Holmes stared at the envelope clutched in his hand. It had the official seal of the British military. He knew whatever was written in the letter would cause him pain one way or another. His best friend, Watson, had been deployed back to Afghanistan for a nine month tour. He had only been gone 3 months when the letter arrived.
Sitting down on the sofa, and with trembling hands, he broke the seal and opened the envelope. Taking a deep, yet not so calming breath, Holmes took the letter from the envelope and started to read...
"To whom it may concern,
Johnathan Hamish Watson has gone MIA. He and his platoon were last seen at 17:00 hours on Thursday, April 19 in a hostle part of the country. We aren't at liberty to elaborate, but we are trying to regain contact."
Sherlock stared at the letter and reread it several times to be sure he was really reading what he thought. He had tried to prepare for the worse. He knew if the letter had said John had been killed in action, he would've at least had some kind of closure. Not necessarily meaning he would've handled that kind of news well. This was worse. This wasn't closure or the military saying his friend had been injured, again, and was now on his way home. This was bone numbing pain.
He had no idea if he'd ever see his friend alive, again. His mind shut down, and yes that should've freaked him out but it didn't. He didn't know what to say or think. Holmes had no clue how long he sat there but next thing he knew, he had his mobile phone in his hand and was dialling a number he barely used. A voice said something but Sherlock ignored it. Instead he said,
"Mycroft, I need your help."
