Dear Sherlock,
I'm at work at the surgery writing this to you. It's surprisingly quiet today, but I suppose Wednesdays were always quieter than other days. Strangely enough, Monday seems to bring us the most patients. Because everybody loves Mondays.
The routine of work is helpful in distracting my mind from you. I'm not on drugs anymore so there's no artificial forgetfulness concerning memories that cause me harm. I still have the secret supply in the Vaseline pot in the bathroom cupboard. For days when I'm feeling down. But I work every day so there's not much time for me to think.
Some news is that I received and early Christmas present from Mike, because he's going away for the whole of the holiday season with his wife to America. I was going to wait until Christmas to open it but Mike insisted that he wanted to see my reaction so I complied. It turned out to be a pocket-watch. You know, like the one Mycroft has. It's on a chain and everything. It's the most beautiful little thing; mother of pearl face with diamonds inlaid where the numbers are, sterling silver with gold embellishments and gold hands. It's so gorgeous that I don't really want to use it in case it gets scratched. But I find myself carrying it around and checking the time on it, and truly I think it's a wonderful gift. Mike somehow knew that it'd be perfect for me, and I let him know how much I appreciated it. Must've cost him a fortune, though, and his income isn't all that great. A pretty proportion of his yearly salary must've gone into this present. I have to do something nice for him in return.
Isn't it that all the best presents are the ones with genuine use? I tend to find that. Giving someone a gift that doesn't have a purpose isn't very thoughtful at all. Giving someone a gift that they can and will use, on the other hand, is extremely thoughtful. Like a jumper, or a shirt, some stationery for letters or a little blue notebook that can be filled with deductions and inferences. I'd say that I'm quite good at finding gifts for people, but when I thought about what I would have gotten you for Christmas this year, I didn't have a clue. It seems impossible to think of anything you'd ever have need of.
Love,
Your John.
