Prompt 28: Crowd
Sherlock stood, tapping his foot impatiently against the concrete and glaring at Lestrade and Co. Greg held his hands up in a placating gesture "Hey, it's not my fault you refused to help with the case. We're only here because you haven't explained why not and we need your help. Seriously Sherlock, an explanation would be nice." Sherlock continued to glare but pressed his lips firmly together and sat on the metal bench. Reaching into his pocket he withdrew a packet of letters, tied together carefully with string. "What- I suppose I'm reading then." Lestrade muttered softly. "Read it aloud, we didn't exactly plan on staying long" an officer chimed from the back and suddenly the murmurs of agreement turned into twelve officers sitting cross legged on the ground by the bench looking expectantly up at Lestrade, as if they were a gang of school children. He sighed wearily and began. "Ok fine. Right. The first one is dated the 23rd of December 2010. To whomever receives this letter, I am under the impression that you're a man, based on the statistical improbability of your being female in the armed forces. According to my very meddlesome government appointed therapist I need to 'give back to society' apparently addiction is some sort of slight against all that is good in the world, a view that I vehemently deny, however my fat brother or rather the British government, secret service and the CIA on a freelance basis, insisted and so, here I am writing this damned letter to a complete stranger. I suppose it is one way to stave off boredom. The rather arbitrary point of this letter is to 'wish our soldiers a happy Christmas' which makes the ill informed assumption that you are both Christian and also wish to hear of other people's pleasant lives while you get shot at. Everyone who participates in this ridiculous farce of their own volition is an idiot. Then again, most everyone is anyway. In any case I've got a rather interesting triple murder to solve, I do love it when they're clever. Dismemberment is an act of finesse and there are no leads as of yet but I do know that the prime suspect is innocent - of the murders at least - so I will wish you a relatively pleasant festive season in lieu of anything else in order to focus on what is actually important. The game, soldier, is on! Sherlock Holmes. And then at the bottom someone else has written an address, probably Mycroft. I still don't see how that-" Greg trailed off at the look Sherlock threw him.
"There are more. Even you should be able to gather that obviously the solution will become apparent as you continue on. Now, either be silent and sit here to wait or read on." Sherlock spat and turned back to look ahead. Lestrade cleared his throat and picked up the next one. The letter was dirty, gritty with sand bleached by the sun. "This one is dated the 26th of December 2010 and is from a man named John Watson." Sherlock interrupted. "Captain or Doctor to you. Take your pick." Greg sighed "Fine Captain John Watson. Dear Sherlock Holmes, I'm going to hazard a guess that your brother is the one who added an address to the bottom of your letter. He could have made a bit more of an effort in emulating your writing, his is nothing like yours. I suppose I ought to thank you for the letter, it was probably the single best part of my day which is unsurprising given the fact that I'm in a warzone, you know, people dying all around me and what not. It was hands down the single strangest one of those letters I've ever read and thank God for that! Usually it's just some old bird waxing on and on about how they're forever in our debt and how proud they are that we're fighting the good fight. At least yours was interesting. You shouldn't do drugs you know, bit not good that. I should know, I'm a doctor. But I think you already know that, and you're clearly staying clean because that brother of yours seems the type to lock you away for any relapse. You work with the police then I take it? I have to say (though it sounds awful) that the case you're working on is quite interesting, haven't got any news of London for as long as I've been stationed here so it's good to hear that it's still as... Violent? As ever. I hope you get the suspect acquitted, can't say I'd not be impressed. You seem like a very smart man Sherlock Holmes so I'm not going to wish you a 'pleasant festive season' I'm going to wish you a good case. If you do respond, I'd love to hear all about it, and how you solved it. Best wishes, Cpt. John Watson RAMC."
Sergeant Donovan whistled "This guy doesn't even know the freak and already he's got the idea of him... Knew exactly what to say to him. I'd be impressed if it wasn't so creepy" Sherlock bristled next to him and Lestrade saw what was coming. " Is there a gap? The next one is the 3rd of March 2011... and why do you have copies of your own leters?" Sherlock nodded, glared, but didn't elaborate. Lestrade began to read "Dear John, Surprisingly enough you're not as boring as I expected you would be. There was no whining in your letter, and you asked about my case. Adrenaline junkie then, you live for danger, but also have a compulsion to help others around you and therefore army doctor was an easy choice to make, that and the fact that you have no close attachments in your family, likely one member is addicted to something, probably a substance I'm going with alcoholic and you wanted away from them, close family then, sibling, older brother perhaps? Explains why you didn't receive any other post at Christmas, you're unattached. As for the case, my client was acquitted after I proved that at the time of the murders he was six doors down house breaking. The actual murderer was one of the victim's children. Apparently the three victims were in a polyamourus relationship and the child was doing an internship at a butchery, an invitation to stay over for Christmas was the final straw and he killed them all! I did some sketches for my notes and sent them along in case you wanted to see it all. I find visual aids to be rather useful for most people, after all my mind palace is very visual. London is quiet at the moment, it's hateful. Hopefully someone will do something clever soon, my land lord is taking issue with the fingers I put in the vents. Clearly he doesn't appreciate my experiments. If you have no other arrangements I am available, of course if you do I will just find something else to do. I'm sure Mummy will have planned yet another dastardly party. When do you arrive anyway? In regards to the saliva coagulation I have concluded that it takes thirty two hours and fifty three seconds. The fingers should be done now, Sincerely Sherlock."
