who writes it down.

( He/him. Literate & descriptive. Bisexual (male lean). Multi-ship. No Lewd. 21+ only. )

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