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From: [john]
To: [sigerson]
Sent: December 24 '12 16:34
Subject: Happy Christmas
James,
Sorry to hear you'll still be away for the holidays. Know you were hoping to get back before all this. Maybe next year? I'm sure your bosses can't be such pricks as to keep you away from home two Christmases in a row.
I'm staying with my parents this year. I hadn't thought I would but I woke up one morning and walked out into the flat and just thought... I needed to be somewhere else. Just smelling Mrs. Hudson's baking, standing there with the frost on the windows, it was too much. Christmas shopping was a nightmare this year too. Kept thinking about when he told Father Christmas he wanted a murder and got us escorted home by the police. He could seriously over-complicate or ruin anything. I know I was stern with him at the time and thought I'd never been so publicly humiliated but seeing the jolly fat man this year, I just wanted to... I just wanted Christmas to be over. I don't associate Sherlock with Christmas and honestly the only Christmas we spent together was the worst Christmas I'd ever spent complete with my girlfriend dumping me and the girl I thought fancied him 'dying'. He was horrible to a mutual friend, I had to go through the whole flat looking for drugs, and he ignored me the rest of the night. I mean, in all honestly, worst Christmas ever. And I bloody want him here for this one.
I'm going to go away on holiday for a good bit of January. I just can't do it yet. His birthday is on the 6th. The first time we met was the 29th. Our first case together was the 30th. We didn't do anything for his birthday last year because the sod never told me when it was. So I promised him we'd do something this year. I'll stay long enough to leave him flowers, I think, but past that I just need to be away from London for a while. Elle says it's the first year that's the hardest and I don't doubt that. It'd be easier if I moved house but then I'd sort of lose Mrs. Hudson too and I need someone else close who really knew him. It's hell being reminded of him every bloody day but Christ I don't want to forget.
God, I'm sorry. I hate unloading on you like this, especially at Christmas. I know you say you don't mind but at some point I've got to just get over it all. Any suggestions for a good place to holiday? A beach would be nice. Someplace sunny where the women are friendly. Or not. I don't mind the challenge ;) I think just a place away from cities and where I probably won't hear a police siren and can just lose myself for a while would be exactly what the doctor ordered. Let me know if you can think of a place. If you happen to be near said place, maybe we can meet up for drinks? I think it'd be great fun to meet you in person.
Happy Christmas, James. And Happy New Year too if I don't hear back from you before then. Here's to a better one. I'm sort of resolved to work harder to move past all this. You buy into any of that resolution stuff? I know it's pretty dumb but it's tradition. Last year I watched Sherlock play his violin at the start of the new year. I resolved to help him understand the good of human emotions. And he killed himself six months later. So, job well done. Think it's better I stay to more selfish pursuits. Not that I blame myself or that I think it wasn't worth it to see him open up but I miss the fuck out of him. Every day. And I'm doing it again so I'm gonna sign off and hope you don't read this till after you've enjoyed your own Christmas in whatever part of the globe you're in now.
-John
[strike]My Dear John,
I'm sorry it's taking so long. I intended to be gone for only a few months. It's looking like a year now. Maybe longer. Please do me a small favor: never stop missing me. Give me something to come home to when this is all over. Otherwise, it will have been for nothing. Let me ruin your holidays and make you wary of anniversaries. Let me haunt you until this is over. Please. Keep your thoughts on me even when your eyes can no longer follow. Do this for me and I will grant your wish.
Very Sincerely Yours,
########[end strike]
Sigerson felt like an idiot in his suit. It had once been nicely tailored, fit to his frame by a skilled tradesmen who enjoyed the employ of a trust fund eccentric. It was one of the few vanities he afforded for himself in his previous life. A well fitted suit was much easier to get around in, much less in the way when jumping over railings or into skips. Now it hung from him in uncomfortable ways, too big from nearly every seam. He didn't want the bother of buying new ones nor of seeing a tailor to take his current attire in. The last thing he wanted was a man with measuring tape near him. Tangible proof was irritating enough, he didn't need hard figures.
He scheduled a lunch date with himself for after his meeting with the new Control. He'd been meaning to check out some of the local restaurants in Thessaloniki for some time anyway. Meetings with Control in the past seemed to always put an end to his appetite, though. He didn't hold out much higher hopes for this case. Flowers's heart attack had apparently been sudden and unexpected. While he took no joy in being right, he did feel a little vindicated in having warned the man. His replacement was much younger and of better health with years of experience, some very high-profile villains owing to him their death or incarceration, and a tan line on his left ring finger that still did not match his ring.
It was as much a surprise as Flower's cause of death. It was a little less welcome.
Control Officer Church smiled from the other side of the desk, looking as though he'd moved in quite comfortably. Photos of the new baby were on his desk but no photographs of either wife. He looked like an idiot when he smiled like a fool. He was still far from Sigerson's favorite person but they got along well enough anyway.
