Chapter 21

For once Sherlock was not in when the mail arrived. He was marching into Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade's office, a mission in mind. He swept in without knocking (as usual) and tapped on Lestrade's desk. Lestrade, who was sitting on his desk poring over a potential terrorist threat's rap sheet, looked up.
"Sherlock?! What are you doing here? There's no case on is there?"
Sherlock, ignoring his questions, pulled a photo from his pocket and handed it to him. "Do you find this man attractive?"
"What!? Sherlock, what is this? Is this a joke?"
Sherlock frowned "No, it's not a joke. It's a photograph accompanied by a simple subjective question. In your opinion, is this man attractive?"
Lestrade squirmed. Why did these things have to happen to him? "Sherlock I'm really not the person you should be asking."
"Who should I be asking?"
"A woman? A gay man? Someone who finds men attractive"
Sherlock sighed "I'm not asking if you want to shag him Lestrade…"
Greg visibly relaxed.
"… I simply wish to know if in your opinion, the man depicted in this photograph possesses a degree of physical beauty or attractiveness. Please answer the question"
"Yes. Now can I get back to work?"
"You didn't even look at the photograph"
Lestrade put his hand to his forehead and tried desperately not to scream. "Sherlock, I'm very busy…"
"It will only take a moment. Please, Lestrade"
Greg looked up at that. Sherlock had never, ever said please to him before. Knowing that (for some reason) this was important to him and that he wasn't going to let it go, he brought the photo up to his face and looked at it intently.
"Yes, Sherlock he is. I'm very happy for you" Lestrade said, handing the picture over.
Sherlock took it and was just about to open his mouth in reply when someone swept in and wrenched it out of his hand.
"What you looking at eh?" Sally studied the photograph. "He's quite nice. Friend of yours Lestrade?"
"No he is not Lestrade's friend. He is my friend" Sherlock informed her. If looks could kill…
"Your friend?"
"Yes. He is a soldier with whom I have been corresponding" Sherlock took the photo back and spent a moment smoothing out the creases and mumbling under his breath.
"Oh, is he that "dear John" fellow you told me about?" Lestrade tailed off as he became aware of Sherlock's glare. But it was too late. Sally had heard. She grinned in a way that can only be described as evil. "Oh yeah. My sister's in his regiment and told me he was writing you. I wrote him a letter, telling him all about you. I warned him off you, telling him you were a psycho"
"Sally!"
"No Lestrade, it's really quite alright. I was aware of Sally's correspondence with John. He wrote to me and told me of it. I informed him of her irrational bitterness towards me. He understood perfectly."
Now it was Sally with the lethal look. But Sherlock did not care in the slightest, protectively pocketing the photo. Sally huffed in annoyance, turned on her heel and left.

Sherlock didn't see the letter on the floor at first and stepped on it. Once he realized it, he leapt of it and swept it up like a hurt child. He felt an irrational pang of guilt that he quickly dismissed. He ran a letter opener through the seal, flopped down on the couch and started to read. John's deductions were alright considering but nothing overwhelming. Sherlock was indeed under 40 and it was his first time taking a self portrait photograph. (he refused to go on calling them by their infantile moniker the general populace used) he was a little miffed at being told off for dismissing modesty but decided he could accept it from John (and John alone).

He had a genuine little chuckle to himself when John explained his brother's text. Poor Mycroft. It did put him out so to be wrong. Especially about Sherlock, a subject he was supposed to be an expert on.
It was riveting to read about John's operation on the traffic accident patient but probably not for the reason John was hoping. While Sherlock did feel happy for John's success, he was wondering through out the whole description that there would be some detail on infections that come about as a result of broken bones. Maybe he could get John to send him a few photographs. Battle wounds were not often seen in the mean streets of London and were therefore unexplored territory.

Dear John

I don't know if it is a quirk of genetics, greatness of tolerance in your personality, kindness of disposition or your past experiences that make you the one unique individual who does not take offence at having his life laid before him by another. I cannot fathom why you feel I have a right to know so much of you, save that I have earned it through honing my skills of deduction. But I hesitate to question it should I, as you say, "break the spell" of this relationship.

I am glad to hear, or rather read, that you are doing well. I was in fact riveted by your description of the road accident patient. I wonder if you could send me some photographs or at least thorough descriptions of some infections, battle wounds etc. Given that London is not a war zone, I never get to see such injuries and would be interested to examine them from a pathological point of view.

It occurs to me that we are not taking full advantage of the technology of correspondence we have at our disposal in this day and age. I wonder if you have, or at least have access to a skype enabled computer. I do and will be on from 9:00 onwards, which would be around 12:30 where you are. If you can please do get in contact.

Sherlock

Postscript: by the way, you were almost completely correct in your deductions. I am 29. That was my first photographic self portrait (here's hoping also my last) and I do have a steady income. It is from Mycroft however (how I do loathe admitting that. Take as much of his money as you can) not Scotland Yard. They cannot pay me I am not officially on the force. It is only thanks to an understanding with Lestrade that I am even allowed to work on police matters.