Sherlock's Letters to John
The 1st Letter
John-
As it turns out, I'm not actually dead. If you've had a 'hunch' all this time, abandon it. I can't come back to you. I'm sorry. But it isn't safe for me to come back to you yet.
It's so tedious; playing dead, John. You have no idea, although I hope you never have to. I'm so bored. Mycroft sent over a hundred cold cases for me but those didn't last more than a week. With Moriarty's web lurking through the shadows I find that my own anxiety has peeked while I worry about your safety. I'll explain everything someday. I promise you that.
-Sherlock
The 2nd Letter
John-
Solving cases loses its value. Puzzle after puzzle of stupid people doing stupider things. I must have solved a few hundred by now. What value does my intellect have if there is no benefit to having it anymore? I've informed Mycroft that not only will I no longer require cases while I'm here. I can no longer bring myself to solving them alone. I miss you, John. I miss you more than I had originally anticipated. You are a conductor of light and in your absence I am nothing but a dull bulb.
-Sherlock
The 3rd Letter
John-
I had to learn Italian. You would have found that amusing. Ho ancora manchi.
-Sherlock
The 4th Letter
John-
It's your birthday today John. Happy birthday. If I was at our flat today I would make you breakfast. I would buy the best tea I could find and I would brew you an entire pot. I would take you out to Angelo's for dinner, nothing too fancy or expensive. You wouldn't have appreciated anything that came with a high price tag. Today might have been the day that I told you that I loved you. I still do love you.
But right now I'm sitting alone in a small café. I miss your coffee. I haven't found any coffee that compares to yours since I've been here which is highly unlikely. All of these cafes are highly capable. The more likely explanation is that what all of these coffee shops are missing is you.
I checked your blog. I check it every day although it just occurs to me now that you may never have known that. You haven't updated your blog since I fell. Why haven't you updated your blog? Do you still think about me? Ti sono mancato?
-Sherlock
The 5th Letter
John-
Mycroft tells me you haven't left the flat in weeks. Are you still grieving, John? Is that it? I need for you to be alright, John; for my sake. Go for drinks with Stamford, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson for God sake. Just forget about me and get your mind on something else, please.
I still miss you more every day but I need you to move on for me.
-Sherlock
The 6th Letter
John-
I have a confession to make: Mycroft took care of Moriarty's web months ago. The truth is that I'm afraid of coming back to you, John. I'm afraid that you won't forgive me.
I thought I saw you on the street today. There was a blond man in a stripped jumper. I couldn't decide whether to chase him down or duck behind a shrubbery. I chased him. When I realized he wasn't you I almost broke down. The ache in my chest grows every day for you. Please be alright.
-Sherlock
The 7th Letter
John-
There are so many things that I've never told you/ will never get the chance to say.
I can't go back, John. You're in less danger without me there. That's why all of this had to happen, John; because Moriarty put you and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade in danger. I fixed it the best I could given the circumstances. It was a messy exit but I did it. I kept you safe. In the end I cannot regret any of it, John.
That doesn't mean that I don't miss you though. I miss waking up to the smell of your tea throughout the flat in the morning and I miss your ugly jumpers. I used to go into your room and take your cream colored one while you were at the clinic. It always smelled like you. I miss the way you smell; always of honey and tea and fresh laundry but always John, as if you added your own special spice to the combination of aromas.
I remember the first night I realized that I'd fallen for you. You had just come back from a late night at work and you bought Chinese food on the way back. I noticed when you came in but I don't think you realized. And after you'd convinced me to eat I sat at the table and started to stare at you. Your hair was ruffled by the wind and your cheeks tinted a rosy red when you caught my eyes on you. But I couldn't stop just admiring you, John; even after you put down your fork to return my gaze. We stayed like that for what must have been ten minutes. Do you know what I was thinking of, John? I was contemplating what your reaction would be if I closed the distance between us. I came close. That night felt like I was seeing through your eyes into your soul. I saw my John, my sweet and caring John.
You probably don't even remember that night but that was one of my favorite memories of us. Il mio John. Mio caro John.
