Chapter 3: A Friend in Dark Places
John strolled into the sitting room, ruffling a towel in his hair. He had just finished a long soak in a scorching tub and his skin had a red/pink glow. Lowering the towel, John draped it over one of the kitchen chairs. He was dressed in soft flannel pajama pants and a oversized, terry-cloth robe. He was a bit too overheated to think of pulling on a flannel shirt just yet, and his chest peeked out through the V of the neckline.
The robe had been a gift from Sherlock on John's birthday before the fall. Sherlock proclaimed not to be one for gift giving, which made it even more special. Sherlock had thought of him and chosen well; John had put the robe to good use over the years, especially during the cold winter months.
John glanced outside and smiled. Ice crystals formed around the windows and snow was piling up on the sill even as more fell from the sky. A warm fire was still crackling merrily in their fireplace. Today felt like a good day to curl up and read a book. Sometimes John would pretend that Sherlock was there in his mind palace, and he had been during many lazy days around 221 B. John knew it wasn't true, but it helped on the bad days, and even on the bad days that weren't so bad.
John moved towards the fireplace and stoked the logs before turning towards the coffee table. He intended to pick up one of the books piled there, as he'd just been thinking about, when he noticed a splash of white against the dark hardwood floor. John adjusted his course and bent to scoop up the envelope that had been pushed under his door. He smiled as he saw the decorative J emblazoned on the front.
He remembered when Mycroft had stopped by the flat to pick up John's first letter to Alexander. Mycroft had knocked as before, John had opened the door and handed him the letter. Mycroft had nodded as though this was what he'd been expecting and put the letter in his jacket pocket. That had been almost three weeks ago.
Mycroft must have stopped by while John was in the bath, and he wasn't sorry to have missed him. Thing were perhaps more tense between John and Mycroft than they'd been between Sherlock and Mycroft. All things considered, John was glad that Mycroft had 'introduced' him to Alexander. For the first time in a very long time John felt he had something to look forward to.
John tore open the seal with the same letter opener as before, and read:
Dear John,
The fact that Mycroft is an ass, established, I am grateful for his proposal to begin exchanging letters with you. In a way, for the first time since I began this endeavor, I have someone waiting for me...I'm happy for that.
John smiled as he scanned the page. This Alexander struck him as a proud sort of person that did not open up easily. John wondered if he was projecting traits of Sherlock onto Alexander because of how much he missed the consulting detective. It was hard to tell.
I confess I also prefer the colder months of the year. There's more to see than during the spring and summer, especially if it snows. You can see where people and animals have made their way through the snow, where it would've been easier to miss before. It's infuriating sometimes how willfully blind others can be and the consequences of it...
As much as I enjoy the cold though, I look forward to experiencing a proper spring and summer in London when I can finally return. I have been so many different places over the past few years, and, no matter where I go, it always seems to be cold.
I've never been one for sitting still but,
There was some hesitancy here, several scratches of the pen as if Alexander hadn't been sure what to write or if he wanted to continue.
the person I miss the most never had a problem with it. He's so steady and sure, like he's waiting to be the rock someone else can build their world around. I've been told I can be abrasive and, at times, intolerable. While he complained he never left.
Now that I can dare to think ahead to coming home...I can't expect him to believe or forgive me. For a while I thought about not coming home at all, maybe that would still be the kinder thing to do. For his sake I wish I could be a kinder person.
John bit his lip and shook his head. Alexander sounded as though he had a boyfriend at home, or someone he wished was a boyfriend.
You miss your flat-mate a lot. You only touched on him briefly in your last letter, but at the same time I got an impression of him even as you described the weather. You've been alone too, John, and I'm sorry for that. But as you said, we are, neither of us, alone anymore.
John smiled despite himself at the stilted language. He felt more and more sure Mycroft had selected this operative because of his similarities to Sherlock. Mycroft wanted a wedge to pry John away from his 'old' life. Well, let him pry all he wanted. John might form other connections in his life, but Sherlock had made an imprint too big to ignore. Even Alexander had seen that.
It's the dead of winter in London about now, you must be in one of those 'hideous jumpers' as you read this. With a cup of tea and milk; am I right? Probably with a good book to go along with everything. Predictable Englishman really.
