Friends Protect People

by B A Cucumber

After the fall, John joins Doctors without Borders whilst some Julian Barnes takes up teaching in Tibet. I don't own any of the characters so brilliantly brought into life by A.C. Doyle and the BBC "Sherlock" crew. Apologies.

4. Chapter 4

February 2015

Goronyo, Nigeria

Molly.

Won't be staying another year. They think it's better to take some time off. They're probably right. So I'll be back in London in a bit. Could you keep an eye out for a studio, bedsit or 1-bedroom? That'd be grand. I'm bringing you a present. Hope you'll like it.

Take care.

Love, J.

May 2015

London, England

Wind was playing in the birch trees, and where the day's last sunbeams fell, the leaves created a mesmerizing image of lightness, fluttering, shivering, glinting in warm, summerly colours. The trees swayed gently whilst the shadows danced on the white wall of Julian Barnes' study.

The young man had only recently moved into the house his brother had inherited but never put to use. It was a 5-bedroom Georgian mansion overlooking the quiet alleyways of Cavendish Close. Julian had spent the past two years travelling and teaching in the Himalayan. He had enjoyed the experience until he was struck by a severe malady and had to return to England. His brother had immediately settled him into his childhood home where he now occupied mainly his old room and the adjoining study, as well as the spacious kitchen and (pre)sumptuous family-room. He was slowly recovering but still felt the illness in his limbs, robbing him of his usual energy. His head ached, and the fever kept coming back, but the cramps had stopped and his digestion had almost gone back to normal.

Julian leaned back in his old leather chair and tapped the book he was reading with a thin finger. He knew he had to eat to regain weight. But he felt listless and defeated.

Before Tibet, he had had a life he vaguely remembered. So far, he had not contacted anybody in London, and he doubted they would be happy to see him in his present condition. He hated himself these days. He had always been the lanky type, all arms and legs, with a long face dominated by sharp cheekbones. Today, he was terribly skinny, his anaemic features emaciated by the strain which he had been put under.

His brother had got him a job with the BBC, and he was reading children's stories now. His voice was the only thing about him that had hardly changed. It was still deep and gravelly, and charismatic. He had hoped people might recognize his voice and twitter, but that had not happened. Not even the Radio News article introducing him as the new Richard Brook had caused a reaction - and the magazine had used an old photograph!

Julian had to face the truth: he had become invisible.

And he hated it.