Greg had been happy to let John take his witness, home. The doctor waiting until she had grabbed the few belongings that she had brought to the house with her, before they had found themselves in the back of a police car, being whisked through the London, night. It seeming that the inspector wanted to keep an eye on her; perhaps believing that she might somehow have been involved with her friend's death or could still be a possible victim. The drive back to her home, quiet, apart from the slightly garbled police communications, from over the radios. John feeling more than a little relieved, when the car had pulled up outside the house and he and (Y/n) had been able to get out.

"Different, isn't it............?" (Y/n) suddenly said, as she took a seat on the large deep grey sofa. Her words catching his attention.

Until that moment, he had been studying the room in which he found himself. This place was much more like her; much more like the woman that he knew from work. It was neat, tidy and clean. The faint odours of bleach and disinfectant, hanging in the air. And there were pictures, that looked as though they had been lined up with military precision and a spirit level. Pictures of not only her father, whom he knew she greatly respected, in his uniform; but also, herself, with proud looking parents. John not having known that she had been in the service too, until he had interviewed her.

"What is...........?" John finally responded, as he came to join her on the sofa.

"When I was deployed, I knew I could see all manner of injures, all manner of deaths; and.......I was prepared for that. Well, as prepared to face those things as any nurse or doctor is. Not that it isn't still an awful thing to see; but you have a job to do, don't you. You have to forget about emotions and do what you were trained to do; because if you don't.........well, if you don't people can die. But this..........this I wasn't prepared for. Not for one moment did I think that I would walk down those stairs and find my friend in a pool of her own blood, with a man stood over her, holding a gun. Her death......it was so different to ones that I have known before; more personal. I wasn't prepared for how it would make me feel............." (Y/n) confessed. Her eyes focused on her fingers, as she picked at the skin around her thumb nail; John having to think that she was right, that as an army doctor or nurse, it is unfortunately inevitable that you will see death; especially if there is a conflict. But now, in private practice, he normally just had to deal with illnesses that he could hopefully aid his patients in recovering from. So, he could see why she thought this death was so different; why it had hit her differently. Though he had to think that as professional as (Y/n) usually was, nothing could prepare someone for walking in on a murder, especially the murder of a friend.

"Tea........." John suddenly said, as he got back to his feet. A part of him feeling a little silly for just saying that. As if a cup of the beverage might fix everything; that it might take away the things that she had seen, even bring her friend back to life; but it was just the first thing that had sprung to mind. John having to think that it was such a terribly British thing to do.

"My grandmother always said that tea was for gossip, and brandy was for shock. There is a bottle in the kitchen cabinet above the toaster; I never opened it, there was no reason to, but I think there is now. So, a nice big glass would be very much appreciated, doctor. Thank you." (Y/n) replied, as she finally looked up at him, giving him one of those soft smiles of hers, that John had come to love since they had started working together.

"And please, I would feel better if you joined me. I'm not really one for drinking on my own........The kitchen is down the hall. Glasses are in the cabinet about the kettle." She continued. John nodding, feeling as if he could do with something a little more than tea, himself.

                                                      >>-----------------------------------<<

John made his way into the kitchen; just like anything (Y/n) was in charge of at work, it was neat. A place for everything, and everything in its place. It such a pleasant change from his own flat, John always felling like Sisyphus, pushing a boulder up hill, when it came to cleaning the place. The doctor never being able to imagine Sherlock with a duster and a can of polish in his hand, or a bottle of disinfectant and a cloth. John sometimes believing that Sherlock had not been born, but created in a lab, somewhere. Sprouting from a petri dish, like some new bacteria, or mould; and given that, cleaning products were his kryptonite. The doctor chuckling to himself, as he found the glasses and bottle of brandy, just where (Y/n) had told him; about to pour a generous amount of the dark liquor into the two tumblers, until his eyes fell on another picture, that sat on the windowsill. A picture of him........well, of him and (Y/n); John recognising it as a fancy dress Christmas party that they had both been invited to, the year before. He looking completely goofy dressed as a garden gnome, and she.........she looking absolutely beautiful as Cleopatra. The two people looking back at him, though oddly mismatched in dress, appeared to be happy together, as if they belonged together. John promising himself that when this current situation was over, he would ask her out; and hopefully he might get back that feeling he could recall from that night. But for now.........brandy.............