John chuckled. He knew Alexander was only trying to get more of a sense of who he was, but it felt like he was being 'deduced' all over again.
Well I won't keep you from your tea and books any longer. I hope I've made you smile at least once. Thank you for reading. I will be on the lookout for your next letter.
Yours,
Alexander
John smoothed the letter down with a smile. Lord knows what Alexander was coping with, being on a mission for Mycroft. One he was forced into, granted, but still a dangerous one to have lasted so long. John felt touched that Alexander had made time for him.
John was starting to feel the chill again, so he set his letter down on the coffee table and scrambled up to his room to pull on a flannel shirt in addition to his robe. Afterwards he puttered around in the kitchen, preparing a cup of Earl Grey tea with milk. He actually had milk on a regular bases since he was the only one getting it and Sherlock wasn't appropriating any for his experiments. It was stupid, but he missed being out of milk.
Once John had settled himself on the couch again, he sipped his tea and though about his reply. When the tea was gone he pulled a large book and fresh paper into his lap. Using the book to support the paper he wrote:
Dear Alexander,
Did you know that the convention of writing 'dear' before the name of the intended recipient of a letter is leftover from a time in history when people would write often to their loved ones, hence people who were truly 'dear' to them?
That sentence is probably littered with grammatical errors and I don't care. This is a letter to you, so it's your problem now.
It sounds as if you left a boyfriend behind; is that the case? I'm sorry if I misunderstood. It's
John hesitated for a long moment before deciding that he couldn't really think of another way to express his general comfort and support.
It's all fine.
John felt compelled to add:
Not that I'm flirting or anything. I said something similar to my flatmate once and he thought I was, so just to avoid the confusion. Not flirting. Right. Now I sound like an idiot. Although, to be fair, so do you.
You read correctly, Alexander, you are an idiot. Most people are, but you are taking it to new levels for even considering not going home. Boyfriend or not you have someone you care about at home, and they deserve the truth. If they really care about you, if they really love you, it won't matter. I'm not saying you might not walk away without a black eye, but I can guarantee you, if there were any chance that my flat-mate could come back I would jump at the chance to see him again. Everything else is just details. Come home, Alexander. Too many people never get the chance.
You mentioned that I missed my flat-mate...Am I that obvious? Of course I must be. He...
John swallowed, hard.
Sherlock made such a big impression on my life, such a change; you can't just walk away from something like that. I'm not sure if Mycroft told you my former flat-mate was his younger brother. You might have known already. I forget how popular my blog is sometimes. You're right. I miss him every day.
I hate hearing people talk badly about him. Although I think I inadvertently started a counter culture movement with my last blog... I've seen a few people wearing "I believe in Sherlock Holmes" t-shirts. It's silly, but it always makes me smile.
You got something wrong, by the way. I was not curled up with a book and a cup of tea. I hadn't gotten there yet; your letter was waiting for me.
John paused for a moment to stare into the fire with a small smile on his lips. As much as it hurt to see reminders of Sherlock in Alexander's letters, in a strange way it helped ease part of the ache inside him. Picking up his pen again, John continued writing:
I know you can't tell me much about your current assignment but I hope you can tell me some more about yourself. I already know you're brilliant; no other kind of person works for Mycroft. You say you're disagreeable, but I doubt that's entirely true. If living with Sherlock taught me anything, it's that 'prickly' people aren't always as bad as they seem.
And yes, I smiled more than once. It was good to hear from you. I hope this letter finds you well, stay safe.
Yours,
John
John blew on his paper to dry the ink, and smiled to himself. He felt a bit lighter. Even knowing that Mycroft wouldn't be back until a few days from now to pick up his letter, John found himself already anxious for a reply.
John stood to clear away his tea. That was one thing you could say about 221B since John had become its sole occupant. It wasn't as messy. On impulse he snatched a fresh, sealed teabag from the box of Earl Grey and strode back into the sitting room. Fetching an envelope he scrawled Alexander's name across the front and dropped the teabag inside. Before folding his letter and adding it he wrote:
P.S. By the time I wrote this letter I had gotten around to tea. Care to join me?