A Tale of Two Doctors Strange/Watson

4 Months Later

John looked at his reflection in the mirror, while he finished getting ready for work. Though the green scrubs set off his blue eyes, making them sparkle, they also accented the bags that lay in round puffs beneath them. I look old, tired, sad. He’d lost weight, a lot of weight. ‘You’re as thin as a rake,’ one of his colleagues had said the other day. I look like Jack  Skellington, the Pumpkin King. He smiled, recalling a song or two, but the titles eluded him. Strange would know. He would know the dates and probably the times each song was recorded and published. Strange…His smile faded, replaced with a grimace. I look like my father just before he had his heart attack.  I’m a mess, can’t wait to get to work, to heal the broken and ease the pain of the dying. I’m John Hamish Watson, trauma surgeon and soldier. Maybe I should re-up, back to the desert—death. Christ, I’ve got to get going.

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