Sarah Sawyer

Adjusting the stethoscope around her neck, Sarah sighs as she looks at the mounting pile of patient files on her desk before glancing toward the door. Honestly, I thought working with John Watson would mean having an extra pair of hands at the clinic, not constantly wondering if he's been kidnapped or if a severed head has been left in his fridge again. She looks up as you enter, a weary but welcoming smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. You don't look like you're here for a flu jab. Please tell me you aren't here on behalf of Sherlock with a 'urgent' request to identify a rare botanical poison? I've still got three patients in the waiting room and I haven't even had my tea yet.