"Well, well, well," the man said, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded behind his head. He was enjoying this. "Agent Sigerson. How are you doing? Greece treating you well?"
There was something about the way he said his name that made Sigerson wary. He tried not to react, though his face was often a traitor. "Did you call me off the field just to ask how I liked Greece, sir?"
Church shook his head, smiling ear to ear. "Just wanted to go over the Moriarty details with you. You've been on the case now for... eighteen months? How time flies." He gestured to the seat across from him as he sat up, pulling forward a press board file which he opened and thumbed through. "In the past eighteen months you've successfully located twenty-seven of thirty-two assigned operatives in Moriarty's residual syndicate. Assassins, terrorists, skilled craftsmen and laborers, operations chiefs... out of the entire Firm, you're second to none in successful mission completion."
"... Thank you?" It was hard to keep the question out of the statement, his eyes narrowing at the acknowledgement. He took a seat, not even having to unbutton his jacket as the sank into the comfortable leather.
Church nodded, flipping more pages end over end as he perused his file. "No, please, you deserve a great deal of credit. I worked the Moriarty ring for years, I know how slippery they can all be. Spent months trying to get some of these guys which you seemed to be able to track down in... weeks? Days some of these. Really very impressive."
"I'm not a double agent if that's what you're implying." Sigerson steepled his fingers against his chin, leaning forward in his seat. "It's not inside information. I'm just better in my methods than you are with yours. No offense-no one is as good as me. As my file so graciously proves."
"Oh, no. I know you're no double agent. Before we get to that, though, let's go over what else you excel at." His mocking tone did not foreshadow further praise. "You've bribed and blackmailed four doctors into falsifying your medical examinations, were found in the possession of cocaine and paraphernalia, are on record as having fainted four times in the field and have had seventeen men die on your team including a fellow agent."
Sigerson shrugged, fingertips tapping in agitation. "There are always casualties in this line of work. Just because you don't agree with the medical examiner doesn't mean I bribed him, possession does not amount to usage and honestly I don't see how any of that is any of your business. I get the job done; you said so yourself."
"It is my business when you are obviously on the decline." Church put the file down with a slap of finality against the desk, the red press board sounding like a flip-flop against a heel. "We've talked about this before, James. You told the drug screener that if he made you give a sample, you'd tell his wife about the affair he was having with the urinalysis's assistant."
"Obviously should have included the fact that our deal should remain a secret."
"Obviously." He leaned back in his chair, the new leather squeaking far louder than the new metal fittings. Out with the old, in with the new. "James, for the life of me, I don't see how Flowers turned a blind eye to these sorts of things for so long. Or, I should say, I didn't see. The position of Control comes with a hefty amount of information. You know what I'm getting at, don't you, James?"
Sigerson felt his throat constrict slightly. "No, sir," he lied. "I have no idea."
"We both know you're not an idiot," Church said.
"Too bad we can't say the same thing about you." Sigerson rose from his seat, pressing the folds from his jacket as he did so. "Whatever you think you're getting at, drop it. We've had this discussion before. My mission is greater than your jurisdiction and your job, as a fellow agent or as Control, is simply to assist and stay out of my way. You've read the memo, I'm sure. I think you can probably find it in my file if it somehow missed your attention."
Church looked up at him, no intention to rise. He laced his fingers over his stomach as he considered him.
Several levels up from Church were very knowledgeable, well informed men who had tackled the difficult task of keeping photographs of the world's only consulting detective from spreading too far, making search engines like Google find nothing, not erasing but suppressing. Once on the internet, always on the internet after all. He had never been an international phenomenon but Church's career investment had been in Moriarty's ring. Sigerson wasn't surprised, simply annoyed. He did not trust the man who now held a considerable amount of power over him regardless of special permissions and allowances.
Church breathed out deep, shaking his head. "You know, you could be a great agent if you tried to care about more than just the missions. All the skill and training mean nothing if you can't value human life. Caring sets us apart from the people we're trying to take down."
"Wrong."
"Excuse me?"
"The motivation behind most acts of terrorism is caring a great deal about an idea or ideal. That's what makes them so dangerous. You can reason with an intellectual defense of evil but you cannot reason with an emotional investment," Sigerson's face had forgotten how to smile, instead remaining flat and expressionless as he reigned down in his most condescending tone. "Caring is in fact a problem we face every day and is the enemy of our pursuits on a whole."
Church scoffed. "Are you heartless by nature?"
"Yes."
"I believe it." He leaned forward, taking back the file and folding it closed. "You know, you give me shit about living two lives but I'm not the only one in this room people could say that about."
Sigerson's eyes narrowed, his fingers twitching at the very obvious clue. No, he wasn't joking. He knew. "Shut up."
"Excuse me? I'm not some agent you ca-"
"Shut up, Sir."
