Word Count: 759
Characters: John Watson, Arthur Dent
Warnings: Crack, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy crossover, Martin Freeman!Arthur Dent
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this belong to me. Which is sad. They are property of their respective owners.
Summary: It was a perfectly ordinary day, except for the fact that it wasn't and neither John nor Arthur was ready for it.
Notes: I wrote this for a few reasons - I wanted to, someone asked me to, and I was really, really bored. So... there's that. It's short and sort of cracky.
It was an ordinary day, like any other ordinary day that one would expect in the completely normal, though not entirely boring city of London, located in England, in Europe, on Earth, in the Solar System... et cetera, the point has been made. It wasn't dreary out, nor was it particularly sunny. The temperature was very moderate, neither hot nor cold, and the pollen count was low. This was fortunate for many people, considering that it was mid-Spring and the pollen was never pleasant.
There were perfectly ordinary clouds, and perfectly ordinary people walked and drove along, all minding their perfectly normal business.
All except for a certain few. Oh, some were quite ordinary, but they were special in their associations, special and so very unusual despite how very plain and downright boring they were.
Arthur Dent was a man who had seen more than almost any other human would ever dare to dream of seeing. He had been to other worlds, been transported through time on a sofa, accidentally been responsible for the same beings death repeatedly, seen the Earth destroyed, seen the Earth restored, and subsequently became aware that almost every possible Earth that ever existed in any dimension were also destroyed, except a few of them. Which, luckily for him, was were he now walked down the streets of London - not the London he knew, goodness no, this one was nothing like the London from his Earth. Well, not that he'd ever really paid much attention to it.
This altogether unassuming and honestly boring man had decided against his friend's activity of choice - a heavy amount of drinking in a the seediest looking pub Ford Prefect could find - which was actually a fairly surprising turn of events. Arthur would have quite enjoyed a pint, but for whatever reason his little mind would give - and truly, there was no reason beside simple curiosity - the mostly harmless, plain little man walked the streets of London.
Unbeknown to him, barely three streets over, there was another man, like Arthur in more ways than either could possibly be comfortable with. He was just as ordinary in appearance, just as plain and perceptibly boring. John Watson, however, had seen many things, too. Oh, nothing at all as grand as outer space or the end of the universe, no. What John Watson had seen would have given any other man (save a few) endless nightmares, paranoia, and would, possibly, have inspired severe PTSD and a very high psychiatrist's bill. The fact that he suffered from none of these things should have concerned him.
As it was, John Watson felt that he handled severed body parts in the medicine cabinet, missing articles of clothing, strange odours, and the dying-cat wailing of an abused violin very, very well. In fact, he handled it so well that he often times wondered if he was, in fact, completely mad and his living with Sherlock Holmes was a desperate cry for help.
He preferred not to think about that too much. It just might end up being the truth, and he'd really rather not have to deal with exactly what kind of help he would need.
And so John Watson walked, using his determination to not think about how he must actually be insane to keep himself from thinking about how much he'd like to make his flatmate squirm. It was like a horrible circle, and it all just came back to him being crazy. He paused in his walking - really, this was going nowhere - and pushed these thought aside entirely, instead deciding that he would think about how wonderful a nice cup of tea would be.
These thoughts matched up quite well with Arthur Dent's thoughts, and it was with something vaguely resembling coincidence that both men found themselves on the same street, heading straight towards each other. It was with something along the lines of destiny when both men, very intent on finding a good cuppa, walked right past each other with a nod of acknowledgment before realising that they had just walked passed someone who looked very much like themselves. It was with trepidation, confusion and shock that both men turned around at nearly the same moment, looked at each other in varying degrees of disbelief.
It was with a sense of resignation and acceptance that both men sighed, shook hands, and wished each other a good day before turning right back around and pretending it never happened.
A cup of tea was definitely a good idea.