A/N: Hey! This is my first fic! I hope you enjoy! I would love reviews! Advice and constructive criticism is highly welcomed!
Sherlock and John entered the flat cheery after just returning home from a long successful case. Mrs. Hudson yelled up the stairway, "Boys I took the courtesy of putting your mail on the table." Sherlock briefly scanned the mail and tossed the rest of the envelopes addressed to John. He caught them giving Sherlock a scolding look before Sherlock walked into the kitchen to prepare tea. John sighed casting reticent looks at the many bills. He put them aside noticing a formal envelope addressed to him in gold calligraphy. He noticed the quality of the paper and the stationary and grew quite anxious as he broke the seal. John's heart sank as he read the contents of the letter.
Sherlock called out, "John, would you prefer earl grey or herbal green tea?" John sat silently in his worn armchair lost in a tirade of emotions unaware of his flat mate's inquisition. Sherlock puzzled by the lack of response walked into the sitting room and immediately noticed john's rigid and tense posture. He wore a forlorn look and stared intently at the letter in his hand. Sherlock eyed him keenly wondering what could cause John's sudden mood swing. As he observed more closely he noticed John's tremor and the grimace that masked his face as he shifted uncomfortably massaging his leg. Sherlock quickly deduced the letter was ill news most likely pertaining to previous history in Afghanistan. Possibly the death of a comrade?
Sherlock entered the sitting room idly and sat in his chair across from his blogger. John seemed to be utterly unaware of the detective's actions. His mind was lost in the battlefield, a wave of distant but all too real chaotic memories. Sherlock cleared his throat pulling John from his reverie. For a moment the room was silent as Sherlock searched John's eyes finding only grief and fear, mirroring the once broken soldier. He spoke softly and concerned, "John, whatever is the matter?" John appeared to be lost searching and swimming in his thoughts for his response. His mouth was dry and his tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He swallowed the lump in throat. His voice cracked and betrayed him as he replied, "I've just received news on the passing of a dear friend of mine. The funeral is this Friday in Wales. I've been asked to come and give a speech on his behalf."
Sherlock noticed John's erratic breathing as John confirmed his deductions. John steeled himself masking his face of emotions. Sherlock's heart sank lower in his chest watching the once cheery and comedic doctor become the hard impassive soldier. He cursed himself for lacking in the knowledge of alleviation of sadness. As much as he wouldn't like to admit it pained him to witness his dearest flat mate in a state of distress. John's emotions affected Sherlock deeply. It made him wonder how did a man that John never spoke of have such an impact on him. He knew nothing of John's old friends or army pals. Sherlock not knowing how to express tenderness or comfort nodded and said, "My condolences John. I am truly sorry for your loss." John gave Sherlock a curt nod and stood up gritting his teeth with closed tight fists. "Thank you Sherlock. I'm going out for a bit." John grabbed his coat and left the flat. Sherlock watched his dear friend limp out in to the night.