For a man who says he has no heart, you sure make me work very hard, Sherlock Holmes. I would say we have experienced every emotion you could possibly find in the dictionary.

I would say that anger has been the biggest ailment in your lifetime. (Mycroft. Feelings. Failure.)

As well as sadness. (Redbeard.)

But those were in the earlier years of your life, weren't they? Let's talk about now, shall we?

I have grown used to working hard as you chase down criminals with adrenaline pumping through your veins. It is why you live. Your motivator.

But now there is a new contributor. You have me working over time every second your eyes connect with a certain Army Doctor named John Watson. He has been in your life for a year now. We have changed so much since then. Who knew that one person could change your perception of me, from black and cold, to warm and alight with color.

John's presence makes me beat faster. A touch from him makes me swell. And a compliment (That's the best one) makes me skip. He will never hurt me, of that I am sure.

All of this is new to me. For many years you thought me to be non-existent. I have been broken, shattered and my beating even ceased to exist at one point. I kept beating even as hands pounded above me and your brother tried to push air into your lungs. Every injury that jarred me, I kept on going. I made the monitors in hospitals sing.

I am very much alive now and we have have one person to thank for that. He made me (and you) whole again.

We can do this, Sherlock. I know you have found your future, even though in the past you didn't think you would even have one. You have found the reason for your existence.

My point is, if your don't figure this out soon; telling John Watson that he owns me now, I might just start to break. I am his now. In some ways, I think I have always been.