June 13, 1891
My dearest Sebastian,
As June 15th fast approaches, I am in constant reminder of my mortality, which seems to grow more and more noticeable by the passing of each day. As my most trusted confidant, and I am reluctant to admit, my best friend, I trust this very real vulnerability only to you, and I must tell you that I have always respected you above all else (except maybe for Mr. Holmes himself.)
As you well know, on June 15th I will face Sherlock Homes yet again for what I believe may be the last. If I am right, this will be our last correspondence, and the aforementioned date will be the last time you see me, but as always in these situations, I most likely will not see you.
I've waited for my death for many years and even wished it upon myself more times than I'd care to admit, but of course you know this. Now that my time is really here, I find myself to be… reluctant? Nervous? Anxious? I'm not sure that I've ever felt like this before.
Nevertheless, I need you to go through with the plan as intended, despite any hesitation you or I may have. It is more important now than it ever has been before.
You've always been like a brother to me, and I regret having pulled you into this dangerous game we play. Once this is over, I don't want you to avenge me. I don't want you to go after Holmes, should he win, Watson, should I, or anyone else involved, but especially not Holmes. Continue with your life of crime if you wish, but don't do anything I would do. You had talent before you were a criminal, and you still do. Don't do anything stupid.
So this is goodbye, my friend. I wish you the best in your future conquests, and maybe I'll do well in mine. Maybe death will be kind to me. If not, at least you always were.
Yours regardless,
M