John had given up his scarf to a young woman who was without one. He regretted it vaguely – not because he was cold, but because it had been one of the very first gifts Sherlock had given him after they'd become partners. A year ago now, he realized with a rueful smile, pulling out his phone to check the time again. Almost to the day. Six days, to be fair. He should plan something, he thought, then almost laughed at himself for thinking that in this situation. Not much he could do down here.
An hour had trickled away and he tried not to check his phone too often to conserve its battery power and his sanity. It occurred to him that even if the power came back on, they probably couldn't just pull into the nearest station, because who knew how many trains were ahead of them, already stopped at stations, how many people were trapped like they were, pinned by the whims of the winter weather? He'd heard predictions for a severe winter and it seemed it hit early. It was only the end of October – Halloween was tomorrow and John hoped they wouldn't be stuck down here that long.
Maybe I'll just live down here, settle in, retire, he thought with a dry smile, looking around the darkened car. The conductor had filtered everyone into the front three cars so that they were close together and could build on each other's body heat. He'd met the doctor in the first car and there was a nurse stationed in the car behind him. It made him feel better, knowing they were there, that any medical emergency had other competent hands to help him cope.
The conductor had showed them how to open the doors between the cars when necessary, but they were to keep them shut otherwise, to retain what heat they had left. So far, no one was complaining, but John could feel the boredom beginning to settle in, and he wasn't immune to fantasizing about just rounding up the whole group and walking to the nearest station.
Which could get them all killed if the power came back on unexpectedly and the trains started moving again.
So they sat in the mobile dead zone and John hoped Sherlock wasn't worrying too much – if he'd even noticed. He was probably at home and working if they still had power on the surface, or complaining to Mrs. Hudson of boredom if the power had gone out. Or maybe Lestrade had recruited him into the rescue effort. The police would more than have their hands full even if just this one area was down, given the number of lines that ran along the same tracks and the number of riders at this time of day.
He checked on the diabetic girl, Tasha, and she assured him she was fine, but John gave her the bottle of apple juice he'd bought, just for good measure. She was entertaining a five-year-old girl with a game involving who could make up the most outrageous story, and her male friend was sitting with them, not exactly participating, but when John shone his phone at the young man's face, he was at least smiling and not complaining. Here and there, strangers were in conversations about work or family, and more than one person was showing photos of children or nieces and nephews or exotic vacations. Anything to eat up the time. A couple of people had stretched out on the bench seats and were napping in the absence of anything else to do.
John enlisted the help of the woman to whom he'd lent the scarf in sorting through what food they had. It was going on dinner hour and people would be getting hungry soon. He checked in with the other doctor and the nurse and told him about this and they got on board with the idea, and everyone in each car had soon pooled whatever food they had together. It wasn't much but there were a few people like him, who had stopped for groceries on the way from work, and, although it wouldn't make meals that fit together well, they could at least all have something small to eat. John wanted to wait as long as possible though – no telling how long they'd be down there.
He paused in sorting through the food in their car with Jess, the woman who had borrowed his scarf. John sat on one of the seats, pulling out his phone again, feeling a pang of loneliness that had crept up suddenly. Someone – the mother of the five year old – was talking to another woman about her husband. He pulled up a picture of Sherlock playing the violin, a smile on his face, his eyes closed in concentration.
"Who's that?" Jess asked.
"Oh," John said, slightly surprised she had looked, but then realized that in the darkness, the picture would be more visible, a small speck of light encompassing them. "My partner."
"Work or life?" she asked.
"Both, actually," John said with a smile. She grinned back, her expression just visible in the darkness.
"What's his name?"
"Sherlock."
"That's unusual."
"He's an unusual man," he replied as he clicked out of the photo application and turned the phone back into their torch.
"How long have you been together?" she asked. John realized that he hadn't actually gotten into one of these conversations yet, having been slightly removed from it all to deal with running the car. Like the mayor of a tube car, he thought with a smile to himself. Mayor John, I like that. Time for a career change?
"Almost a year. Next week."
She grinned again.
"Brilliant. Getting married?"
John was brought up short – somehow, he hadn't really thought about that yet. There were days when it seemed like they'd just become partners, everything new with the shine still not worn off, but other times when it seemed like they'd been together forever and everything was comfortable and familiar and didn't need to change.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I suppose it's possible. What about you?"
"Oh," she said, flashing him another grin. "No, not right now. I'm solidly single. I'm studying law."
"Really?" he asked.
"Yes, almost finished," she said. "June. But who's counting? Then – we'll see."
"Good for you," John said. "An attorney, that's impressive."
"Says the doctor," she snorted.
"Well, it's still impressive," John said. "All right, I think we've just about finished. Shall we see about food allergies?"
Jess pushed herself to her feet, visible only as moving shadows and angles.
"Absolutely," she agreed, pulling out her own phone and lighting it up, adding to the tiny and faint illuminations that lit the car that had become their temporary home.