Head-canon that John Watson's Callsign was Cardinal.
The reason?
When he was a Sergeant, after performing sevreal surgeries and saving serveal peoples lives in a row, he was running low on sleep, still standing up and focused through caffine and spite, walking out of the medical tent absoulutely covered in blood.
I mean, covered and dumped a paint bucket over his head covered. Its dried in his hair, on his arms, stained his chest, legs, back, flaking off his boots.
And beacuse he's running so low on energy, having not slept in most likely 16-20 hours hyperfocused on one surgery after another, along with the euphoria and adrenaline of saving another life, is smiling like a lunatic beacuse the adrenaline, exhaustion and emotion has no where else to go.
He's walking through the encampment, looking like death warmed over, covered in blood, grinning ear to ear like a manic at an aslyum. Everyone is avoiding him and walking out of his path beacuse he already has a scary reputation not that he knows it and you Do. Not. Fuck. With. The. Medics. But that's a story for another time.
He walks into the mess tent, and every fresh-faced private in the room stares. (every other soldier whoses been there for a while is quite used this visual display and behaviour.) One private known for for having absolutly no filter, suddenly blurts out,
"God fucking damn it Doc, why you smiling like that? You happy to be covered in blood? Lookin' like a god damn cardinal with all the red."
John, in his exhastied hysteria, laughs. Laughs hards. Full-on belly laughs, tears appearing in his eyes tring to wiping tears from his eyes with the excess blood. He responded that he kind of likes it inbetween giggles. His captain at the time tells him get some sleep because he is definitely not thinking straight.
But is sticks. Espcaially since his is, as he is one of the only medic on the outpost, always covered in blood. Privates start joking when they walk past him, joking that he's harmless as the bird he's named after, joking if it was his blood, the paitents or the enemy? John Laughs but waves them off. He's only really a doctor at this point in time, he's not much of a soldier, or at least he thinks so. Higher up's huff under there breath, beacuse its kinda of funny, and with his short stature, care-giving and compassionate adtitude and always being covered in blood, he does kind of resemble a Cardinal.
But then, an routine envoy he was on was ambushed. The Company Commander's dead on impact, theres two Lieutenant's, next in the chain of command, One is stock frozen unable to move in his state of shock (and maybe a concussion) the other barely consious and bleeding heavily. He's the only surviving medic, the next in the chain of command, with several bleeding soldiers, and scared shitless privates without any direction.
Somthing in John's brain just clicks. It's up to him. He starts barking orders, treating the wounded, and as Sherlock said, he is a crackshot. He fires back, calls for back up, stabalises the wounded, gives the remaining soldiers direction. He's made for this, he realises, built for the adrenaline, the leadership, the saving and taking lives...
Being arms deep in blood...
John, single handedly coordinates their rescue, has the most confirmed kills, sitches up wounds with whatever ever survived the initial ambush. There are no furthur casulties, John saves every single one. They squadron makes it back to base, Watson doesnt even hesitate to care for his paitents. He comes out covered head to toe in red, confidence in his posture, satifaction with a glint of a euohoric, murderess glee in his eyes,
And that stupid fucking psychopathic grin on hs face.
It's terrifying, reinforced by the circumstances, sending shivers down the spines who catch a glimpse of him after that incident. The word spreads, along with some rumours, about his why his callsign is the way it is.
The callsign that started as a joke, turned into a symbol of Respect. He'd fucking earned it. No longer was a mocking of how the medic was as harmless and small as his namesake. Demonic, a test in god's playbook, that John passed with all the flying shades of red. Pretty plumage, fluffed up and proud, showcasing what he truely is, what is as natural as breathing to him, what he is capable of.
Years later, when he's a Captain, his Callsign means something else. There's a completely different reason why he's covered in red. Like a Cardinal, he's small, agile, fast, scarily stealthy, and hard to hit dispite being enveloped in that pretty shade of red. It's not his comrades, saving their lives, and it certainly is not his. He's soaked in it. He's not hauted by the war, the fighting, the blood, taking the lives. He craves it, he misses it, everytime he steps back off that plane he yearns for that pretty red highlighting in his plumage...
Hi John, so...you were deployed to 3 different continents?
Yeah, I was. Three continents, several years, and more sand, sweat, and chaos than I care to count.
