John's more preoccupied than he'd like to be by thoughts of faerie folk and powers that shouldn't have any place in the world.
He wasn't Sherlock. He didn't demand that everything fit into a perfect picture of logic and sense. War wasn't sensible. He'd cut that need out in his first week in Afghanistan. Still, John was a man of science and medicine, a skeptic of the supernatural. How could it really be possible? How could he possibly be a part of that?
Even kicking back by the river, joking with Will, he's got half an eye toward the water, expecting to see some sort of phantasm. He tries to buckle down and shake the disturbed musings as he replies, "Ah, well. It's a shame what a little row over tea and taxes can lead to down the line: New country, terrible imports."
The mention of the reel draws his attention over to the rod. "I've seen those shows where they do fly-fishing," and a multitude of other day-time shows he wouldn't like to admit to watching with Mrs. Hudson while being painfully unemployed. "Your set-up looks a bit simpler."
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He wasn't Sherlock. He didn't demand that everything fit into a perfect picture of logic and sense. War wasn't sensible. He'd cut that need out in his first week in Afghanistan. Still, John was a man of science and medicine, a skeptic of the supernatural. How could it really be possible? How could he possibly be a part of that?
Even kicking back by the river, joking with Will, he's got half an eye toward the water, expecting to see some sort of phantasm. He tries to buckle down and shake the disturbed musings as he replies, "Ah, well. It's a shame what a little row over tea and taxes can lead to down the line: New country, terrible imports."
The mention of the reel draws his attention over to the rod. "I've seen those shows where they do fly-fishing," and a multitude of other day-time shows he wouldn't like to admit to watching with Mrs. Hudson while being painfully unemployed. "Your set-up looks a bit simpler."