russell square park

Ohhhh….I just realised something (because @waitingforgarridebs mentioned Montague Street as a possible filming location). 

They moved the scene when John bumps into Stamford from Piccadilly Circus in the unaired pilot (in front of the Criterion - in ACD canon they meet in the Criterion bar) to Russel Square Park for ASiP. And I never quite understood, why. Perhaps now I do:

They made John walk through a park literally around the corner of Sherlock’s old flat.

I read this as them saying, they would have met anyway. John was drawn to the place where Sherlock lived without even knowing him yet. And it just needed Cupid Stamford to point John into the right direction to find what he was looking for. 

Meta Meta Meta

Last week I procrastinated a lot managed to have some creativity time, so I ended up writing some Sherlock meta. Here’s my overview:

John’s Theme

John’s Theme - The Heart of Sherlock (Introduction)

John’s Theme in The Empty Hearse - A locked Heart

…in The Sign of Three

… in His Last Vow

Rewatching Many Happy Returns

What London looks like without Sherlock

so much more in my drafts…

Others

The Hollow Groom (TSoT)

“Dr. Watson is the handsome one” (TSoT, TPLoSH)

And here the Story begins - The Criterion Bar at Piccadilly Circus (Unaired Pilot, ASiP)

The Secrets of Russell Square Park (ASiP)

Afghanistan or Iraq?

Prologue // Part 1

Summary: Part 1 of Elementary, my Dear Lester (A Phan/Sherlock crossover)

A soft breeze followed Phil as he made his way down the path belonging to Russell Square Park. Having been an uncharacteristically pleasant day in terms of weather, he’d actually talked himself in to getting out of the house for a bit. It was good for him after all (or at least according to Louise it was) and the spot was always a fairly pretty place.

“Phil! Phil Lester!” A familiar voice pulled Phil from his thoughts. He turned to face the way he’d already came, noticing a rather short, slightly disheveled man rushing towards him. Phil couldn’t quite remember his name, but he gave the guy a friendly smile and waited for him as he caught up.

“It’s Dobbs. Dean Dobbs,” The man, Dean, panted once he had finally slowed to a stop.

“Yes, sorry, Dean. Right.” No wonder Phil hadn’t recognized him at first, he looked like a completely different person. He looked happy. Phil thought briefly, and he felt a small pang in his chest. He wished he could be happy.

Dean grabbed his hand, giving him a big grin as he shook it.

“Yeah, I know. I got fat,” Dean said with a chuckle as he gestured to himself.

“No, it just took me a moment. I’ve been a bit slow lately,” Phil spoke as cheerily as he could, giving him a light-hearted smile. It had been a while since he smiled properly. He really did miss it.

“Hey, I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?” Dean asked, seeming to be genuinely interested.

“I uh, I got shot,” Phil said awkwardly, gesturing to his cane and receiving a “well fuck, sorry” look from Dean in return. “Right, well I was just on my way to get some coffee if you’d like to join me,” He added quickly, attempting to change the subject. His injury was still a bit of a sore topic (pun unintended) and it was one of the last things he felt like chattering on about at the moment.

“That sounds great, actually.”

~~~

“So are you just staying in town ‘til you get yourself sorted, then?” Dean asked, taking a big sip of his coffee. Phil shook his head a bit dejectedly, pressing his palms against the warmth of his own cup.

“I can’t afford London on my pay,” Phil said, glancing towards the ground. He really hated to leave, but it seemed he didn’t really have much of a choice at that moment.

“Really? Well I can’t imagine you could bear to be anywhere else. That’s not the Phil Lester I know.”

Thanks for the reminder, Phil mentally gave Dean a glare.

“Guess I’m just not that Phil Lester anymore,” Phil said quietly, switching his coffee cup to his right hand and squeezing his left into a fist in an attempt to hide its tremor. It wasn’t too bad, it only really happened when he was feeling particularly stressed, which he supposed was pretty near to constantly now.

Dean turned away a bit awkwardly, clearly noticing Phil’s change in mood and took another long sip of his drink. “Well I s'pose you could always get a flat-share,” He finally said after a short while, glancing over at Phil.

“Yeah right. Who’d want me for a flatmate?” Phil said, suppressing his urge to scoff.

Dean didn’t reply, just shook his head and laughed quietly to himself. It was really rather creepy for a second, if Phil was being honest.

“What?” Phil questioned slowly.

“It’s just, you’re the second person to say that to me today.”

“Yeah? Who was the first?” Phil asked, genuinely curious.

~~~

Phil didn’t question the fact that Dean had lead him into a hospital, or that he had brought him straight down to the morgue, and decided to simply follow along in confused silence instead.

“Wow. Bit different from what we had,” He finally spoke up as the entered a lab, admiring all the countless pieces of equipment sitting on the counters and shelves. His eyes finally landed on another person towards the end of the room, who was sitting hunched over a microscope, a fringe of wavy brown hair sweeping across his forehead. He didn’t give them a greeting or even acknowledge their presence as he twisted the knob on the side of the microscope in front of him.

