I wrote this for They Call Me Mrs. Holmes. I've been thinking of you this weekend. X
John twirled the small flower between his finger and thumb as he sat alone in his tent. He looked down at it and a small smile grew on his lips. The small artificial rose was old and dirty where he had held it so often.
With gentle fingers the soldier lifted the small tag that was attached to the fake green of the stem. On the tag, which was no bigger than stamp, was Sherlock's messy scrawl. It read:
To John
All my love. Always missing you.
Sherlock x
The soldier sighed as he read the small writing over and over even though he knew the words of by heart. He missed his partner and longed to be back beside him.
John was suddenly aware of a sound rushing over to his tent. It was of large boots pounding against the floor. The army doctor lent down and placed the rose back in his bag and waited for the footsteps to enter the tent.
A few seconds later, a tall soldier sprinted into the tent. He was panting and sweat was dripping from his brow. John looked up at his comrade with a questioning arched eyebrow.
"Dr Watson. We need you. There's been an accident." The lanky man explained quickly. The soldier waited for John to nod before running back off to assist with the incident. The blonde doctor took one quick glance at the rose in his bag before rushing off after his comrade.
Later that night after John had washed the blood off his hands and sweat off his brow, he pulled the old rose out of his bag again and sat studying the old flower. He couldn't wait to see his Sherlock again.
Sherlock stalked around the crime scene with an impossible elegance. He bent down over the dead body and inspected the man's greying hair. As he collected the data, he rolled a fake red rose in his fingers inside of his pocket. The shocking green of the stem was slightly faded as a result of constantly being held. The material that had been used for the petals was partly crumbled and no longer possessed the silky quality in once had but the detective noticed none of these flaws. Whenever he pulled the dark red rose out from his coat pocket he only saw the promise it represented and the small tag that dangled from the green stem.
Sherlock
Thinking of you always.
John xxx
The genius stood up as he ran his thumb over the petals and took his old rose out to hold up in the light. At first he smiled but a frown started to form on his lips when he took in how worn and damaged the formally bright and colourful rose now was.
Lestrade approached the consulting detective quietly so he could see what the man was holding up. His brow furrowed when he took in the sight of Sherlock frowning at an old artificial rose.
"What's that?" The DI asked cautiously. He only hoped that the genius wasn't about to steal evidence for his own experiments.
Sherlock turned on the older man swiftly with a deep scowl. His hand slipped the flower back into his pocket quickly but Greg still noticed the action.
"Nothing that should concern you." The taller man snapped as he looked back down at the victim.
Sherlock continued to smooth out the petals of the flower in his pocket as he studied the body. The detective knew that John would be doing the same thing in another part of the world. The fond smile grew back on his lips again. He couldn't wait to see his John again.