Flips the phone open to stare at a screen that has been cracked for months now. No texts, no calls, no nothing from anyone who matters. It's amusing to him that telemarketers still find him when he's been untraceable for ten months, six days, eight hours, and forty-seven seconds to people with access to technology that would make the American CIA's collective heads spin; he doesn't look at the number that's called, doesn't care for telemarketers, but surprise is ever present when he sees that he has a message waiting.
Presses 1 and waits. Perhaps they are selling something good this time. Like a new beaker set (his was left behind, it would be suspicious if it was suddenly missing).
'You have one new message'
Rolls his eyes at the tinny voice on the other end; but then there is silence. A beat of silence where the person on the other end has taken a breath –
(heavy breather, choked, perhaps guilty, probably male, mourning, a friend died, he feels he could have stopped it, army man – chooses to think before speaking, a boring case, all files deleted)
- and then the person speaks.
"Hello Sherlock. I'm surprised your phone still operates after all this time – Mycroft probably enhanced it because he knew you wouldn't charge it."
It's John.
(files retrieved)
"I was just calling to…um, actually I don't know why I'm calling you. I just. I feel like I should. So, here I am. Figured you'd want to know what's going on. Um, Lestrade is pretty broken up. Blames himself for it – I suppose. Although it was Donovan's fault, he gave her a right talking to for what she did. Anderson too. It was pretty light compared to the one I gave them."
Images of John, red faced and black eyed, screaming abuse at the two. Threatening them within an inch of their lives and then proceeding to use his military voice. The one that would have sent Anderson into a catatonic state of feeble-attentiveness and terror and have Donovan quaking in her knock-off boots (scuffed on the sides, she rolled her ankle a while ago but didn't get a cast – just a minor sprain).
"Which is saying something because the things Lestrade said can't be repeated over any public communications; I know you'd probably be upset at me for that. But they deserved it. Mycroft has been spending more time here, trying to keep an eye on me, or so he says. I think he just misses you. Mrs. Hudson too, I don't think I've seen her make this many biscuits in a long while."
There is a pause and he's almost terrified that John is done. He misses John – he wants to see him, take his laptop, and bicker with him about trivial things. Somewhere deep inside of him the little boy that he was is crying for home and hearth and john. But he's gotten very good at ignoring his desires.
"I guess…goodbye."
End of messages. To delete this message press 1, now. To save it in the archives press 2, now.
'Beep'
Message saved.
Leans back in his seat and wonders why he's stayed away for so long.
"Boss!" A voice calls from down the hall, it's Charlie – a little orphan boy that he's recruited to be his spy, "Boss, we found 'im! That bloke you was lookin' fer. Par' of that o'er bloke's crime t'ing!"
Oh yes – he rises from his spot, long and lean and more dangerous than ever now (he remembers what he's fighting for) – that's why.
/