Sherlock
I knew something was up when John came back downstairs. Emotions may not be my forte but I could sense something was different about him. Although I had been crying some part of my brain had registered him entering my bedroom. Something about having him within close proximity had made me feel better. He always brought a sense of calm and peace to any room when he entered it. I knew he would be uncomfortable around someone crying, especially me, and so I had expected the prompt removal of himself from the situation. However, it surprised me when he came down after 53.527 minutes and left the flat without a word. What intrigued me the most was the guilty look on his face as he left. He was hiding something and, I don't know whether it was because of my recent burst of emotions, or not, I was unable to deduce anything about it. Whatever the reason for my lack of deductions, John was still a mystery and one that I wanted to solve.
Having checked that he had really left the flat and wasn't just setting a trap I silently climbed the stairs and slipped through the partially open door. Making a mental note to remind John that we do dangerous work and thus the highest level of security should be observed, I wandered over to his bed. His "secret spot" where he kept everything he didn't want me to see was a drawer built into the bottom of his bed. I shook my head. I had always thought that John was different, that he was clever but the longer he placed things in the drawer blind to the fact I knew it was there, the more I questioned his intelligence.
As I reached down and pulled open the drawer a feeling of guilt hit me. I knew this was not good, and I knew John would be disappointed in me. The thought of the look he would give me when he found out was almost enough to make me stop and go back downstairs, but I knew that if I left it not knowing would be worse than any look John could give me. I pulled the drawer out and paused. There was nothing in it except a letter. It was addressed to me! Picking it up I wondered what John was playing at. It was times like this when I hated not knowing more about John. It didn't seem to matter how much I deduced about him, there was always more hidden beneath the surface that I couldn't grasp at.
Since the letter was addressed to me I figured it meant John would have wanted me to read it at some point and surely there was no harm in me just reading it a little earlier than intended. I turned it over and noticed that John hadn't sealed the envelope it was in, which made it even easier for me to read it and put it back without him knowing. Feeling a little weird I removed the letter from it's envelope and began to read.
