You know, it's funny how you think that I'm incapable of feeling love, John. Why do you think I faked my death? I never told anyone this, but if I didn't have an option, I still would have jumped. To save you. And once I heard you and knew the pain I caused you, I knew I could never tell you I loved you because I didn't deserve your love. Not after I hurt you like that. But John, the only thing that kept me going for two years of running and fighting was you. When I was captured and tortured by Moriarity's men, it was your voice that kept me strong. And nothing, nothing, made me happier than seeing your face after two years.

John, what were you thinking with that mustache?

And then I saw her. Mary. And I knew, of course, curse my powers of deduction, that you loved her, that you wanted to marry her, that you were going to propose. You looked at her the way you used to look at me. So I interrupted you, selfishly, hoping that if you saw me, you'd stop. You did. And then you tried to strangle me. I suppose I had that coming. But I didn't know what to say to you. Any serious words were blocked by the I love you caught in my throat.

The pain on your face hurt more than any of the beatings or sleep deprivations, or starvations that I suffered over the two years away from you because I knew that was the end. The end of the two of us, in 221B Baker Street, watching movies, solving crimes, running through the street together, and the end of any chance that you'd ever love me back.

But above anything, John, I want you to be happy. So I threw myself into the wedding preparations, working side by side with Mary. Everything had to be perfect for you because it was the day you'd always dreamed about. I interviewed the guests, learned how to fold napkins, and apparently almost caused a national alert when I texted Gavin for help on the best man speech. That speech was my way of thanking you for taking me back after what I did, for letting me be your best friend, because I didn't even deserve that.

And one secret, John. On stage night, you kissed me. It was after we got arrested, after the policeman apologetically locked us in the cell. You were laughing and asked why I looked unhappy. I told you that I ruined your stag night and you leaned down to where I was sitting on the cot and kissed me.

"It was perfect, Sherlock."

And then you passed out.

You think I don't remember. But I remember everything, even when my mind is clouded by the shot you poured into my graduated cylinder. I'd dreamed for three and a half years about kissing me and it was everything I thought it would be. I was happier than I'd ever been. I was sure that you'd call off the wedding and things could finally go back to normal.

But you forgot. And the next day you got married and danced with your wife while I stood in the crowd, alone, and then disappeared into the night. The specter at the feast. Is it any wonder I turned to drugs? At least cocaine wouldn't get married and forget it kissed me.

When you showed up, once my mind worked its way through the worry that you'd caught me at my worst, I realized you were still addicted to excitement. And hope stretched and yawned in my mind again. Hope that you'd decide to come back.

The hope was only spurred on by your reaction to Janine. You were…jealous? All the signs were there. And your face when I held the ring box. Maybe you didn't realize it, but I did.

Mary shot me.

Mary shot me and I was trapped in my own mind and I was going to die. Images flashed into my mind, Molly, Mycroft, Anderson, my beloved Redbeard, and Mary in her wedding dress, shooting me in my heart. I could have read more into it but I was too busy trying to force my heart to beat. Moriarty promised death was an escape and I wanted to believe him but then…

"John Watson is definitely in danger…"

John.

John.

"One more miracle. For me, Sherlock. Don't. Be. Dead."

Beat.

"Just stop it. Stop this."

Beat.

"You're my best friend."

Beat.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you didn't, Sherlock. Come here."

Beat.

"It was perfect, Sherlock."

And my eyes opened and I was alive. For you, John. Because, John Watson, I love you.