Church smirked, eyes hateful. "You know, when I found out who you really are, I was impressed. Genuinely," he said, skirting closer and closer to the full admission. Even Control's office was not secure enough for such a conversation. Cameras, wire taps, anything and everything could be there to expose the lie to all the wrong people who had found their way inside the way Sigerson had done and still did to their own organizations.
Genuinely impressed met genuinely surprised when Sigerson pulled out his gun from his left breast holster and aimed it at Control's head. If words didn't work, then surely actions would. The blonde man's face drew long with dread, the smart part of him knowledgeable enough to read his intent.
"You're not untouchable, you know," he warned. "I could have you jailed for this."
"Who else knows?"
There was only a moment's slight hesitation before Control submitted to jaw clenched admission. "No one," he said. "Independent research. Fair use of the new perks of my position."
Sigerson nodded, thumb resting on the safety. "Keep it that way," he ordered.
"Are you threatening me?"
"I'm pointing a gun at you and offering an ultimatum. Do try harder to follow."
Church scoffed once more, his default expression one of exasperated amusement when dealing with the agent. "So I keep who you are a secret or you shoot me? You know the kind of trouble you'll be in if you do?"
"At the point that I'm exposed, I'll be a man with nothing left to lose. Believe me, I'm capable of much more than just this the day that happens."
"Who do you think is in charge here?"
"Generally the man with the gun is. I'm open to your interpretation, though."
The long, cold glare from the other man made it very clear exactly what his interpretation was. He glowered, hands gripping the arm rest of his new chair with white-knuckled tension. "Get out of my office," he spat.
"With pleasure."
Sigerson tucked the gun into its holster and left quickly, spine stapled straight as he waited with every step for someone to try and stop him. Prison didn't scare him but lost time did. He'd managed nearly two years on other people's general ignorance and selective curiosity. Two years hadn't been enough, though. He worked hard to keep his rage wrangled as he walked out of the building a very paranoid man.
Church had him. He had his career, his friend's lives, everything sitting in a file on his desk or tucked away in his head just waiting to undo two long years of tireless pursuits. Church had all the power and worst of all he knew it. No tripping of the silent alarm, no calling for assistance, no movement at all but to argue with him under the barrel of a gun. Church was more clever and crafty than Sigerson had planned for. For all the stupid that registered on the surface there was a man deserving of his status underneath-a master of manipulation and deception. He was playing him but Sigerson had very little time to devote to figuring out how or why.
He made his travel arrangements as quickly as possible, giving no further thought to Control or his lunch plans. He had no appetite anyway. He was just moving far too slow.
From: [john]
To: [sigerson]
Sent: December 22 '13 08:34
Subject: Happy Christmas!
James,
Another year almost over. Doesn't feel like it's been that long, does it? I can't believe they're really keeping you away for a second year in a row. You have any vacation time coming up? I'm serious, next time you're in London, let's do drinks. I owe you a round and you sure as hell deserve it.
Spending Christmas at home this year. Mary's really got the place decked out. I think she's using the holiday as an excuse to rummage through my stuff and clean house. I sort of didn't realize how much clutter I had. You get used to it, you know? Feels good to be rid of it, though. She and Mrs. Hudson must have taken six or so boxes of stuff out of the den alone. It's the season for giving and all but I'm not sure the poor have much need for the kinds of stuff they donated.
I got Mary a diamond necklace for Christmas. I'm sort of nervous about that. It wasn't stupid expensive or anything but it's jewelry and it's diamonds and women can sort of read too far into things, you know? She means the world to me but I'm not really looking for that sort of commitment just now. She's really changed my life for the better, though. I just wanted to show her how much I appreciate everything she's done and when we were Christmas shopping together, she was sort of obvious about how much she liked this necklace. So I got it for her. Nice playing Father Christmas for a change. She lost her family so I guess I feel it's sort of up to me to make the most of the holiday for her. We're going ice skating tonight after dinner. Hopefully I don't bust my ass literally in trying to figuratively do so to make this Christmas the best. I think it will be, though. I've got great company this time around.
Sorry to gush when you're stuck on the road. I'm sure your friends and family are still thinking of you and looking forward to your return. Next year you can spend the holiday together I'm sure.
Long day ahead of me. If you don't hear back from me for a bit, sorry. I'm not really sure what Mary's and my plans are going to be for the rest of this year.
Stay safe,
-John
It had been four months since any mention of John's ex-flatmate in his e-mails.
It had been eight since the mention had been in any way meaningful.
The confessions of longing and loneliness weren't coming back. John was happy again. John was going to be fine.
John had gotten over him.
Sigerson didn't think much at the time of the overdose. Secure the tourniquet, find a vein, search for a place that didn't hurt. It wasn't attempted suicide, it was the pursuit of relief.
It'd taken almost two years of falling but he finally hit the pavement. He made a pretty splash, all broken pieces and bruised patches of pin-pricked flesh. This time there was no John to hold his hand and beg for his life.
This time no one cared.