Present Day: 24th December, 2013
Sighing and slumping down into his chair, Dr. John Watson leaned his head back and closed his eyes, relaxing finally after a day of stress. After a moment, he re-opened the lids and stared at the ceiling, before shifting his gaze straight ahead of him.
Straight at the empty chair that sat across from him; the one that would remain forever empty. John had tried to stop himself having these thoughts. Mrs. Hudson had advised it; it would be too painful, she'd said, and she was bloody right.
He placed his hands palm down on the chair arms and used all the effort he had left in pushing himself out of his armchair. Picking up his cane for his leg, he hobbled to the kitchen to retrieve a beer from the fridge.
Sitting down in his chair once more, he closed his eyes again, taking a swig of the alcohol and trying to forget about everything. His mind wandered, and then found Sherlock again.
Growling in annoyance at his brain, he slammed his hand down on the chair arm and took another swig.
"Ooh, are you alright dear?" came a small, high-pitched voice from the door way, making John smile despite his previous anger.
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, I'm fine. Just annoyed is all" he replied kindly, grateful for her thoughtfulness.
"You don't sound it. Anyway, I've got a spare Christmas tree in my flat if you'd like it. What have you got there, huh? Beer? John, what have I told you about that stuff! It's full of all kinds of rubbish and it'll kill you off before you reach 50! But will you take my advice? Oh no! You know, sometimes you really do remind me of…" she stopped on the word; his word. His name.
John's expression fell, and he thought he felt his eyes begin to sting, but decided to ignore it. He didn't want to make her feel worse than she probably already did; after all, she missed him terribly too.
"No thanks; I don't think I'm going to do Christmas this year and I know, Mrs. Hudson, but it's been an incredibly long day". A long life more like, he thought to himself. The days seemed to drag on longer each time. He didn't leave the flat most weekends; Greg occasionally managed to get him to go to the pub or the theatre with him, but it was a rare thing. John could still remember when he'd asked him to come down to the morgue and see what he thought of a new murder victim. He'd broken down over the phone, the memories of his friend poisoning his mind. Greg came over and comforted him, and friendship between them had sparked. He couldn't bring himself to visit the morgue or anywhere remotely related to detective work. Not even to visit Miss Hooper, in whom he had found unexpected kindness. He saw her occasionally, as she sometimes joined him and Greg. She'd taken it hard too; John knew she'd always been extremely fond of Sherlock, and her feelings had probably developed into something more than just friendship.
The voice of his landlady brought him back out of his thoughts.
"Well, have you had something to eat anyway? There's some leftover fish pie in the freezer if you'd like me to heat it up. Just this once of course, I'm your-"
"Landlady, not my housekeeper; I know, don't worry Mrs. Hudson. And I would appreciate that a great deal, thank you" John replied, knowing her saying by heart.
"Alright dear, I'll get right on it" she replied, moving around the kitchen.
John sighed.
Come on Sherlock, you git. Where are you when I need you?
John sat staring out of the window, having finished his dinner. He was gazing at the stars, trying not to notice the door-to-door carol singers that seemed to have stopped outside the entrance to his flat. He somehow found comfort in the stars; maybe it is because they will never leave him. For as long as he lived there would always be stars there, up in the sky for him to see. Something caught his eye to the left of the window, as his phone flashed, signifying he's received a text message. He ignored it, his eyes lingering over another object.
Standing up and making his way over to the side table where it lay, he smiled sadly. Taking it in his hands he plucked a string on the instrument. His expression fell, realizing what he was doing, taking multiple steps back, away from the violin.
It hadn't been touched or moved since the day. Not for any particular reason, just simply that John had forgotten about it completely. He'd loved the sound of the stringed instrument ringing through the flat, even in though he may have complained about it at three in the morning countless times.
His phone flashed again; John ignoring it as he did before, moving back to his previous place at the window and gazing back into space. John glanced at his watch, and seeing that it was almost two am, he decided he would go to bed on the hour. He always had to go to bed on the hour; he'd found that strange.
