Remember Me (John/Anthea friendship)

Anthea had double checked the bedroom and ensured the medical team was available at short notice. Mycroft clearly gave her full reign when it came to this - Sherlock was not aware of John's situation however he would tell him later on.

John was involved in quite a nasty accident about three days ago. Lestrade asked for John's help about two weeks ago after a serial rapist was leaving not much evidence, Lestrade thought it would be good for John to get back into the detective work. Get his life back - but it all went wrong. John was knocked out by the rapist whilst on pursuit - John slipped and fell off the wall head first. The concussion was not too bad however John was suffering from amnesic episodes, Mycroft insisted that he stay at Cheltenham for rest and recuperation.

Anthea stood there in the rain with her blackberry in one hand and the umbrella in the other awaiting the ambulance to bring John in. She got the message that they were at the gates. She sighed and awaited the arrival.

John Watson was his name.
That's what they told him his name was.
He didn't remember.

It felt familiar enough, but a lot of things felt familiar.
Even though he had no idea what they were.

Like the face of the inspector who came to visit him at the hospital.
He was sure he had seen him somewhere, but John had no idea where.

He didn't remember anything.
At all.
There was a hole in his chest, in his mind, he missed something, but he had no idea what.

He had no idea where he was going to be taken, he didn't recognize the house as he was wheeled inside.
He didn't feel like struggling though.
He reckoned someone was going to take care of him, he must have had family somewhere, right?

He couldn't possibly be all alone in the world.

The ambulance arrived at the Cheltenham Manor - Anthea was quite nervous - Mycroft forbade her to tell John about Sherlock's "demise" however the psychological report was not good - he remembered nothing of the past three and a half years.

When the ambulance technicians opened the door, she smiled lightly at John. She always liked John; all her years working for the Holmes Brothers - John calmed Sherlock and now that part of John was missing.

"Hello John, my name is Anthea. I will be assisting in looking after you."

The medics loaded John into the wheelchair and Anthea showed them the way to the bedroom where John would stay; it was the same room that Sherlock came to when he was detoxing. She then pushed that thought out of her head.

"John, this will be your room for a while. I am a friend of yours, we have known each other about three and half years."

John's eyes were empty when they looked into the beautiful girl's pairs. He didn't recognize her.
Then he smiled.
"Glad to know I had at least one friend," he muttered and tried to make sure he would remember her name.

He looked around curiously as he was wheeled inside, his mind going over all the things he could recognize, but there weren't many.
An umbrella looked awfully familiar.

"Is my family here?" he asked, he had faces in his head, names, but he had no idea how to link them to his life.

Anthea looked at John with concern, she was aware of the possible implications of this type of injury.

Retrograde Amnesia is very common post traumatic brain injury - unfortunately some memories may not be recovered These words spoke clearly in her head from the psychologist, she mentally shook her head to clear that thought.

She smiled lightly then poured some tea for them both and helped John into a move comfortable chair then sat next to him.

"Your sister Harry knows you are here, she will be along tomorrow afternoon."

She passed a black-bound notebook to him and cocked her head slightly, then placed a reassuring hand on his.

"The doctor suggested that you write any memories or thoughts down - even if they seem strange. Hopefully we can piece things together again."

John frowned at the mention of his sister.
"I have a sister?" he asked, and his lips pursed, she sure was taking her time to get here.
Maybe they weren't very close, he palmed his chest absent-mindedly, maybe he wasn't very close to anyone.

He looked at the laptop, anger flaring in his chest at the idea. "I don't have anything to write down!" he snapped, pushing it to the side.
Then he noticed the cup of tea on the table beside him, Anthea had prepared it for him, he frowned, feeling guilty for his outburst. "Sorry, I... mm... thank you..." he muttered and took the cup in his hand. "I liked tea... right?" he wondered, before he started sipping tea. Not a big thing really, everyone liked tea.

Anthea sipped her tea, and was observing John's behaviour. The amnesia was quite extensive - she would question Mycroft's reasoning to keep John here later.

Anthea then nodded; "Yes - Harry is your only family as such. She is travelling up with a friend. She is deeply concerned about your current situation."

When John reacted to the laptop, she shifted. Confrontation was a very common side effect of retrograde amnesia. She then smiled lightly.