-Sherlock
The 8th Letter
Dear John,
I can't bring myself to destroy these letters. And I can't bring myself to forget you. It's too much. All of this is too much.
I tried to erase you from my mind palace yesterday. It made me physically ill. I looked over every memory I had of us: when we held hands running through the streets of London, when I came down with the flue and you missed almost a week at the clinic to care for me, when you yelled at me because I didn't get the milk, when you caught the flue from caring for me and I tried my best to do the same for you. How could I ever try to forget that, John? You've become a part of me. Every time I think of you my chest aches. I need you here. I just need you.
-Sherlock
The 9th Letter
Dear John,
How long am I going to keep you waiting for me? I've been holding onto this thought recently that maybe you've moved on from me. Maybe you've found a nice wife and had kids and you're happy without me. And it's so bitter sweet because that's what I want for you, John. I want you to be happy and have the life that you've always seemed to desire. But I need you too. And I'll always need you, maybe even more then you need me.
Go get married and have children already, John. It'd be better without my presence. You know that as do I. Do it so that I don't need to worry about my feelings for you being reciprocated. You know that I'd be a horrible partner. I remember everything about you but I can't find the words to describe my feelings towards you although I've spent many sleepless nights pondering them.
-Sherlock
The 10th Letter
Dear John,
Whenever I would talk to you it's as though you were the most important thing in the universe. When you would day my name I could feel the excitement manifest in my stomach. When I'd be close enough to feel the warmth of your breath against my face I would make sure to breathe deeply, to try and breathe you in. I wanted nothing more than to feel your pulse. When we held hands mine were clammy by the time you let go. My stomach did flips when we ran through the streets together. When I'd look into your eyes I could read you like a book. Sometimes I would flip through the pages for the fun of it. Whenever I felt your eyes staring at me I could feel a smile spread across my face.
When you would help me with cases I would try to show off. You would praise my intellect and I would take it as though I was a dog being rewarded. I was happy with that. If that would be the most I would ever get out of our relationship I would gratefully accept it. But that never meant that the feelings wouldn't get stronger.
When you would deny us being a couple it would hurt me. I wanted it to be true so badly. You managed to snap me out of my fantasies. When you stopped denying it I pondered for weeks if it meant something or if you were only tired of arguing with people.
And now, more than anything I long to hear your voice; to hear you say my name. I need you here with me as much as I need oxygen. I have the memories in my mind palace but they don't compare to the real you, John.
And that is how I feel about you.
-Sherlock
The 11th Letter
Dear John,
I have been researching the stages of grief. You're supposed to accept it, John. Have you been thinking over the last words you've said to me before this all started? The article said you might. You called me a machine. John, don't feel bad for that. It was my original hypothesis as well. You know that. Love is a grave disadvantage, although I am starting to find that the feeling that what I am currently undergoing is loss: loss of a loved one. I have been able to confirm this from the many articles I've researched on grief. I had indeed gone through the staged of grief before I had jumped; it started as soon as I realized what the only solution would have been.
Why do you think I played the violin so much as we neared the end, John? I was trying to avoid it, focus on something else other than the impending date that lingered when I realized I wouldn't be able to see you again. That was the first stage. Then the new holes in the wall; shooting at that damn yellow spray-paint smiling face? Did you think that was out of boredom? No, my dear John, it was because I wasn't ready to lose you yet. I didn't want to go, and that face had no right to act so happy while in the future the both of us would be so sad. I was angry: the second stage. Then there was all the time spent in my mind palace. That was when I was going over every possibility, everything. I was looking for some way where I wouldn't need to leave you. I couldn't find it: that was the bargaining. That time in my mind palace overlapped with the fourth stage. I needed to make sure you would be alright while I was away, although I couldn't do much. I left my violin on the counter so you would have something to remember me by. I thought that maybe it would help you to have something you could directly connect to me; you know sentiment and all. I wish it had done more than it did.
