Chapter Text
Isn’t that how falling in love so often works? Some stranger appears out of nowhere and becomes a fixed star in your universe.
—Kate Bolick
February
It’s Valentine’s Day, and for once John Watson is not single.
He’s only been with Mary Morstan a few weeks, but the two of them have been flirting on and off all year and John needs someone to go skiing with him, since his best friend, Greg Lestrade, bailed in favor of a party held by some cute police officer he met the other day. The timing is either convenient or just the opposite, depending on how things progress this weekend. Either way, on February 13, John finds himself having a wonderful day with his new girlfriend at a ski resort his sister Harry generously paid for (in the form of discount vouchers she didn’t use, because she was too drunk and now extremely single). It's picture perfect and just the getaway John needed.
Until the ski lift gets stuck on his way back to a nice dinner with his nice girlfriend.
“Oh, bugger,” John says when the carriage comes to a screeching halt.
“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” the young man beside him says impassively. He’s texting, bloody texting, atop a mountain, halfway upon which they are stuck in a ski lift, and also possibly freezing to death in the cold.
“How d’you have service up here?” John inquires, which if you think about it really isn’t the salient point.
His companion doesn’t look up. “My brother works for the government,” he says offhandedly, as though that answers anything.
“Okay,” John says, and frowns. “Er... aren’t you a little concerned?”
“Don't worry.” This with a dismissive wave that John finds very annoying.
John furrows his brow. “Sorry, what?”
“I presume you're concerned about being stuck for an extended length of time."
"Aren't you?"
"Not particularly."
"Okay, but d'you really want to be stuck up here after dark?"
"The sun sets at 5:15. It’s only 4:30, and they have ample time to fix it. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“Shouldn’t be—are you joking?”
This earns John a disdainful glare. “I don’t joke.”
“Fine, then. Don’t be too friendly,” John mutters sarcastically.
“I won’t,” the young man counters.
“So... what are you doing here?” John continues in a valiant attempt to keep himself entertained. Having acerbic comments thrown at him by a stranger still beats dying of frostbite and a slight fear of heights.
His lift-mate gives him a critical once-over before looking back at his phone. “Not what you are,” he says shortly.
“What?”
Another dismissive wave. “Not trying to get laid by my girlfriend of what, two and a half weeks? Really, a skiing trip for Valentine’s Day, how pedestrian of you,” he scoffs, then worsens the situation by allowing, “though you are attempting to compensate for your last disastrous affair—who was he, a football star? You could have done better, he was still in the closet, but of course you remained foolishly oblivious. Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.”
John’s jaw drops. “How do you—what?”
“Are you aware that your constant and idiotic questions are extremely irritating?”
“Are you aware that your constant and rude attitude is extremely irritating?” John shoots back.
“I have been informed as such,” the man replies, unfazed.
“Fine,” John huffs.
This is the extent of their conversation for the next fifteen minutes. True to the young man’s prediction, the lift is fixed before sunset, and as John gets off and stretches, he decides he ought to at least say goodbye to his odd fellow rider. When he turns to speak to him, however, the guy has disappeared in a flash of an expensive looking Belstaff (really, who even wears a calf-length wool trench coat to go skiing?). Shrugging, John meets up with Mary and doesn’t pay their weird encounter any more thought.