three...ish

[ john watson prides himself on always being in control of his faculties. all of his faculties. at all times and at all hours of the day. there have maybe been a few missteps along the road of his life, paths strayed down because of one meddlesome sherlock holmes. but even so! john would like to think himself in control of his own person, his own thoughts and his own actions.

this current morning, however, he can't seem to recall just what lead him to these actions. these... so unlike john watson type decisions. a quick scan of the room alerts him that, no, he's not at home—neither baker street or with mary—nor does he recognize it at all. there's someone beside him and he daren't look, no matter how much his curiosities lead him in that direction. it doesn't take a sherlock holmes to deduce what happened—he's well aware of his clothes being strewn about the room.

as much as he can feel a full on freak out coming on, he bites it back. shoves it down with a firm hand and slowly begins to maneuver himself off the bed. even with the lingering injury, the military taught him stealth well enough to move undetected. at least... that's his current aim as he makes it to the edge, feet hitting the floor.

now. where are his trousers? ]