Title: Happier
Author: inspectorbadass
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock, John/Mary, slash if you squint
Rating/Warnings: K+, no warnings
Disclaimer: Nothing that you recognize is mine. It all belongs to people higher up than me.
A/N: So, this is my first story that I have ever posted. This has not been betaed so any mistakes are mine. I welcome any and all feedback that you can give me :-)
By now, Sherlock had been away from London for over a year. One year, four months, thirteen days, and twelve hours, according to him. 717,840 minutes and counting away from London, from Baker Street, from...everything and almost everyone.
Unrecognizable in jeans, a gray threadbare tee shirt, and curls shorn off, Sherlock was folded into a too-small chair in a shabby hotel room in Berlin. Sherlock was prowling through his brother's latest information on Moriarty's web that wove through Europe. His time in Germany would be coming to a close that night and Sherlock needed to know where the spider would be moving on to next. He still seemed to be one step behind Moriarty and was valiantly trying to gain a few steps. The files and photos were indicating that Rome might be the next destination where Sherlock would be whisked off to.
Once he had decided where he would be heading Sherlock's thoughts inevitably turned to matters best left well enough alone. Shifting in the uncomfortable chair he shuffled the Moriarty files aside and picked up another nondescript folder, the outside the same as the other files. However, this one contained photos and information of a more personal nature.
This folder was his lifeline to London.
Opening the folder Sherlock was bombarded with surveillance photos of everyone from Mrs. Hudson to his mother, everyone he cared enough about to keep an eye on and a few he didn't. He lazily flipped through Mycroft's extensive collection of photos, mostly taken from CCTV footage from all around London. He saw Lestrade at crime scenes with Donovan and Anderson, Mrs. Hudson doing her shopping, and Molly going to and from work. He didn't pay too much attention to the first photos, only giving them a glance as he went through them. Not until he reached the last half of the pile did he find what he was looking for...or rather who.
His brother's surveillance on John had begun the day Mycroft was aware of the fall, before everyone else's, and continued to be more comprehensive, usually including inside the flat on the few occasions that John was there.
In the beginning the photos of John were much the same. He had apparently moved out of the Baker Street flat not too long after the funeral. There would occasionally be a photo of him in the flat, just briefly, presumably to pick up something that was left. It looked like Baker Street was largely the same inside except for some of the more perishable experiments being cleared out.
John himself had drastically changed after the fall. Sherlock could tell from the slumped shoulders and downcast expression that John was still in mourning. There were also no photos that his brother had given him where John was with anyone else, save Mrs. Hudson, which led Sherlock to believe that he had cut himself off from everyone they once knew. These photos did not change much since Sherlock began receiving them over a year ago.
In the past month, though, the photos of John had taken a decidedly different turn. Now there was another person in the photos with John. A blonde woman, Mary, Sherlock's mind offered with quite a bit of spite, and John's whole demeanor had changed. The newest photos Sherlock was studying were from the last week or so and featured John, and frequently Mary, around London, going to dinner or out for a drink. Occasionally there would also be drinks with Lestrade as well. To anyone looking without Sherlock's practiced eye it would seem that John was considerably happier than in the past. Gone was the downcast expression and slumped shoulders; he was outwardly smiling and occasionally laughing with Mary.
Sherlock saw it very differently.
He saw the tension in John's jaw that suggested the smile was more than a bit forced. The laughter didn't quite reach his eyes, which still held a bit of darkness to them in the right light. When he had drinks with Lestrade or anyone else the miserable look would return. He saw in a few photos how John's limp had on occasion made an appearance, a clear sign of an uneasy mental state.
Clearly John was forcing himself to be happy.
Sherlock really didn't know how to process that information.
Emotions had never really been Sherlock's strongest area. Facts, figures, conclusions, now those were easy to sort through. Deciding that dwelling on John would only cause a distraction for his upcoming stakeout, he closed the folder and steepled his fingers underneath his chin, sitting back on the chair. As he sorted through the information just presented to him, he filed away the images of John in the cabinet at the back of his mind.
As Sherlock's phone dinged with the text he had been waiting for he resurfaced from his mind and left John behind for another day. As he hastily put on his dark hooded sweatshirt, he entertained one final thought before his mind turned to the back alley where he was headed, one day I will find out why you are pretending.
End.