"There are weird perks to you, John Watson, and I intend to find them all" Sherlock spoke, staring into his eyes, before grabbing his coat and sweeping out of the door, leaving John blushing.
John smiled sadly at the memory, looking down briefly at the few people travelling home from work, and of course the few that were homeless. John felt a sudden strike of sympathy for them at this moment, and taking a snap decision, he decided that he might as well give one of them a bit of change for a something warm.
Grabbing his wallet, phone and keys, and pulling his jacket of the back of the door, he began to make his way down the flight of stairs, fairly slowly due to his leg. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and beginning to get fairly frustrated at the person who was texting him at nearly two in the morning, he wasn't going to answer it.
He made his way out of the door, pulling his collar up against the sharp cold wind. It was clear, not a cloud in the sky, but it was bloody cold. Even more of a reason to help, so he pulled out his wallet, and walked over to the man sat outside 'Speedy's'.
"You there, do you want to give me some money to go get a cuppa tea?" John heard the man say, and began to step towards him cautiously, not really knowing what to do in this situation now that he was in it.
The man looked up at him from under his hat, his eyes wide and his hands rubbing together to try and muster some warmth.
"Um, yeah, that's why I came down. You looked like you needed something warm to drink, so, um, here you go" replied John, handing the man a five pound note.
"Wow, um, thanks mate. I wasn't expecting that much, but cheers anyway. I'm off to get a cuppa now then, see ya" he told John, and with a quick wave of his hand, he was gone.
John smiled, feeling slightly good about himself.
"You know, you really ought to check your phone" came a voice from behind him, making John spin round so quickly, he almost gave himself whiplash.
"Excuse me, what?" he said to the stranger. She didn't seem to be anyone John had seen before, although he saw so many people every day, he was sure not to remember this person. She was a woman, about his height, and wrapped in a thick coat and a warm scarf, indicating to John that she was not indeed homeless like the man he'd just given money to.
"Your phone, it's been buzzing the whole time I've been standing here. You might want to have a look at it. Just thought I'd tell you" and then she was gone, turning around and striding off down Baker Street and around the corner, until she was completely out of John's sight.
He thought about still ignoring his phone, but the woman had made him curious as to what could be so important at two o'clock in the morning.
He reached his hand into his pocket, before pulling out his phone and looking at the screen.
10 new messages.
All from anonymous. God, this better not be one of Mycroft's tricks, trying to get me into a darkened alley again, John thought to himself.
His phone buzzed in his hand, pulling John out of his thoughts, and seeing that it was a new message, he opened it up.
"This is not Mycroft" John said aloud to himself. Infact he said it numerous times. Confused as to who the writer was and convinced that the timing of the text was just a coincidence, he proceeded to open the 10th one.
"John, go outside and don't look for me" Don't look for who, who the bloody hell are you?
And then the 9th:
"Don't tell Mrs. Hudson either"
"Greg and Molly, don't tell them"
"If you've figured it out, congratulations"
"Never mind impossibilities, just use your brain"
"You know me, John"
"Think you stupid man, think"
"I want you to think about who this could be"
"I am just down the street"
"Hello John"
John looked up, utterly confused and began to think. Who the hell was it? If it wasn't Greg, wasn't Molly, not Mrs. Hudson and not Mycroft, the only other person who had his number was…
"Sherlock?" John gasped as a dark figure walked around the corner, his black coat and blue scarf blowing in the wind. His eyes looked bluer that ever under the moonlight and there was a slight smile on his face.
"Yes John. It is me".
A/N: Hullo humbler readers, and welcome to my new story. Okay, so this one is a bit more complicated, so I'll just straighten it up for you. The prologue was the first ever letter that Sherlock wrote to John, which was a few weeks after the fall. This chapter is set in John's present day, so one year after the fall. The next chapters will proceed to be Sherlock's letters to John whilst he was away, and will be in the past, before this. And then in the last one or two chapters, it will go back to present day again. Got that? Okay, me neither, but let's give it a try.
Thanks for reading and if you could drop a review, it would make my day.
Adios,
Holly.
