timetoblog | [LOG] Hangover Cures

There were a lot of things John Watson was used to handling on a very small amount of sleep. He'd been deployed overseas, dealing with bombings and attacks and explosions - he'd been shot, for crying out loud! All of that, however, paled when compared to living with someone as brilliant and as infuriating as Sherlock Holmes. John felt pushed to his limit on more than one occasion, running around London, solving mysteries and crimes, and then coming back to find that he still needed to get groceries, tidy his room, entertain the newly bored Sherlock...

Well, it didn't exactly leave much room for napping. He found himself overtired more often than not, and today was especially harsh, as he was now dealing with a hangover so massive, it put all others to shame. And, as much as he wanted to crash and burn for a few hours in his room, he knew that Sherlock would be along soon enough to draw him out on another adventure. So, when the Welsh bloke - Ianto, he figured, because it was the name that stood out as the most Welsh in his memory - offered an escape route, John had leaped at the chance.

So, there he was, having dug around to find someone to take him to Cardiff - though, was it even the same Cardiff as he was used to? He'd told them who he wanted to see, and that's where he'd been taken, so. Only time would tell if this was his world or not. (And how strange it was to take that concept at face value!) Now, in the Plass - he'd been to Cardiff once, a long time ago, so it was practically like new - John dug out his phone and opened a text to the number he'd by now stored in his address book.

...Right, this wasn't Sherlock he was dealing with. He could call. Rolling his eyes at his own idiocy, he sent a call to Ianto to let him know he was by the (obnoxious? a little) fountain in the center. After all, it was the easiest landmark to be noticed by.

Threaded | Flat

Ianto had been sitting at his desk in the tourist office, doing next to nothing. He had actual work that he could be doing down in the archives, but then he'd have to make it all the way up from there to the tourist office and then out onto the Plass, and really he couldn't be bothered with making that much smalltalk with the man, considering he'd never even spoken in person to him yet.

As it were, they'd exchanged a rather pleasant back and forth when John had first introduced himself on the community, and he hadn't really thought anything of it. Apparently, though, he somehow ended up with the man's number and had thought it wise in whatever sort of drunken stupor he'd gotten himself into the night before that he'd take out all the frustrations about the English that he might have had at any point in his life out on the other, which for one thing, wasn't really fair to John, and for another thing, was actually really rather embarrassing reading back on.

So, he'd invited him over for coffee, as a peace offering, and as a way of redeeming himself, because he really did make a pretty damned good cup of coffee, if he said so himself. He didn't know whether John would even have accepted, and yet he did, and well. There he was, waiting for a phone call, which came a lot sooner than he'd expected it to, seeing as it was the other's first time world-hopping, and all.

"Ehm, hi. It's John, yeah?" he asked, recognizing the number as answered, standing to grab his coat and start heading out to meet him. He tried his hardest to dumb down his accent, because of the whole Wales vs. England vibe that he really didn't want to start up again, but there really was no way he could make it go away completely, unfortunately.

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