A Letter To John- The Love Was There, I Promise

Dearest John,

I love you. Wholly, sincerely, truly. When we met, love bloomed in my heart like a Moonflower blooms at night. When you became a protector on our first case together, the love was there. The love, the adoration, the need. It was there, I promise you.

The day we met, you were intimidated. Confused. On guard. You knew it. Mike knew it. We all knew it. I tried to scare you away with my rude deductions, so as not to be hurt, become attached, become so hopelessly in love that it was impossible to stop, to ignore, to refute.

But it didn't work.

It never worked on you. My techniques only drew you closer, so close you might suffocate. You didn't suffocate, however. It's like you had new life, new breath, new mind forced into you, opening your eyes to me and only me. You could never suffocate around me unless I let it happen. Unless the love was unrequited.

You tried to deny it, repress it, shun it- the love you felt for me. You would date all those women to try and prove you weren't already in love. You fool, it could never work. It never did, and it never will. Because you love me. And I love you. Deeply, from that first day to our last.

Speaking of our last day, when do you think that was? It wasn't that unfortunate day where you were tricked into thinking me dead. So when was it? Try and use the deductions skills you learned from me… Got it? Yes. It was the day you married her. Mary Morstan. The day I died.

So that means the love was unrequited, doesn't it? It was stupid of me to think you could ever love me like you could love her. You never wanted to love me, why fool myself into thinking you did? Leaving you that day was the worst mistake of my life. Making you think me dead was the day you died. I am so sorry, John. But marrying her was your worst mistake.

You left me, abandon me, killed me that day. But I forgive you. Forgive you and forgive Mary. For everything. Forever. Forgiving you was my best mistake. Because forgiving you means you can still love me and I can still love you.

Because I do still love you.

When you yell, when you hit me, when you tell me I'm a prick- though I admit, that is a relatively true statement- the love is still there. It's always there. Always has been, always will be. It will never die because it's just you and me against the rest of the world.

And the love is there, I promise.

Your Friend,

Sherlock