Post by John Watson on Mar 11, 2012 18:40:29 GMT
Canon/OC: Canon
Name: John Watson
Age: 40
Job/Occupation: Blogger, detective partner, retired army doctor.
Appearance: Standing at only 5 foot 6 inches, John, losing his physocomatic limp shortly after meeting Sherlock, is typically found in jumpers and cardigans on top and jeans on the bottom. His hair, a sandy Blondel that was bleached by his time in Afghanistan, started out as an army cut, has grown out.
He has brown eyes upon his round head. His jackets vary from an army looking jacket one very form fitting in Baskerville.
Personality: Although looking very punctilious and rule-following, he has been hardened from being stationed In Afghanistan. He is brave, caring for Sherlock. But underneath all of his loyalty and courage, he is just a normal person who blogs. He is very caring for others, especially Sherlock, keeping him away from drugs and other dangerous things.
History: Johns childhood is very vague and a mystery. It is speculated that his father was an abusive alcoholic. His mother died when he was at a young age, and his father gave him up. Him and his sister were left in a foster home.
After that, the next point known was when he joined the army as a doctor. In battle, be was shot. After leaving the war, be was gi en a limp. Believed to be from the gunshot, it was actually physcocomatic, meaning that it was not of a wound, but he missed the action of war.
That all changed when he met his new flatmate, Sherlock. A consulting detective that let John come along on his adventures. John blogged them, naming each.
Anything else: none.
RP sample.
This is for Mickey Smith from Doctor Who, in which you are well aware of, Jim
. I just have not RPed on Sherlock before.
Mickey hustled through the maze that UNIT dug through in hopes of coming across an alien technology thar was detected.
The tunnels felt as though they were getting smaller with each step, cutting of air. Mickey was accustomed to these things, he has been in smaller. However, something made this tunnel different. Maybe it was the eerie lack of light, only supplied by torches thinly spread throughout the small tunnels.
Maybe it was because for the first time since Martha was off on a solo mission, he felt alone.
Walking step upon step, his grip footing was staggered when he fell down an upcoming ledge in which loose ground had crummbled into a cavern below.
The fall that was only 3 or 4 felt like miles in the dark, due to its sudden dark surprise.
He fell upon his hands and knees in a rather awkward position, injuring his left foot. He fell with a clunky of metal beneath him.
Metal?
Feeling around he realized he had fell upon metal, most likely steel. He shined his torch around the cavern of metal. With each flick of the light, he could here scurries of feet.
Or claws.
Something scratched at his feet. He shined the torch at it and the figure scurried away. Reaching for his gun, he realizd hit had fallen from his crappy holster. He ran, tripping upon yet another pesty figure. On the ground, the creatures came upon him like leaches. Reachning his face, they scattered away at a familiar noise.
The TARDIS.
R
Name: John Watson
Age: 40
Job/Occupation: Blogger, detective partner, retired army doctor.
Appearance: Standing at only 5 foot 6 inches, John, losing his physocomatic limp shortly after meeting Sherlock, is typically found in jumpers and cardigans on top and jeans on the bottom. His hair, a sandy Blondel that was bleached by his time in Afghanistan, started out as an army cut, has grown out.
He has brown eyes upon his round head. His jackets vary from an army looking jacket one very form fitting in Baskerville.
Personality: Although looking very punctilious and rule-following, he has been hardened from being stationed In Afghanistan. He is brave, caring for Sherlock. But underneath all of his loyalty and courage, he is just a normal person who blogs. He is very caring for others, especially Sherlock, keeping him away from drugs and other dangerous things.
History: Johns childhood is very vague and a mystery. It is speculated that his father was an abusive alcoholic. His mother died when he was at a young age, and his father gave him up. Him and his sister were left in a foster home.
After that, the next point known was when he joined the army as a doctor. In battle, be was shot. After leaving the war, be was gi en a limp. Believed to be from the gunshot, it was actually physcocomatic, meaning that it was not of a wound, but he missed the action of war.
That all changed when he met his new flatmate, Sherlock. A consulting detective that let John come along on his adventures. John blogged them, naming each.
Anything else: none.
RP sample.
This is for Mickey Smith from Doctor Who, in which you are well aware of, Jim
. I just have not RPed on Sherlock before.Mickey hustled through the maze that UNIT dug through in hopes of coming across an alien technology thar was detected.
The tunnels felt as though they were getting smaller with each step, cutting of air. Mickey was accustomed to these things, he has been in smaller. However, something made this tunnel different. Maybe it was the eerie lack of light, only supplied by torches thinly spread throughout the small tunnels.
Maybe it was because for the first time since Martha was off on a solo mission, he felt alone.
Walking step upon step, his grip footing was staggered when he fell down an upcoming ledge in which loose ground had crummbled into a cavern below.
The fall that was only 3 or 4 felt like miles in the dark, due to its sudden dark surprise.
He fell upon his hands and knees in a rather awkward position, injuring his left foot. He fell with a clunky of metal beneath him.
Metal?
Feeling around he realized he had fell upon metal, most likely steel. He shined his torch around the cavern of metal. With each flick of the light, he could here scurries of feet.
Or claws.
Something scratched at his feet. He shined the torch at it and the figure scurried away. Reaching for his gun, he realizd hit had fallen from his crappy holster. He ran, tripping upon yet another pesty figure. On the ground, the creatures came upon him like leaches. Reachning his face, they scattered away at a familiar noise.
The TARDIS.
R
[M:0]