Then came the last stage, though: acceptance. That's when I realized that I couldn't waste any more time, John. I stored every memory of the two of us in my mind palace: every second. I remember the time you and I ran through the streets of London holding hands and I remember the time where, back in Baskerville, you called me Spock. I loved it when you called me out on things, John. You'd always make sure I wouldn't go too far. I miss that, John. It was one of the things I'd always admired about you. You were always there for me in nearly every way possible. Everything you said held such importance to me. Nearly every word that came out of your mouth was filed into my mind palace in a box labeled "URGENT: Priority John". After you called me Spock I watched Star Trek so that I could understand what you meant. You could have told me anything and I would have picked at the structure of the sentence until I'd have known every possible variant of what you could have meant. Imagine if you'd have told me that you loved me. Imagine what I would have done then. I would have moved mountains for you, although I would have done that regardless. You didn't need to say anything because regardless of whether you loved me I am sure that I in fact love you.
Over the years I've known you I've trusted you with everything: my pin card, my violin, experiments, feelings even, so now I'm trusting you with my heart.
-Sherlock
The 12th Letter
John-
I cannot allow you to have my heart. It was wrong of me to offer. You're supposed to me moving on regardless of whether I am able to or not.
-Sherlock
Continued: Mycroft had just informed me that you're not moving on. Why aren't you moving on, John? It's been almost a year now. You're supposed to be outside and at the clinic and at Angelo's with a woman. Now Mycroft is informing me that you're sitting alone in our your flat with a bottle of scotch every night? At least update your blog, John. At least do something other in wallow in your own bereavement. I wasn't supposed to make that much of an impact on your life John. I wasn't supposed to matter.
The 13th Letter
John-
I'm in France now. I can see the Eiffel Tower from my new flat. You would love it here, John. If you were with me right now I'd take you sightseeing to all of those tourist traps. We would walk at the streets of Paris at night and then during the day I'd take you to see The Louve. Then I'd drive you out to Mont Saint-Michel and we'd act like we owned the island; as if I, myself commissioned William of Dijon to build the thing for us.
I bought a beret. I figured you must have liked seeing me in silly hats. It's no deerstalker but it reminds me of our times solving cases together in London. I loved that hat as much as I hated it. It brought with it a sense of security because every time I saw that stupid hat it reminded me that you were there before the hat; before all of the useless fame.
That used to be my greatest fear, you know; that you would get tired of my presence and cast me away. It took me so long to realize that I didn't bother you; that you genuinely enjoyed my company. That was so new for me, John. I'd never experienced that before.
-Sherlock
The 14th Letter
John-
If I came back today, got on the train this very moment, how mad would you be when you see me? I'm at the station right now, sitting at a bench trying to sort this all out. I don't know what I'm thinking anymore, John. I want to send you a text telling you to meet me at the station in London; that I'll take a train, then a plane and a train again and you can meet me there and we can all get back to where we were before all of this. I'm so close to you; only two trains and a flight away. I want to come home to you. I need to see you more than anything right now. I need to hold you and make everything better for the both of us. I need to hear your voice again, even if it's shouting at me while you're throwing punches. That's not what I fear.
I don't want to come home with a hope of something that I can't have. Would you even want to see me if you knew what I wanted us to be? Would you still allow me to stay? I would understand if you wouldn't want to see me, John. I would understand completely.
What I dream about: You and me. We'd be sitting in the flat together. We'd be happy. I want the security of going to sleep in the same bed as you and always waking up knowing that you'd be there. I'd be able to comfort you during your nightmares like I'd felt the urge to since I first woke up and heard you trying to be silent about your panic attacks. You never needed to be silent. If you came into my room I would have allowed you to stay there. If you'd have asked me to play violin for you throughout the night while you slept I would have gladly obliged. Hell, if you told me to leave every night and fetch you something all the way across London I would have left within an instant without question.
The way I dream about it you'd be reading your books and I'd be focusing on a case. And I'd look up and see you there, engulfed in the imaginary fiction of Tolkien or submerged in a sea of medical journals. I'd be able to just get up and move behind you. And I'd be able to just run my hand through your hair. I imagine it feeling like silk to the touch. I imagine me being able to smooth over your battle scar without question. And maybe you'd look up and you'd be able to tell just how much I value our time together; it would show in my eyes like a reflection. If your reflection was permanently seen in my eyes it would be fitting, because lately I haven't been able to think of anything other than you.
