Under the Midnight Sun

I have been in London for almost a month now. Dance rehearsal has been going fantastic! I really get along with everyone on my troop except for one girl who is jealous that I, an American “whore”, got the lead and she did not. I believe she thinks I am sleeping with the director of the show, but that is her problem, not mine. People talk shit; there is nothing you can do about it.

Since I will be living in London until I am no longer needed in the dance group, I have decided to finally find a general doctor to I see for check-ups and such. I found one and I am going to see him today.

I walk briskly down the sidewalk, bundled up in a warm outfit and coat. I squint my eyes as the cold wind whips against my face and through my hair. I grip my coat closed with my left hand as I open the door to enter the building where the doctor’s office is. I walk in and approach the secretary. She is sitting behind the window. She has thinning straggly gray hair and a wrinkled face with an unfortunate frown. “Hello; Virginia Sullivan here to the see the doctor,” I say with a joyful smile. I am always incredibly friendly to people that seem down or unhappy.

The secretary grabs a clipboard and hands it to me, smacking it down on the counter. “Fill this out and have a seat.” It is late morning and she already seems unpleasant—or maybe she is just like that all the time.

“Okay,” I mutter. I pick up a pen and find a seat in the farthest corner. I put my bag down next to my feet and I get busy on my paperwork.

I write and write, getting down to the section that asks if I am aware of any medical conditions and medications I am on. Let us see… I write: “Polycystic Ovary Syndrome and Bipolar disorder” and then “900 milligrams of Lithium, 15 milligrams of Abilify, Tri-Sprintec (birth control)” and that is it. I must sound like such a nut case but they are medical professionals so I am sure they see much worse. I have never been ashamed of my bipolar disorder. I embrace it.

“Virginia?” I hear my name called. I look up to find a tall attractive redhead dressed in baby pink scrubs at the door to my right. “Virginia Sullivan?”

“That’s me!” I call over, gathering my things. I give her my paperwork and follow her back to get weighed and to measure my height. I’m still five foot, eight inches and a hundred and forty-five pounds—but I’m mostly muscle. I am then shown into another room where I am to wait for the doctor.

I am sitting on the examination table when a familiar figure walks through the door. “Hello, I’m Dr. Watson,” he says, looking at the clipboard I had just given the nurse. John clicks his pen and then looks up at me. “Well, hello!” He says with a laugh.

“Hello!” I laugh. “Nice to see you again, Dr. Watson!” I rub my thighs nervously. Great, I have to face him again. I was such a moron the last time. I just need to stay cool and calm and get through this as best as I can.

Dr. Watson walks closer to me to shake my hand. At this point, I realize how short he is. I guess he is around five foot, six inches and is thicker around the middle, much like a hobbit from The Lord of the Rings. I look him up and down, making mental notes of his clothing, shoes, watch and posture.

“It’s nice to see you too! So you’re here for a check-up, is that right?” He asks, sitting down on the rolling stool on the floor in between the examination table and his desk.

“Yes, that’s right,” I answer, my voice cracking from my nerves. I clear my throat and my eyes roam across the room. I take note of the grey carpet, the cornflower blue walls, the chart of the digestive system hanging on the wall across from me.

“Let’s take a look…” He stares down at the clipboard. “So you never answered my question… why did you move to London?” He remembered that?

“Um,” I begin. “I moved here because I got the lead in a contemporary dance troop here in London.” I start to relax as I hear myself speaking and it sounds okay. My shoulders drop from the tension.

“Oh, really?” He asks, looking up. “What kind of music do you dance to?”

“All genres, really. It’s most American music, since you guys tend to steal our stuff.” I hide a smile. Dr. Watson gives me a flat look. “I’m just kidding!” I burst into giggles.

“I know you are! I was just teasing you!” He waves his hand.

I cross my arms. “Ah, so the Doctor has a sense of humor! That’s good to know! I’m sure your wife just loves it.”

“No, I don’t have a wife.” He shakes his head.

“Girlfriend?” I lean forward a little bit, interested.

“No, no girlfriend.” He shrugs.

“Boyfriend? Do you and Sherlock…?”

“For Heaven’s sake, no!” He seems a little annoyed.

“Sorry, I was just curious. I mean, you already know a lot about me from my clipboard there.” I gesture to the paperwork in John’s hand. I sigh and lean back on my hands. “Wow…” I mutter under my breath. Smooth moves.

“I’m sorry I snapped,” John apologizes. “Sherlock and I get that a lot. I do like women; I don’t like men… in that way. And I am single.” I smiles happily at me. “We should probably get to your appointment; we can talk while I work.”

“Sounds good to me!” I say, grinning and sitting up straight, ready to rock and roll.
Dr. Watson rolls his stool over by me, holding a flashlight. He places his thumb and forefinger on my face, opening my eye wide, and moves the light in front of it. “So what about you? Do you have a boyfriend… or girlfriend?” His breath smells of peppermint, perhaps he had a mint before our appointment.

“No, unfortunately, I don’t. My love life is nonexistent. I’m just so busy with dance. I would like to have someone though.”

“It seems like all the good ones are taken, eh?” He smirks at me and moves to the other eye.

“Yeah, maybe,” I agree softly.

John moves to check my ears next. “So would I recognize any of the music you dance to? Because I would love to see a good show!”

“…Maybe some of the artists, but I probably not most of them. I could always get you tickets if you do want to go. You can get a… doctor discount!” I laugh at my own joke.

“That would be lovely,” John snickers.

Dr. John Watson finishes my examination. “Well, I conclude that you are perfectly healthy and you are in fantastic shape!” He half-smiles at me.

I stare into his eyes for a moment. I find him so intriguing, not to mention incredibly attractive. I want to learn more about this Dr. John Watson. So I go for it. I grip the edge of table I’m on look to the ground. “I was… I was wondering if you would like to maybe have dinner sometime.” I shoot my gaze back up to meet his.

“I would love to.” He exhales deeply, as if he has been holding in his breath the entire time.

“Great!” I say, giddy with excitement. “How about Friday night at around seven? I already know where you live so I’ll just come to you.”

“It’s a date!” John says, shrugging his shoulders.