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I suppose, Watson, that we must look upon you as a man of letters. - Sherlock Holmes (The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge)

Dr. John Watson is a prolific writer and physician who currently resides in Victorian 19th century London, where he lives his life idly and without much trouble. While already being an amicable sort of man, he treasures particularly the friendship of one Sherlock Holmes, whom he visits often to go on various adventures when he is not otherwise involved.

Despite Holmes' claims that Watson's recordings are too romantic and superfluous for the former man's taste, Watson nonetheless continues to chronicle the engrossing and unique tales that each of the detective's clients seem to divulge, preferring to watch the methods of his friend at work rather than doing so himself. His weaknesses lie in nearly every area that Holmes revels in, one frequently mentioned example being that he "sees", but not "observes". Still, he does not let this deter his opinions, and he often praises his friend's aptitude and quick deductive skills rather than let the detective’s admonishments make his opinions one of bias.

Although he does acknowledge the fact that his friend is essentially the brilliant mind at work, he is a smart man of his own right and sports a small but thriving medical practice in the depths of London and is quick to give a diagnosis when the occasion calls for it. He also prides himself as a woman's man and has been married at least once, one time to Mary Morstan, a former client of Holmes himself. Mary having died rather recently, Watson finds himself mourning her, however quietly, and is currently at several odds with himself over the fact, feeling that he should have been able to do more, being a doctor. As a result, he is somewhat of a bitter and heart worn man at the moment and is in no hurry to get married again.

Still, Watson is first and foremost a humanitarian. His life and his pride lies in helping others, and his sympathetic mind sometimes speaks in front of his rational one. His personality is one of an open book, mainly due to the fact that he doesn’t feel that he needs to hide much from people and trusting someone he doesn’t know takes no arduous effort on his part. Nonetheless, he is a fairly good judge of character and is weary of people who don’t mark very well in his good books.

He spends his life to the full and enjoys reading sea stories, although he prefers his days in the rush of adrenaline. He also, rather guiltily, takes part the thrill of gambling, a habit he has since acknowledged, keeping his checkbook locked safely in Holmes' desk.

Watson's appearance is not particularly unusual. His hair and eyes are of a light brown colour and he sports a clean, neatly combed moustache. He is slightly taller than the average man and is fairly fit and well to do, an army man at heart. Due to his practice, he often carries about a small black medicine bag and, being in the Victorian Era and all, is somewhat of a smoker and so his pipe is usually at close hand. He keeps in his vest pocket a golden fob watch, formerly of his now late older brother who, when living, had been a cavalier and careless man who had been a strain on his family until his death. Watson does not talk of him much and it would be far-fetched and hard to guess that he had a brother at all.

When at home, he is not a very meticulous person, and while he doesn’t hold a high standard of tidiness, there is a line, in his opinion, as to how scattered one can be, a line that Holmes treads on far too much for the doctor’s liking. On days where the disorderliness gets to be too much for his nerves, he can be seen attempting to organise the various objects strewn about the Baker Street living room, regardless of his friend’s insistence on the location of said items.

At the moment, in the year of 1889, Watson is in his mid thirties and not yet married for what is presumably the second time, and currently resides in his quarters of 221b Baker Street where he tends to patients of his practice, waking at a lazy hour and going to bed at a late one. While he usually works from his home, he does occasionally make house calls when the situation begs for it. It has been a few months since the death of his first wife, Mary Morstan, who had passed away after several years of failing physical health that had plagued her since before their marriage.

As a note: in most cases, Watson is real. There is no Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, so pointing out Doyle would be canon-puncturing for him, but pointing out that there are stories about him and Holmes would not be, as Watson was the one who wrote them. If you would like to talk about his writings, then feel free to, as long as you don't talk about Doyle. (No offence to him of course, as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is a priceless contributor to literature.)

Dr. John H. Watson is from the stories of Sherlock Holmes, and is the property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He appears here solely for the purpose of role-playing in milliways_bar and writing in theatrical_muse, from which no profit whatsoever is being made.

Furthermore, I am not Ewan McGregor nor do I own him. Any illegal usage will involve maiming using the power of the Force.

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