-Sherlock
The 15th Letter
John-
I couldn't do it. I couldn't get on that train. I'm so sorry. This shouldn't be as hard as it is. I could have been in London right now. I'd just be getting to the flat now. I'd walk up to the door and I'd knock and you'd answer and probably punch me out. And I'd let you. I'd deserve it after all I'd done.
But instead I'm sitting in a café. I'm still in the train station. I heard them call out my train number and I walked up to the door and made a U-turn. John, I couldn't do it, not yet. I kept fantasizing about how I would come back to you. How could I do it without hurting you more? I fear that I've been gone for so long that any effort to return would be either rejected or put you in an emotional shock.
-Sherlock
The 16th Letter
Dear John,
I've cut off all connection to Mycroft for the time being. I packed all of my things and now I'm heading back to England. The plane leaves in a few hours. However, I can't bring myself to go back to London. I cannot run the risk of seeing you without an explanation for my presence. John, I miss you. There are no words for it. When I left I left my heart with you, how naïve for me to think I would be able to give and take it back as I pleased. Without you I feel as though I'm stuck in a downpour. I feel anxious without you next to me. I still check your blog, you know, every day. I still hope that maybe you'll post something about how you are going to move on. I don't want to force my presence upon you, John. I don't know how you feel about me; if you feel about me anymore. I'm conflicted.
-Sherlock
The 17th Letter
Dear John,
I figured it out! All of these letters that I've written to you; they're the answer! I'm going to send it all to you: everything. When I wrote them you weren't meant to read them. I wrote these letters whenever I would have a particularly bad day; whenever my chest hurt the most from my time spent away from you.
I don't know if you want me back, John. I don't know if you ever want to see me again. I would understand if you didn't. If you told me to leave I would go, but only because it would be your wish. I can't make this judgment call of whether I can return or not so I'm asking you to make it for me. It's your decision now.
All of the attached letters are from the past two years. They were addressed to you regardless of my intent for you to read them. If you want to me to return to you then leave a note outside 221B telling me so. If you don't, then do the same. When you go out next I'll fetch someone to bring it to me and I'll follow your directions no questions asked.
Although it is my wish to return to you I cannot expect it after these past two years; after everything I've put you through. So thank you, John. Thank you for everything you've done for me. Thank you so much. And even though that note will tell me to leave, to get away and never return, I'll still cherish it all the same because it's from you and you will always have my heart.
-Sherlock Holmes.
The Only Letter
When you get this letter stop and read it, Sherlock. I am unbelievably pissed off at you, you insufferable bastard. This is what I want you to do:
Get your ass over here right now.
If you don't have a key find a different way in. I don't care if you need to break down the God damned door, I want to see your ass in that chair when I come back.
How could you do that to me Sherlock? How could you leave me alone like that; and then to think that I would move on? Do you even realize the impact you had on my life you IDIOT. Don't you dare get off that chair until I get back. We are going to talk this through. You are going to explain to me everything that happened.
Dammit Sherlock, do you even realize how much I needed you over these past two years? The only times I left the flat were to either get alcohol or to visit your grave, Sherlock. Every day I would pray that you would come back to me. Every day I visited your grave I would hope for some sort of miracle. But do you know what, Sherlock? I never got it. I didn't even know why you jumped. Part of me thought it was my fault. I thought that you were actually gone, Sherlock. You don't know how hollow I felt. At least you knew that I was ALIVE, Sherlock. You didn't even grant me that.
Do you realize what my biggest regret was about us, Sherlock? It was that I never told you how I felt about you. I never told you that I loved you. I still love you. I miss you and I'm furious at you and I want to punch you but I also want you to know that I need you, and I need to know that you're actually here.
So if I break down and cry in your arms you better not complain about sentiment. You don't get to do that anymore. Not after this. It wouldn't be fair.
Get your ass over here. –John
P.S. – Please don't do that to me ever again. I want you to stay. I want you here with me. This is still OUR flat.