It takes a few days and some finagling with the facility's staff to allow Sherlock to have what he needs, but he manages to make a few sketches from memory of London, and of the garden outside the back of the facility. Of course, those are not from memory. He's quite good at drawing actually, always has been, it's just never been something he felt that he had a reason to hone, it was a somewhat useless skill, in his eyes. He only wishes he had the facilities necessary to bottle a scent. He's never been good at that sort of thing, but he is a genius, who is fairly confident that he could accomplish it if he wanted to. Still, he hopes that the things he sends with this letter will be of some help to the doctor.
~oOo~
Dear John,
My deductions can wait for another time. As well as anything I may feel as a desire to prove my skills. It seems there are other things you need right now. I'm not a sympathetic person. I am not adequately equipped to deal with emotions. But I understand what you told me.
Everyone has their own darkness, I am fighting it every day at this facility. I had a choice when I was younger, I could have become a serial murderer, a criminal, probably one of the best, most dangerous that London has ever seen. Instead, I chose the other side of the coin, with the desire to solve crimes, not commit them. It's a dangerous game, being able to get into the mind of a criminal. In my case, the idea of jail, of being imprisoned in a cell without any way to explore, expand my mind and my knowledge, is all the deterrent that I need.
I cannot claim to understand what you went through, what you continue to go through when you lose a patient, that desire to heal and comfort. I don't possess that. I know you still cry, even if you can't let the others see. But you're not alone, even in the dark. In the dark, you can't see, hear or feel, but you're not alone. I'm there with you, in the darkness. We will anchor each other to this world, John. When you feel yourself get low, go to the places where you think you might drown in the darkness, then talk. Talk to the darkness, and I will be here listening on the other side of the void.
Whenever you need to talk, whatever you need to express, I'll be here to listen. If that is what I can provide, then I will. You are far too fascinating to be allowed to drift. Perhaps that's not the appropriate thing to say, but that's how I feel. The metaphors seem a little excessive but I thought you might prefer the sentiment. And in a way it is accurate. When you write something down, you have no idea if it will reach its destination. You are writing it to no one. Sending it out into the void. Only when you get my letter in reply do you know the message was received, and the same is for me as well. I'll be here if you want someone to talk to. I have a year in this facility, before I will have to provide you with a new address. Assuming you still want to write to me then, or are still alive.
As for the weather here, it's been warmer than usual. Humid. Thoroughly unpleasant. It has created some rather spectacular thunderstorms however. It's unfortunately I wasn't able to get any real pictures. Today is foggy, the way only England seems to be able to get. I'm sure you understand. Everything has a dreamlike quality. There's a small pond on the property here that looks like it is producing the fog, tendrils of it curling around on the water. The garden out back has a pond as I said, bit of woods with a walking trail and a manicured flower garden. There is a tree that I like to sit under to write, it has a wide space between two of the roots. It's an old tree with large branches. It provides shade, a break from the temperatures, and it hides it somewhat from the rest of the facility.
My descriptions are surely not adequate, so I have provided a few sketches instead. I hope that they will provide you the escape you were looking for. I will try and provide you with more information for my next letter, once I determine what news might be of relevance.
For what it is worth, I don't think that you are too old to begin a family, or merely find someone who you want to spend the rest of your life with. As you so colorfully pointed out, it does not seem as if you have any problems attracting a partner. I hope you get your rainy day.
Sincerely,
Sherlock
~oOo~
When John opens the slightly larger than normal envelope from Sherlock, he is confused for a few moments, wondering if the detective had truly written that much. When he sees the beautifully rendered sketches that are included with the letter, he stares a little, laying back on his cot as he touches the photos as if they might be alive. Laying the sketches down on his stomach, he switches to reading the letter, smiling a little. When the younger man switches from touching and metaphoric to his usual analytical tone of writing, it makes John laugh, attracting the attention of some of the other people in the tent. He quiets himself but finishes the letter and he nods, glancing out one of the 'windows' of the tent and up into the night sky, then tucks away the letter with the others, while he taps the sketches to the tent by his cot.
I thought I remembered Sherlock drawing in the series somewhere but now I can't find it or remember where I saw it. I could be imagining things. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this!
Reviews/Comments welcome!