John stood in front of the full-length mirror of his bedroom, his fingers fussing with the buttons of his freshly ironed white shirt. He muttered under his breath as he repeatedly fastened and unfastened each one as nerves were slowly getting the better of him.
On his dresser, his cell phone screen glowed with a message from his date, Martha Jones, he'd probably read it at least twenty times each time beaming, "Can't wait to meet you." It read. It may have been just a simple text, but it still set off another flutter of anxious butterflies in his stomach along with excitement and apprehension, a strange but welcomed feeling he hadn't felt in ages.
It had been a year since Mary's death. The silence she left behind still weighed heavily, like an echo he couldn't escape. He still remembered and regrated those early months when he'd nearly severed ties with his friend, Sherlock, mainly out of anger and grief. It was just too hard to cope with the pain or the reality of life without her. But therapy somehow helped him rebuild the remaining fragments of himself buried beneath all that grief. And now, here he was, preparing for his first date in over a year, it still baffled him at times.
He'd met Martha on Tinder, something he never imagined himself doing. But she was different, refreshing like a pleasant surprise, intelligent, grounded, with a bright laugh that just made him smile with every phone call. Like him, she worked in the medical field as a doctor, she also loved traveling and music. And best of all, she didn't mind short men. That alone felt like a once in a lifetime win.
Tilting his head side to side, John examined every angle of his reflection, frowning. The shirt wore snugly over his shoulders, his hair still slightly damp from the shower combed with absolute military precision.
John nodded satisfied.
"Not bad," he murmured, although his fingers still fiddled at the buttons. Tonight, really mattered. He wanted the first impression to be... natural but sincere.
He stepped back and practiced a few greeting gestures in the mirror. "Hello," he said, flashing a polite smile before grimacing. "Too formal." He muttered adjusting his posture and placing his hands casually in his pockets.
"Hey, Martha," he tried, grinning. "You look lovely tonight." That sounded good until his voice cracked, making him wince. "Brilliant, very smooth, John. How about we try it minus the voice crack, hmm?" He muttered.
Suddenly, Sherlock's voice floated in from the living room. "John, I—" He began, only to abruptly stop as he entered. Violin tucked under his arm, he surveyed the semi-chaotic scene of discarded ties strewn across the bed, shirts flung over the bedstead and socks abandoned on the floor like casualties.
Sherlock's brow lifted suspiciously.
"Am I... interrupting a ritual of some sort?" He asked dryly looking around.
John spun around, attempting to speak but nearly tripping on a spare shoe. He then straighten himself before clearing his throat and acting nonchalant despite his cheeks flaring shades of pink.
"If you must know, I'm preparing for my date with Martha. That lovely doctor I met on Tinder."
Sherlock nodded, suppressing a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Ah. That explains the anxiety and the unmistakable scent of nerves, masked poorly by that god-awful cologne, Anderson gave you last Christmas." He remarked.
John folded his arms, blinking at him slightly offended.
"I actually happen to like this cologne and so did Martha." He noted.
Sherlock just leaned against the door frame, inspecting it before frowning.
"And you met her on Tinder, huh," He questioned. "I wasn't aware society still endorsed that thing as a precious tool for romance." Sherlock commented.
John sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Yes, shocking, isn't it Sherlock, that some of us enjoy actually connecting with real humans," John remarked. "Dinners, laughter, conversation, you know, things normal people do." He stated at his friend. "How about getting to know that new neighbor, Clara," John suggested. "She seems nice." He said.
He frowned.
"Please, she still has my revolver, and still hasn't given it back." Sherlock scoffed.
John sighed.
"Probably because you were shooting the walls, again and scared her." He replied.
Sherlock just turned his head, clasping his hands, grunting.
"Anyway, I like to think I'm a perfectly normal human being." He huffed.
John gave him a look.
"Of course you are," John replied dryly. "Anyway, while I'm gone, try not to dismantle anything or scare our neighbors, hmm?"
Sherlock looked at him.
"No promises," He replied pointing at him with his bow before retreating to his study with a swoop of his robe, soon the hum of violin notes drifted from down the hallway.
John then turned back to his reflection, reaching for his brown suit jacket draped across the chair. Just as he was slipping it on, he paused, his gaze spotting the photo of Mary resting on the dresser, her wide smile and sparkling eyes catching the evening light. He slowly stepped closer, lovingly brushing his finger across the glass as if tracing the memory of her smile.
John sighed.
"Wish me luck, love," He whispered.
Taking a deep breath, John straightened his jacket and walked out of the room, letting the door click softly behind him. The chill of the evening breeze greeted him as he stepped into the night, his heart thudding quietly beneath his collar.
"Here's to new beginnings," He murmured before walking away.
Meanwhile, Martha stood barefoot in the center of her cluttered bedroom apartment with her light pink robe and her wet hair still wrapped in a towel as she searched her closet for that perfect outfit for the night. She pulled out a lavender blouse before quickly placing it back, it was too formal.
After several outfits, she finally settled on a purple strap dress with a short black jacket. Her phone chimed with a new message. She glanced over from the vanity, slightly squinting through half-done lashes. She sighed seeing it was from her younger sister, Tish, "Please, tell me he's not some army weirdo."
She just rolled her eyes. A second later another message popped up, "At least text me a code or something if he shows up in camouflage like a warrior nut."
Martha smirked, giggling under her breath. Her sister had been watching way too many Rambo films.
She picked up her phone texting back, "No weirdos just a gentle, sweet doctor with sad eyes and a cute smile," Martha then smiled before continuing to get dressed.
Martha had met John a month ago on Tinder. Unlike the dozen of profiles, she'd swiped past, John was different not like the guys with the overly edited gym pics, creepy bios, or the guys who listed "sarcasm" as their greatest personality trait.
John's profile stood out but in the best way, it was just a simple photo of him in a buttoned down shirt and grey sweater giving a nervous smile yet, there was something really genuine there. Maybe it was his smile, or the way he wrote, "Former army doctor, recovering widower. Still believes in hope and love. Loves tea and cookies. Can't dance but willing to try." It ended with a smiling emoji which made her smile and soon she was swiping right and everything went from there.
Now, she just had to not overthink this date. It had been a long time since she'd dated someone, seriously. Between night shifts at the hospital and the emotional whiplash of caring for patients, it was difficult to have a dating life much less attempt one.
But something about John felt different, even special. His voice was thoughtful and his jokes kind of cringy but cute. John never tried too hard, and she liked that. He just felt... real.
She stepped back from the mirror, giving herself a critical once over. Her dress and jacket combo fitting her perfectly, her dark hair styled up, messy yet cute, and her makeup just simple eyeliner and pink gloss giving her just enough confidence.
Her fingers nervously touched the necklace hanging delicately from her neck, a silver chain with a tiny teardrop sapphire charm, she always wore, a gift from her father when she graduated med school.
She took one last deep breath.
"Okay, Martha," She told herself quietly. "It's just a date, he's a nice guy. You're not going to spill wine or say something stupid just relax and have a nice time... and if it gets weird, you can always fake a pager emergency, one of the perks of being a doctor." She added smiling.
She grabbed her purse and headed toward the door, briefly pausing readying herself before opening it.
As she stepped out onto the city sidewalk, a gentle breeze ruffled her hair. Her heart quickened with the electric thrill of possibility and hope of something new. She took a steady breath and smiled.
"Here we go." Martha whispered feeling confident as she walked along the sidewalk towards the café.'