Afghanistan was the longest stretch. It’s also where I saw the worst and the best in people. Before that, I had shorter deployments, part of field training rotations. Not all of it was combat. Some of it was relief work. Some of it was waiting around in places too hot to think straight.
You know, it taught me a lot. About people. About fear. About what matters when everything else gets stripped away.
In field hospitals, you don’t have time to overthink. You triage fast, work faster, and make do with what you’ve got. Improvisation isn’t optional. It’s survival.
You learn to stitch up wounds in the back of moving vehicles, stop bleeding with whatever’s on hand, and keep your voice steady even when someone’s fading in front of you.
I treated everything from shrapnel injuries and dehydration to diseases we rarely see in the UK-
A little info before we start: Reader is married to Lestrade
Warning: VERY short
You returned home from the Afghanistan war a few months back, having been let go due to an injury you’d gotten on the field.
The first few months was spent recovering and readjusting to normal life again, thankfully your husband was there to help you through all of it.
Once you made a recovery Greg thought it would be a good idea to let you help on a case, and that’s where you are now.
You step in through the door, instantly spotting the corpse in the centre of the room. A woman, one that works in media based on the frankly alarming shade of pink she’s dressed in.
As you approach the corpse you hear taking on the lower levels of the building- someone saying ‘the freak is here’ and multiple pairs of footsteps.
You decide to ignore it for now, assuming it’s the person your husband decided to bring in for help. Your not actually supposed to be in the room right now. Greg had told you to stay outside, he didn’t want you to have to see another corpse again so soon.
You reach into your pocket, pulling out a pair of gloves and sliding them on before lifting the woman’s left hand, studying her ring before looking at the rest of her Jewellery.
The door creaks open but once again you ignore it, only to hear your husband mutter “Oh for-“
“Who’s this?” Some speaks up- clearly male.
There’s a pause as another person enters, injured based on the fact they have a cane; the cane hitting the floor every step they take.
“Colonel?” That voice, it’s familiar; you’d notice that voice anywhere.
You quickly look up, only to find your husband, a man you don’t know and John. Captain John Watson.
Im not going to lie, I lost motivation like half way through. If I can be bothered I’ll make this into a mini series.
And let's see how the case ends! Watson and Holmes go to see Miss Dumbar after a night at Wincest- WATSON!! IS NOW THE TIME??
Watson, your bisexuality is showing. A LOT. So, while our dear Watson is starstruck and tries to pry his eyes away from Miss Dumbar, Holmes is very kind to her and asks her the one thing miss Dumbar CAN AND WANT to give.
The truth.
Aridaje with tropical excited nature, guys, however can you just think it is actually a thing? Anyway Mrs Gibson HATED Miss Dumbarr and saw her as a rival.
Holmes and our fave girl talk about all the crime matter how it happen, what did you do, did you put the gun in the closed and so on and then Holmes is thinking... thinking...
He tries to rubber duck Miss Dumbar because she's the nearest human and the one he's talking with and then!
WATSON! We KNOW he's hot and that you find him the best man is the world, but... aaah, you're hopeless. Then Holmes starts vibrating once more! He's excited! He's got it!
And of course in the train he can't, simply can't stay still! He's bouncing on the walls!
NOW, WATSON! Your revolver, you have it?
Of course i do, you don't care for your safety like EVER.
Come on, stop the 'i told you so's please, can i see it?
-still bouncing over the walls-
I can only say. The gayness of this scene. Doyle knew PERFECTLY WELL what he was doing.
No, no, he's up to something
And to something BIG! Now, i'll nickname the revolver Johnny. And we trust Johnny to solve the case, once and for all!
The station! Ah, Sergeant!
Sergeant: Is the famous great detective a madman? Well, he's more energetic than a boy, certainly!
Now the experiment. on the bridge. 3, 2, 1
BANG
Watson: -sigh-
Poor Watson. Once again.
At least Holmes makes so that the revolver is retrieved. Watson WILL spend the evening cleaning and drying it while listening to Holmes' reasons. And no funnier past-time until the revolver is dry and in working order!
Ah, finished! A pipe before bed, then!
Oh, come on, Holmes! You never understood women, and this one was a very clever one. Stop blaming yourself, my dear! -kissy-
Watson's no more angry at Holmes! Good! Miss Dumbar will be free and all's well what ends well!
If he didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn he’d just fallen in love with a complete stranger. (Sherlock goes undercover as a busker with some carolers, John stumbles upon him and a case)