"It's okay, no harm done. I believe that what you are experiencing is quite common, things may pop up in your head at any moment so when they do we can explore the issue."

Anthea looked at John's expression regarding the tea and nodded.

"Yes, you prefer tea to coffee. However, if you fancy a coffee. Help yourself. Do you need anything?"

"My only family," he said, and sighed, the name sure was familiar, but no face came to match it in his head. "I am glad she is coming," he muttered under his breath. He wanted so much to recognize someone, anyone, he wanted that loneliness in his chest to go away.

"This is not my house though, is it? Do I even have a house?" he asked, looking around curiously, he was rather sure he couldn't afford this, but again, he was supposed to be a doctor, maybe he was better off than he thought.

"I am fine... thank you... Anthea," he muttered, sipping his tea and relaxing a bit.

Anthea nodded, and got her Blackberry out at showed John a picture of Harry. She met Harry the once after Sherlock's funeral - now this was a sensitive situation, Anthea hoped Mycroft explained it to Harry. John was not ready to know the "demise".

She leant forward. "No, this our friend's house, he will be with us shortly - his name is Mycroft and I stay here too. It has the advantage that we are near London but in country so you can recuperate fully."

She was glad John was beginning to rest, but the next few days were crucial. Too many factors to consider. All she wanted was Sherlock to be here with them - with the threat of Moriarty's web it was not safe for Sherlock to return yet.

He looked at the picture, curiosity clear on his face. He frowned, realizing no memories seemed to come to mind.
"Are you sure?" he asked, biting on his lower lip.
Was it always going to be like that? Complete emptiness every time he saw someone that he used to know?

"Mycroft... how do I know him? And how do I know you?" he asked, he needed more information, he wanted to have at least something in his head.

Anthea saw the doubt in John's eyes and the anxiety building up with him.

"Yes, that's your sister Harry Watson."

She started to be very concerned about John; and was very tempted to call Mycroft and explain the need for another member of staff - she knew that he would say that familiarity was needed. How could she explain who Mycroft is, and how they met.

"We meet about three years back through work, I am Mycroft's Personal Assistant. Mycroft is a friend of yours also. Mycroft works for the government, you were helping us out."

It was not all lies.

"The government? I am a doctor, what would I help the government with?" he asked, confused, before the rest of the words actually sank in.

"You are... Mycroft's PA?" he exclaimed, and frowned, his expression clamming up suddenly. "Is he paying you to stay with me? Because I don't need that, I don't need company, you probably have much better things to do!"

"Yes John, you were involved in a mutual acquaintance. You were on a special mission of sorts." She smiled nervously.

"I am Mycroft's employ however I am here as your friend, over the past year we have gotten close. I wanted to help with your recovery. You need friends and family around you when rehabilitating."

John wanted to shout, why couldn't he remember? There was this black hole inside his chest, but he had no idea why, was it because he didn't have memories? Was he because he seemed to have no loved ones whatsoever?

"Did we? Really?" he asked, he was starting to feel tired, so so tired.

"I think I need some rest," he muttered, and sighed, he couldn't possibly ask anything else, it was starting to make him feel insane. "Do you think I can nap?"

Anthea moved closer and softly smiled trying to reassure John. She wanted to tell him everything, but she was told that small introductions are necessary due to the threat of a relapse.

"Yes, you have had a rough year and we were quite close. We spent a lot of time together."

She noticed his fatigue, and made a mental note of it. John's physical injuries were quite minor - however the trauma from the concussion has caused an inconvenience for them all.

"John, you do not need to ask to go to sleep. This will be your home for a while, until you feel more yourself."

She passed a phone to him. "If you need anything, my number is on there. The house is quite big, but anytime you need a chat or a walk - let me know." She then smiled softly, and took the tray and headed to the door.

Anthea felt like crying, she was fond of John and had been very close to him whilst dealing with his grief, and now he could not remember anything - the truth could damage him.

"Sleep well John."

John looked at the woman with curiosity as he was instructed on what to do, he wished he could remember her, but that was nothing new, he quickly found out he couldn't really get what he wanted. She didn't seem to be taking it well either, if he could judge by the stricken expression on her face.

"Thank you, Anthea... I am... I am sorry I am not of good company at the moment..." he muttered, because he had no idea what else he could apologize about, about the fact he did not remember her?