“You’ve no idea,” Dean chuckled.

“Dean, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine,” The man with the brown fringe asked from his seat, glancing up quickly before turning back down.

“And what’s wrong with the land line?” Dean asked, seeming slightly annoyed.

“I prefer to text,” The other man said slowly, eyes still fixated on whatever he was doing in front of him.

“Sorry, it’s in my coat,” Dean glanced away from the guy, reading the label on a jar which Phil was fairly sure contained human eyeballs.

“Um,” Phil dug around in his pocket, trying to push the fact that he was standing in a room filled with what looked like medieval torture devices. And freaking eyeballs. “Here, you can use mine, if you’d like.”

The man with brown hair finally looked up, his eyes running over Phil before moving to Dean as he stood, making his way over to the pair. Phil tugged his phone from his back pocket, giving the man a small smile as he held it out.

The guy was tall, taller than Phil, with long legs ending in what looked like very expensive shoes, and clothed in mostly black. Phil had to admit, he was pretty freaking hot.

“This is an old friend of mine,” Dean said, gesturing towards Phil in a way to introduce him. “Phil Lester.”

“Mmhm,” The man hummed in response, accepting Phil’s phone without so much as a thank you. He looked it over in his hand for a moment before beginning to type. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

The question sent chills down Phil’s spine. How the hell did this stranger know he’d been in the war? Had Dean told him that he’d be bringing Phil by? It seemed impossible, it wasn’t as if Dean could predict the future and Phil hadn’t seen him on his phone once all day.

“What?”

“Which was it- Afghanistan or Iraq?” The guy asked the question again, still not looking up from Phil’s phone. Dean was smiling almost smugly now and Phil wondered if he was, after all, up to something.

“Afghanistan,” Phil said slowly, completely and utterly frazzled now. “I’m sorry, but how did you…?” Phil trailed off as a girl walked in to the room, a travel mug grasped in her hands. She was quite pretty, not as pretty as the stranger in front of him though, with soft features and dark pink hair (dyed that way he assumed, unless she was an alien which seem highly unlikely) pulled in to a low pony tail.

“Ah, Emma, tea, thank you,” The guy looked up briefly to acknowledge her presence before turning to Phil, handing his phone back.

“Of course,” The girl, Emma apparently, handed him his tea, giving him a small smile and the other two men a quick nod before tuning and heading out the door once more.

“How do you feel about the piano?” The mystery man with brown hair asked, taking a sip of his tea. “Too much sugar,” He mumbled, grimacing as he set the cup of tea on the side of the table.

“Huh?” Phil questioned, not totally sure if the guy was talking to him or not.

“I play the piano when I’m thinking. I talk to myself a bit, and sometimes I don’t talk at all. Would that bother you? I mean potential flatmates should know the worst about each other,” With that the guy threw Phil an incredibly fake looking smile. Phil looked blankly back at him for a moment before turning to Dean.

“You told him about me, didn’t you?”

“Not a word,” Dean replied, his smirk unfaltering.

“Well then who said anything about flatmates?” Phil asked, seriously wondering what the hell was going on now.

I did. I told Dean this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, a bit after lunch with an old friend, who is clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. It really wasn’t that difficult  of a leap,” The stranger says, a bit cockily really, his brown eyes narrowed.

“How did you know about Afghanistan, anyways?”

The man ignored Phil’s question, proceeding to pull on a scarf and then a coat.

“I’ve got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it,” With that he flipped up his collar, making eye contact with Phil once again.  "We can meet there tomorrow evening, seven o’clock,“ He glanced towards the clock on the wall quickly. "Sorry. Gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.”

“Is that it?” Phil questioned, not even bothering to mention the riding crop, or for that matter, why he had one in a freaking morgue.

“Is that what?” The man raised an eyebrow, clearly confused as to why any of this was strange, to say the least. And he thought playing the piano and random silences were the worst about him, how?

“We’ve only just met and we’re gonna go to look at a flat together?”

“Yep. Problem?”

Phil smiled to himself, completely in awe, before turning to give Dean a desperately look that he was really hoping would say 'help me’. Apparently it didn’t, and Dean only gave him a small shrug, leaving him to fend completely for himself.

“We don’t know a thing about each other. I don’t know where we’re meeting- I don’t even know your name,” Phil spoke coolly, getting a bit frustrated now.

The man sighed, pausing with his hand on the door knob. He looked at Phil closely before speaking.

“I know you’re an army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him, possibly because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic- quite correctly, I’m afraid.”  

Phil shifted his grip on his grip, glancing down momentarily at his leg.

“That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?” The man said smugly and pulled the door open, pausing for a second. “The name is Dan Howell and the address is two two one B Baker Street.”

With that the mystery man, whose name was apparently Dan, winked, actually winked, at Phil and walked smoothly out the door, shutting it behind him.

Phil turned to Dean, his mouth slightly open, completely and utterly stunned.

Dean gave him a slight smile, grabbing Dan’s forgotten tea from the edge of the table.

“Yeah. He’s always like that.”