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John bites his lip as he stands outside the Major’s tent, toying with the letter in his hands. He thinks he ought not to send the letter, so not make things even more complicated, but-
Through the thin material of the envelope he can feel the edges of the letter, along with the small ring inside. It’s a sentimental trinket, really, not very well made (John lacks any skill at carving), but he knows Sherlock will get the meaning behind it.
Or at least he hopes so. The Prince never had much interest in romance, but he did enjoy reading about outside traditions so maybe-
Anyway, that’s not what is making him hesitate. Major Sholto is supposed to leave for the Capital tomorrow morning to deliver his yearly report. A year ago John had considered sending a letter to his friend with the Major, knowing Sholto wouldn’t pry and would see that the letter was truly delivered to the Prince. However, he had decided against it in the last second, figuring letting Sherlock know he was doing alright might just make things more difficult for both of them.
This year however, his longing was getting the best of him and so he had thought-
“Are you going to stand there all night, Watson?” the Major asks, his head peeking through the tent’s entrance, making the younger male blush immediately. Sholto smiles kindly and gestures for him to come on in, which John decides to interpret as a sign from above that he should send his letter.
Not that he believes in such things, but sometimes we just need a little extra push, don’t we?
John sits at the bar, watching his companions getting drunk out of their minds. Since Sholto is gone, the excursions into the local pub are quite frequent and John finds himself following his fellow soldiers more often than not, even if he has no real interest in the distractions the pub has to offer.
A pretty Omega male approaches him, batting his long eyelashes and smiling coquettishly. John smiles politely but declines his offer of companionship. The other male looks slightly put off for a beat, but then he simply shrugs and goes looking for someone a little more willing.
John sighs. He does miss sex, if he’s honest with himself, but he can’t stop thinking about Sherlock and he doesn’t think that would be particularly fair on whoever he slept with. It might even be a little cruel, even if his companion had no expectations of something more serious than a one night stand.
“She must be quite something” a voice says and John looks up to see one of the other doctors in training dropping on the seat next to him. “Or is he?”
“Huh?” John asks, slightly confused. Bill laughs good naturedly, slapping his shoulder playfully. “Just how many of these you have drunk?” he asks John still smiling and the blond has to make an effort to not pout petulantly.
“I’m not drunk” he argues, “you’re not being clear.”
Bill laughs once more, shaking his head. “I meant your Omega back home. She must be quite something.”
Ah. John drowns the rest of his beer and stares at nothing in particular, his mind already picturing Sherlock. “He” he corrects calmly. “And yes, he’s… there are no words to describe him really.”
The other doctor hums thoughtfully, gesturing for the barman to give them another beer. “So you’re completely besotted. Gotcha” he smiles a bit sadly, not looking directly at John. “You know it’s unlikely you’ll see him again, don’t you?”
John sighs, nodding. He has made it past the two year mark, which is quite an impressive feature at the Northern Borders. Still, there’s no guarantee he’ll live long enough to be allowed to travel back to the Capital. His only hope is that Mycroft becomes King soon and that he would feel inclined to let his brother’s friend go back.
Considering his relationship with Mycroft… that might not happen.
“Got all lost inside your head, mate” Bill tells him, slapping his shoulder once more. John smiles a bit sheepishly and the other male offers him a quick smile. “So, is he the reason you ended up here?” John frowns and so Bill hurries to clarify. “Your Omega. I mean- you seem like the kind of fellow who follows rules and doesn’t do reckless things so… it’s the only reason I can think of for you to end up here.”
John wonders if he ought to share something so personal. He likes Bill Murray; he’s a nice and seemingly trustworthy fellow. And yet- “Something like that.”
“Social classes, huh?” Bill says offhandedly, but there’s something bitter underneath. “That sucks.”
John doesn’t comment and instead continues drinking in silence.
There’s nothing he can say to that, really.
When Major Sholto finally comes back, he looks like he has aged 10 years in a month. John worries immediately as he’s summoned to make a quick check up, wondering if something happened during the trip. The Major however doesn’t seem inclined to share whatever happened at the Capital with any of the other officials and so he’s quickly left alone with John, who can’t help to feel a little wary.
“Things are about to get really complicated, Watson” he tells him, ignoring the doctor’s attempts to check him over. “There’s a conspiracy going on and I’m afraid we’re in the middle of it.”
“What?” John asks, more than a little concerned by the Major’s mental health. What is he talking about?
“The King refuses to listen to reason and that will most likely be his downfall. He has put his trust on the wrong man” Sholto stares at nothing in particular, his face as grim as his tone. “I have my hopes on the Crown Prince, but he’s so young…”
That sounds quite foreboding. “What happened, sir?”
Sholto stares intently at him, seizing him up. John stands very still, unsettled, but unwilling to let it show. The older man smiles gently, “I can trust you, can’t I Watson?”
“Of course, sir” John hurries to answer, perhaps a tad too eagerly. Sholto smiles some more, nodding to himself.
“I’m too tired right now, but I’ll explain everything in the morning.” He tells him seriously. “Come back as soon as the sun rises.”
John nods once more and prepares to leave, but Sholto stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Before you leave though, I have something for you, ” he says, taking a letter out of his breast pocket. John’s breath catches and the older male smiles again. “Your Prince was most pleased about your letter.”
John blushes and offers a him quick smile, the protest of ‘not my Prince’ on the tip of his tongue, before bowing and exiting the tent in a rush. He’s dying to read Sherlock’s letter and although he’s curious about Sholto’s words, his friend’s letter takes precedence.
In all fairness, Sherlock always takes precedence.
John’s letter, if it can be called that, had consisted of a single line.
I’ll keep my promise.
There were a hundred things he wished to tell Sherlock, but he lacked the words to correctly express the deeps of his reward and his longing. However, words were rarely needed among them and so he had hoped that Sherlock could read between the lines all the things he couldn’t bring himself to write down.
When he opens Sherlock’s letter he can’t help to smile, even if he’s a little teary. Of course he understands, of course not the distance, nor the time has dismissed the deepness of their connection, their deep understanding of the other’s heart and mind as if they were their own.
Good- SH.
He closes his eyes, holding the note against his chest. Sherlock’s familiar scrawl makes something inside him ache fiercely, but there’s also relief. Relief at knowing he hasn’t been forgotten, that he’s still very much loved.
For now, this is more than enough. The day will come when he’ll get to see his friend again and even if that’s all he can aspire to, he won’t give up hope.
Only death will take away his hope.
Fitting then, what’s about to happen.