Amor Before Moriarty - A Sheriarty Fanfiction (Sherlock)

Oh Dear.

Some point, Conkers everywhere - still mid 90s.

Dear Dearest,

I miss Eliza again. As I've settled into Oxford, I've had less to turn my mind's attention to.

Currently, I'm sitting in the courtyard of the village-bit of Oxford. There are cottages around, ones where great people like Tolkien stayed. Here I am, another man of dreams, sitting, watching humans bustle, blurt, bluster and blush past me, whilst I am but serene. If I close my eyes to the sky, the golden warmth of sunlight tinges my eyelids amber. But then comes the image of someone in my mind's eye...

I am so happy to be here. Experimental psychology is brilliant, so... hands on. The Oxford University libraries are truly marvelous. Towers of books like sky scrapers in a town of words. Wondering through their dark and never-ending passages of literature is humbling, to say the least  

Yet, despite the marvels, my mind keeps wondering back to her. Her eyes made up off all shades of brown. Her wind-chime laugh from lips of rouge. I know I prattle on about her, but we were together for seven months.

 I try to think of other things, like that man who speaks up in lectures, filling the halls with his song. He often starts debates; like the conductor of an orchestra. Something intrigues me about this man.

I like Jack too, he's a good room-mate. Sometimes we'll go to a cafe and compare notes (we have the same minor). He seems to like my ideas and notions, all the things that buzz around in my head. He's quite accepting about my way, too. Y'know what I'm like.

Last night he was enjoying a magazine when he looked up. I felt his gaze on me and turned from my reading to find him pointing at a half-a-page picture. 

"Isn't she hot, in that million pound dress?" I looked at her.

"Oh, honey, you should see me in that million pound dress! And I have better hair!" and he laughed. Jack laughed, instead of giving me the look that marked out my strange-ness - like family or old aquaintances would. I despised that look. It would always churn my stomach, cast my eyes downwards. It is the look of those who still disapporove of difference, and blame you if you don't bah like a sheep. It is a look to make you crawl inside yourself, ashamed of showing your inside out. 

Anyway, that sort of thing doesn't mean I'm gay, does it? That man has confused me some. For one thing, about what it was he said. And for another thing, because when he opens his mouth, leaning causually in his chair with his encompassing coat, I find my mouth watering.

Oh dear. 

Goodbye. For now.