One of the officers raised her hand timidly. "Yes constable?" Lestrade asked, feeling even more like a teacher than before. "I'm a bit lost" Sherlock snorted "What's going on? They're making plans or something and there's a party but John's in Afghanistan so that wouldn't make sense. Also why are there fingers in the vents?" she asked and Lestrade shrugged turning to Sherlock. "My God what must it be like in your little heads... John was getting leave and had no one to see, I offered myself up, my mother insists on celebrating my birth every year and I would be subjected to that unless I had a valid excuse not to go, an excuse which John provided. As for the fingers you wouldn't understand. Obviously." A collective "Ah" went around the group and Sherlock rolled his eyes to the sky.
"26th of May 2011. Dear Sherlock, That was the most fun I've had during my leave for ages, I'm so glad I could help out with a real case! Bit unfortunate that I had to go back before we finished but the next time I'll definitely try to stay to the end. Do let me know how it all turns out with him, he's not a very nice man from what I could gather... though that probably means nothing seeing as I don't get half of what's going on most of the time except for running and staking people out. As my best friend it's your duty to keep me informed of all the goings on in the world, but a surprise trip to America wasn't exactly what that called for- saying 'It was for a case' doesn't change the fact that you kidnapped me from the airport and put me right back on a plane. Bloody brilliant first day that was! It's getting a bit hectic here again, so I might take a while to reply the next time. Oh! I hope you like the present, I saw it while we were staking out that restaurant and thought of you. Seeing as you keep sending me your drawings, it's about time I sent some back, so here's my mates from the squadron and one of my favourite memories from my leave with you. I'll talk to you soon as I can. Faithfully, Your John" Lestrade picked up the two sheets that accompanied this letter and stared at them.
The first was of six men dressed in their army gear, grinning madly with arms raised as if to wave to them. It was clear they were in the desert, John was a good artist, there were noticeable grains of sand in the creases of their clothes. He passed that around and looked at the second, trying to hold back his laughter. The drawing was of a sopping wet Sherlock, standing the middle of a fountain with an exasperated smile clear on his face as he blew a jet of water out in a high arc. His curls were dripping water down his face and torso, and it was clear that he was soaked as John had drawn in the outline of what was beneath the rather flimsy shirt. Feeling Sherlock's eyes on him he turned to find the man looking over his shoulder with a smirk on his face. "Continue." he drawled and Greg handed the second drawing around, waiting till everyone got over their giggles before looking at the next letter. Sherlock sighed when he scanned it. "They become more sporadic from now on. John gets moved to Helmand, four of the men in that drawing die, two of them on his table. I take on more and more cases. He gets another leave and comes to Sussex with me to work on a private case... And again the next time to meet my parents, and I meet his sister. Then they all meet each other. When he goes back we write only infrequently for a year, but he always responds. In September he still hasn't replied to my letter from July and I know something is up when I get the next letter." Lestrade looks down at the letter in his hands, the RAMC insignia printed across the top of it, the formal language used.
"Oh." he says, although that doesn't quite convey what he is imaging. That Sherlock had a friend at all was a miracle, but to receive a letter like this would have been destroying for anyone. "Go ahead." Sherlock nudged him and he coughed. "6th September 2013. Dear Mr Holmes, It is with great displeasure that we must inform you of the fact that Captain John H. Watson has been wounded in action and is currently in critical condition, but has stabilized after surgery to remove a bullet and shrapnel from his shoulder. His wounding came as a direct result of his diligence in his work and his attempts to save the lives of his men. He has served his Queen and country with integrity and heart and for that we are eternally grateful. Therefore it is with regret we must also inform you that due to his injury it is unlikely he shall return to service after he recovers. Once the initial recovery is completed he will be sent back to England, on approximately the 14th of November. Kind regards, Marcella Price (Liaison officer). The 14th... That's today- Ohhhh. That's what this is all about? Well you could have said that you were meeting your friend to welcome him back from Afghanistan" he chided, but still looked rather serious. All the officers were silent, some teary eyed as they looked at the smiling faces John had drawn, other's at the cruel reality of his story: even heroes get left in the dirt.
Sherlock however chuckled as the train was announced over the tannoy. "As ever Lestrade, you see but you do not observe." and he was dashing off to the back of the train, hopping from one foot to the other excitedly. The doors opened and out came a short blonde man wearing a wooly jumper and a crooked smile. Sherlock pounced on him, wrapping his arms around the man who did the same in return. "I thought I told you to be careful?" Sherlock hissed, voice muffled by the wool but still audible to the astounded
crowd of officers. "I thought I told you that I'd be coming home for you one way or another?" John smiled brightly up at Sherlock who was grinning madly. "I missed you John" he smiled, inches away from the other man's face. "I missed you too love, but I'm home now." John added and closed the distance between them, holding Sherlock to him by the lapels of his coat and kissing him hard. Lestrade turned to look at the others but they were as shocked as he was. What the hell was going on?! Sherlock was beaming as John broke away from him and soothed the wrinkles in his coat "That coat was my best present idea ever. You always look fantastic in it" he smiled wryly, carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair. It seemed only then did Sherlock remember that he had thirteen very confused officers standing a little way off. "Oh right. John, these are London's finest. The grey haired one is Detective Inspector Lestrade, the one with the curls is Donovan, next to her is Anderson, then there's Dimmock, Henley, Strauss, Fitzgerald, Cooper, Dayman, Bennett, Heckmann, Nelson, and O'Connell." he pointed to each of them in turn and John waved politely. "This" he looked at John "is John Watson. Or rather John Holmes Watson. My husband."
A/N I went there I know... But hey at least it's an update,I'm working on more as we speak (speak... Type... Meh whatever) Thanks for reading and sticking with me ~S