Anthea stopped when John spoke, she could see the mental anguish and hear the frustration in John's voice. She then made a small smile.
"Don't worry John, you are doing fine."

She then walked out and took a breath, she then dropped the tea tray off at the kitchen and then went to the office to call Mycroft and give him an update. She ensured that her Blackberry free from calls.

John slept in that unfamiliar room for a few hours, waking up with a nightmare on his lips before he could actually rest. He rolled over, his leg seizing oddly, it didn't make sense, his leg was not injured.

He panted slightly against the duvet, catching sight of the items on the bedside table.
Something that chemists would use.
He wondered who this room belonged to.
Those things, John didn't know how to use them well, but they looked familiar, they made his heart clench in his chest.

He sighed after a while, realizing no memory was going to come anyway.
He slid off the bed and decided to explore, if everything felt new, at least he wouldn't get bored.


((Do you want to skip to a few days later?))

Anthea settled in the bedroom - reporting to Mycroft and completing the mundan part of her job. She kept her blackberry near and fell into a dreamy sleep.

She then awoke abrubtly hearing her phone, she initially panicked but it was Mycroft - letting her know that he was going to tell Sherlock in the next couple of days.

Great - this will be disastrous at the moment She thought, even though she was in two minds about the situation.

(Yeah was going to suggest that - and maybe a memory comes back of a case)

John spent the following days exploring the house. There were a few rooms that were locked, but most of them were open and luxurious, it was rather interesting to see the traditional furniture and the way everything felt absolutely unfamiliar.
He knew by then that he wasn't rich, nor he had ever been.

There was also a suitcase full of his clothes in the room he was using as his own now, he had tried everything on, hoping they would trigger some sort of memories, but it didn't work.
He noticed he liked jumpers better than anything else though, so he settled into wearing those.

At night he would have nightmares, gunfire, danger, but also the image of a tall pale man with dark hair and intense eyes. He had no idea who it was, but considering they were just dreams, it could be anyone.
He tried not to worry, he didn't want to panic, as much as he felt increasingly empty and lonely.

Today he was walking towards the sitting room, basking in the regularity Anthea had helped him settle in. They always took tea together at this time of the day, and he was secretly grateful for it.


((I am going to have him remember bits and pieces, but nothing major yet >>))

Anthea sat there at the breakfast table reading when she saw John approaching - she smiled at him. Physically he was looking better however his psychosomatic limp was appearing slightly.

"Good morning John, how are you feeling?"

She then put the paper down quickly, the headlines were about Sherlock.
Who was Sherlock Holmes? Inside story from Kitty Reilly Then sipped her coffee.

John frowned when he saw her put away the paper quickly, he would have liked to see that, he thought as he sat down in front of her. It wasn't that important though and he concentrated on their small meal.

"I feel better... even though I keep having nightmares, not as easy to rest..." he admitted, he didn't remember that he used to keep his dreams to himself. He saw no harm in sharing, Anthea seemed to be concerned about him any way.

"How are you?" he asked amiably.

Anthea was watching John's behaviour and mentally taking notes on the re-awakening of the limp, the lack of restful sleep seen in his eyes.

"I am glad you are feeling a bit better, would you like to talk about the nightmares?" spoken softly, with deep concern.

She took a mouthful of toast and then wiped her mouth. "I am good thank you. The weather is nice so was thinking of going for a walk later on, care to join me?"

John started on his tea, sighing when he felt the familiar taste melt in his mouth. "Mm, not particularly..." he admitted, but then he felt guilty for clamming up.

"It's just that they aren't very clear... they are violent though... lots of gun shots ... some have... lots of sun," he explained, and bit on his lower lip as he looked at the selection of jam.
Which one was his favorite?
He would have to try them all.

"Seems like a good idea," he said, looking outside. "My leg is a bit... odd though... have I injured it somehow?"

Anthea was cautious in asking about the nightmares; Ella explained that they were common in his early re-enablement into civilian life and even Sherlock explained how frightful they had been. To see the distress John was in upset her slightly.

She then nodded when he described the nightmare, it was one of the horrific ones about the war.

"You were in the British Army as a medic, you were stationed in Afghanistan. I can show the documents if you like, to reaffirm the details." she casually smiled before continuing. "You were wounded, left shoulder however your psychiatrist believes the problem with you leg is psychosomatic."

She did not want to bombard John with that sort of information.