A/N: Inspired by Arrow 'Nash's 'unsent letters' of John Watson. Not sure if I got the name right, or if they're published on here, which would make it even cooler because they're so unsent, no-one bar me and her have seen them. Don't worry, give it time.

XxXxXxX

Dear John.

We've been going out for a month and a day now, and you've known me for a few months. How I've not scared you away I'll never understand. Not that I ever want you to leave.

Part of me wants to tell you, but most of me is scared. Not that you'll leave me, I'm fairly confident you won't, but because then you'll…you'll know. And I'll be sort of vulnerable. Yes, it's obvious that you'd 'know' if I told you, but it's not…I mean…Ugh. It's difficult to explain. I thought writing it down would help, but I still screw up. This is my 5th attempt.

You know I've been with people before. Mostly men, but I've only really been…intimate with Jim – or James, as I knew him at Uni – and with Lestrade, but that was only whilst I was getting over the addiction to drugs when I first met the Yard. Not my best idea, granted, as he'd already been in a relationship with my brother was about 5 months. But look at the man. Lestrade I mean.

My point is that with James, he was the only person that tolerated me. But if you're with someone, aren't you supposed to feel comfortable around them? Every time they hold you in their arms, or tell you they'll always be there for you, shouldn't you feel content? Happy? Shouldn't you want to say you'll be there forever as well? I didn't. James was, and still is, masochistic, and I have visible scars to prove it, but that's not why I broke up with him. I just didn't want to be with him or near him, especially not alone, it didn't feel right. It was all wrong.

Obviously he didn't take it well, if the bombing and you being stolen is anything to go by.

So really, I've never had a relationship. I think that's my point, you know how I am with explaining things like emotions and feelings.

Well, it's different with you. I'm comfortable with you, can't wait to be with you. We joke around, we can lay in each others arms whilst watching some form of crappy TV and not feel awkward. We can spend time alone, not even saying anything, and just be okay. We've had disagreements, lots, but a great many normal, happy conversations. Well, as normal as it can get here.

We can tease each other about our not-so-good traits, like you're height and 12 year old stature, and sometimes you'll have to stop me doing things I shouldn't, like staring at people until they leave. How was I to know that was impolite?

I love being near you, I love laying on the couch holding you close, so no one else can get to you. I love hearing you ramble as you drift to sleep when we're up all night on a case, and how it takes you a while to get yourself together in the mornings, and you always need tea. Not to mention your scent. Sweet, slightly addictive. The smell of long afternoons on the couch, doing nothing much, laughing at our own jokes, knowing no-one else will understand, but not caring anyway. The smell of my own heaven. So yes, those scarves you were asking after last week? I've got them; you can have them back when they don't smell like you.

It's mostly the little things you do, as I'm trained to find the little things, after all. You rest with your lips slightly parted, something I appear to have inherited. I love how you get worked up over the little things, how I can easily tease you about your height to get you to blush.

Whenever you rest against me, my heart beats irrationally out of turn. I've always been sensitive to contact anyway, but I feel as if it'll burst from my chest in that clichéd way. I can't stop it. It's stupid, because when you ask if I'm okay, I'm sure you know. You're not stupid.

You rested your hand casually on my chest the other day at the Yard, and when your fingers flexed, I almost had a heart attack, almost forgot how to breath. You must know by now, I'm not sure if that's good.

I'm not sure when all this started. It might have been around the time you fell asleep in your armchair, and I on the couch. You shifted slightly in your sleep as I woke up at around 3am, and you sighed quietly as you got comfortable. I never told you to save embarrassment, but so much of me just wanted to crawl over to be beside you, or to kiss your forehead, but I'm too stupidly shy. I think that's when this urge started.

We've never kissed, never discussed this to each other's faces, but John Watson, if you ever read this, I think I just might love you. Unconditionally and irrationally, and no-one else knows, but I think you do.

Sherlock.

XxXxXxX

A/N: Reviews? Please? Dunno where this angsty fluff is sprouting from – damn you Arrow 'Nash.

I tried to keep in character, but first person kind of gets me carried away…