June 7 - 03:04 am
John, I want you to know that I spoke to Molly at Bart's the night before the fall. I'm telling you this because I want you to be pleased with me for trying to fix things with Molly, if nothing else. I told her everything: about Moriarty, about you and about me. I wanted to tell her, had to tell her, especially about you. If I don't live I have asked her to give you this journal. Leaving you the way I did, with lies, is tearing my heart apart; at least this way you will still learn the truth if I do not return to you. I owe Molly everything now.
She's helping me to save your life which is more important to me than anything. She is saving my life too, although mine is of questionable value. However, I knew it was important to you that I live, so I made the effort.
Having said that, it is entirely possible that you'll want to kill me yourself when you find out what really happened that morning at Bart's. I'm going to look on the bright side of this then: at least now you'll have the opportunity.
Molly had a lot to say to me. I used to think she had nothing of interest to say unless it was about corpses: but I was mistaken. I understand now what she's been trying to make me understand all this time. She was trying to save me from myself, much like you have tried to do. She is compassionate, really compassionate. But you knew that already didn't you? I don't think she's really in love with me (and no, I didn't say that to her face), at least not in love with me the way she thinks she is, but she does care about me, for which I'm grateful. God only knows why she does. It's a mystery to me.
She said it hurt her that I was alone, and even more that I didn't seem to care that I was alone; that I had no expectation of life otherwise, no expectation of love. She was trying to make me care. I see now that me being a dick (as you so flatteringly put it) would only have made her more determined to reform me. She said that it's okay now though, apparently me baring my miserable soul and confessing to an agony of suffering over you is all she needed to feel cheered. As I say, some things are still a mystery to me, but it's a small price to pay for her forgiveness − the least I could do, really.
I have offered her my friendship and I think I can be a good friend to her. Having spent the last five years thinking up ways to put her off, I feel that I know her pretty well. The first thing we need to do is to find her a good boyfriend (I have some thoughts about that, but later).
Love is where you come in, John. I would have had no idea what Molly was talking about before I met you but now I understand exactly what she means about the need to love and be loved. All I need to do is to picture your face and I understand love perfectly (I had no idea that feelings could provide such efficient mental shortcuts. There is no thinking required; the understanding is instantaneous. It's remarkable!)
I'm afraid I will be dead if you are reading this, I mean actually dead this time despite my best efforts to stay alive for you and if that's the case there's something important I want you to know. I'm pretty sure you know it already at least you should know it already; I can't be accused of being subtle about how I feel about you. On the other hand, you do seem pretty thick when it comes to my feelings−and your own, John−chasing all those women, when it's me you love, really, what were you thinking? And don't look like that. That you love me is obvious when all the evidence is considered. And let me tell you that just to be sure, I double-checked my analysis of the relevant facts with Molly and she has agreed with my conclusions. You are in love with me John. You may not know it yet, but you are. Thank God.
I've wanted to tell you how I feel about you for a long time. I would have wished to be there beside you, to watch your expression as I looked into your eyes and said "I love you", to touch your hand and to take your pulse if you would allow me. But since I cannot be I will rely upon my imagination (as you know, I have an excellent imagination, especially, I have discovered, when you are the subject).
The moment I saw you John, I was overwhelmed by love. You can probably imagine the level of disbelief with which I greeted this supposition initially. However, when I did a quick analysis of the evidence of all my senses there was only one possible conclusion: how often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must the truth? Well the truth was the simple fact that I had fallen stunningly, frighteningly, maddeningly in love.
Despite what others think, I have always been perfectly well aware of what love is; I just hadn't experienced it and was therefore sceptical. That changed, however, when you limped into the lab and turned your face to mine. The expression in your eyes went through my heart (the heart I didn't know I had until that moment), spearing me with the same effect as that Chinese arrow from the Case of the Blind Banker.
I admit to being momentarily immobilized but once I was able to drag reviving oxygen back into my lungs and re-start my blood flow, suddenly, incredibly, the sole purpose in my life had become to make you happy. That look in your eyes, as though you were trapped in some other terrible world; that you had lost sight of this one was frightening, John. I'm accused of being a cold man, but it froze even me. The next thought, equally extraordinarily, was that I could help you. I knew that I could save you.
I was right wasn't I? You've got to give me that. It took everything I had in me but I did it. I succeeded and you got better. Vexing, coaxing, tempting and provoking you back from the dead is my gift to the world, John. My motive was selfish it's true, given that I wanted to keep you to myself (I must say though, since you've never seemed to mind this very much, I don't let it trouble me).
And I do want to keep you. Now, I never tire of looking into your eyes. Whatever I see there, admiration, pity, perplexity, exasperation, it doesn't matter to me. It's all fine because no matter what, your eyes never fail to pierce my heart and fill my soul with warm, sweet wonder. John. You melt the ice that creeps in the shadows of my dark soul. You melt me, John.
Dear God, I wish I could come home to you.