Notes: I don't own Sherlock. *weeps silently*

Also, I had this letter in correct format, but doesn't let you put any writing to the right side of the page, so the address and closing are on the wrong side. So please don't blame me for improper letter format haha


221B Baker Street
London, England
15 January, 2013

John,

It's been an entire year since I've been away. To you, it's the anniversary of my death. I find it strange to commemorate such an occasion, but I expect you'll be contributing anyway by placing flowers on my grave or wearing dark colors. In any event, I hope you and Mrs. Hudson will be able to go about your day without much remorse. The wounds from my departure seem to be healing, but there is always the possibility of renewal.

I never meant to leave behind so many scars with my disappearance. Honestly, I wasn't aware that I had such an impact on anyone. I've never actually been anything more than an acquaintance at most— Ever. And at Baker Street, I had a family. I never could have imagined the feeling I got when Moriarty threatened your lives. Panic? Resentment? Grief? I can't even seem to place it. How was I ever supposed to guess that I'd feel worse when I left? It's like there's something missing. Like there's a hole that can't be filled. I miss my home, John.

I'm in New Zealand right now. It's not bad, really, but it isn't London. I think I'd be able to enjoy the hunt if it weren't for you. All I want to do is get this over with and get back to our flat. Maybe when I'm back Lestrade will have a case for us. Would you be up to that? I could only take it if you were by my side. I can't imagine solving a case without you. I really am lost without my blogger.

Of course, I'm only assuming you'll have me back after all of this is over. Are you as lost as I am alone? Are you even alone? I've been gone a whole year, and without me to frighten off those girls you bring home, who's to say you haven't found one that stayed? It's selfish for me to want you to take me back when I come home. All the same, I hope you do.

You haven't a good reason to take me back, though. I've done so much to you, and none of it seems to be positive. I guess what I'm trying to say is something I should have said to you every day: I'm sorry. Truly, I am. For everything I've ever done to you. For dragging you into situations you should never have been in, for putting your life in peril, for that bowl of testicles I accidentally left in the shower… But I want to apologize mostly for leaving. I know it killed me inside to turn my back to everyone, but I can't begin to think of how you felt. I only wish it could have been done another way.

Regardless, the deed has been done, and now we must suffer the consequences. At this point, I can't give you a time at which I will return. Mind you, I will return, and that is a promise. No matter how long it takes, and no matter what happens, I will come back. Whether you'll have me or not is irrelevant; I will be there for you. I miss my family, John. I want to come home.

Yours,

Sherlock Holmes


Sherlock set his pen to the side, the dull click of metal on wood the only sound in the otherwise silent cabin room. He stared down at the letter on the desk, rereading it and affirming everything in his mind. His fingers trembled lightly when he picked up the flimsy paper, from pure exhaustion, he was sure.

Carefully, he folded the letter into a small, neat square, lining up the edges and creasing them until it was crisp. Leaning over, he dropped the trim parcel into the trash bin, hearing the muted thud as it hit the bottom. As he let his head tilt back and his eyes close in rest, he could breathe a sigh of relief. He had said what he needed to say, but some things were better left unheard.