To whoever finds this,
I want a penpal and I don't know how to get one so that's why I'm writing this. I'm going to put it in a bottle and throw it in the water and hope it finds someone who can be my penpal.
My name is John and I am eleven years old. I have a big sister called Harriet but she likes to be called Harry because she's a tomboy. I have friends at school but they are always happy and laughing all the time so sometimes I don't like talking to them. My mum and dad fight a lot and I don't think any of my friends' parents fight so I don't want to tell them about it.
I don't know what else to say. I've never done this before. Harry is going to help me seal the bottle with wax from a melted candle so that it doesn't leak when I throw it in the water. Me and Harry don't get on, she thinks I'm a boring kid because she's thirteen. But she knows Dad will throw a fit if I burn the house down so that's why she's helping.
Please write back to me. My address is on the back of this message.
Yours truly,
John Watson.
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Dear John,
My name is Sherlock and I am nine years old. I found your bottle washed up on some rocks while I was collecting algal samples. I've never had a penpal before. Or a friend.
I was going to send this back by bottle but I don't think the water currents will work in my favour so that's why I'm using normal post. Dull.
I have a big brother called Mycroft and he is fat and mean.
What do you want to be when you grow up? I like being clever and maybe one day, if I'm really clever, people will like me. Maybe I'll be a scientist. Or a pirate and do science experiments in my spare time.
Normally I don't talk to people because nobody likes me but I don't mind talking to you because you don't know me and I don't know you, so I won't be quite as sad if you decide you don't like me.
Write back, if you want.
Sherlock.
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Dear Sherlock,
Wow, I didn't really think anyone would find my bottle! Very cool.
You sound way cleverer than most nine-year-olds. I think you'll be a very good scientist-pirate.
I want to be a doctor and make people better when they're hurt or sick. My dad wants me to play rugby like he did when he was young. Harry says that's why Dad's always angry, because he got hurt in a game and couldn't play ever again. That was before I was born so I don't know why he's still angry.
You really don't have any friends? Don't worry. I'll be your friend.
Write back soon!
John.
Dear Sherlock,
Happy eleventh Birthday! I can't believe it's been two whole years since I wrote my message in the bottle. You're the same age now that I was when I wrote it. I'm so glad you were the one who found it. I'm lucky to have a friend who listens to all my rubbish.
Speaking of rubbish… I'm sorry to ruin your birthday with my own silly problems but I can't tell anyone else. You're the only one I trust. Dad made me sign up for the school rugby team this year. I don't mind sport, but he's putting all this pressure on me to be exactly who he was at my age! It isn't fair. I just want to be me.
Sorry about that, just needed to get it off my chest. Hope your birthday is wonderful. And I hope you like the drawing I've sent you as a present! I'm not very good at drawing but I couldn't buy you anything because I didn't get my allowance. Harry blamed me for something and of course Mum believed her because she believes anything Harry says.
John.
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Dear John,
Thank you for the birthday wishes and for the drawing. It is a very imaginative picture but otters and hedgehogs don't usually cohabit in the same burrow. Nevertheless I have stuck it on my wall.
Maybe if you're really bad at rugby then you'll be kicked off the team and your father can't possibly be mad because it won't be your fault. He will have to accept that you're not like him. Or maybe, as Harry is the tomboy of the family, blackmail her into taking your place instead.
On the note of siblings, my birthday was completely ruined by Mycroft, of course. Always Mycroft! He has declined an internship at a barrister's office in place of studying Politics at Cambridge. Mother and Father arranged that internship weeks ago and he didn't tell them until today that he desired a political career. I'm certain he picked my birthday deliberately to draw attention back to himself. Fat git.
Sherlock.
Dear Sherlock,
We had our first proper rugby match last night. It wasn't too bad, although one of the boys on the team got a concussion after he ran into another lad. If I was a doctor I could have helped.
Things are funny at home. Not funny like laughing, but funny like… weird. Mum and Dad have been really quiet and Harry's spending all her time in her bedroom. She's normally off with her friends or making a nuisance of herself but she's really not behaving normally at the moment. Can you deduce it for me? Nobody will tell me what's going on.
John.
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Dear John,
Clearly your mother and father are worried about something which is why they're quiet. Too deep in thought to argue. Harry is hiding something, which is why she's hiding herself in her room. A metaphorical and literal wall to keep others from finding out her secret. I cannot deduce anything further simply from your letter.
You ought to investigate! Oh by the way, I've decided to become a detective but will be a freelance scientist on the side. Maybe a small amount of piracy if I have time. If I were there I could interrogate Harry and solve this mystery. Tell me if you work it out.
Sherlock.
Dear Sherlock,
There was a huge row today. One of Harry's friends came over to see her and Dad asked her a really odd question. He said to the girl, "Are you the one who corrupted my daughter?" She got really upset and Dad wouldn't let her in the house. Mum tried to intervene and then Harry came out of her room and suddenly everyone started screaming.
Long story short, it turns out Harry fancies girls and that's what they've all been weird about. She tried to tell Mum and Dad that she had a girlfriend and they don't believe her. Dad says he won't tolerate it. Mum says it's just a phase and she'll grow out of it.
Harry won't stop crying. I've not heard her cry since we were both little kids.
I don't know what to do.
John.
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Dear John,
For the first time in the nearly three years that we've been penpals, I truly don't know what to say to you.
I even asked Mycroft. He looked sad and shook his head. He said sometimes it takes time for people to come 'round. I don't know if he meant Harry or your parents. I don't know about this sort of thing. I don't fancy anyone. Mycroft says I will in the next few years but I doubt it.
I'm sorry that I don't know what to say. I'm not very good at being a friend or a penpal.
Sherlock.
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Dear Sherlock,
You've never had to actually say anything. It's more the fact that you listen.
Thank you for being there.
John.
Dear John,
I'm glad to hear that your fifteenth birthday party was a success, but next time please do feel free to omit the details about yourself and this "Sarah". Spin the Bottle sounds like a very unhygienic experience and I'd hardly refer to it as a "game".
Mother and Father are encouraging me to socialise outside of school. They insist that I ought to embark on extracurricular activities now that I have reached what they call the Teen Scene. Honestly, being thirteen is no different to being twelve. However I have acquiesced and joined an after-school chemistry study group. It's dreadful.
Mycroft came home for dinner last night. He's bought himself an umbrella that he carries around with him constantly, like a metaphoric security blanket. I think he's trying to use it as a distraction from the way his new suit buttons are almost popping at his belly.
Sherlock.
Dear Sherlock,
Harry came home drunk again last night. Dad keeps threatening to throw her out and she keeps taunting him, saying that if he does it, she'll tell all his mates that he raised a queer daughter. I don't know why he's so ashamed of it. He seems to think he's failed as a parent because she's gay and that everyone will judge him for it if they find out. I think he's failed as a parent because he's a git, not because she's gay.
I went into her room after she stopped shouting and asked her why she always taunts Dad and pushes him. She started crying and said that all she wants to hear from Mum or Dad, just once, is that they love her no matter what. And I got really upset, Sherlock, because I realised something. I want to hear the same thing. Just once. I don't want to play fucking rugby. I want to be a doctor.
Me and Harry, we'll never be good enough for them.
John.
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Dear John,
I don't think you should play rugby. I think you should be a doctor.
Sherlock.
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Dear Sherlock,
Thank you.
You're my best friend. I'm so lucky I have you to talk to.
John.
Dear John,
You haven't written in almost three months' now. Is this because of that foul Jeanette? She doesn't even fancy you. She just likes that you've got your drivers' license. Can't you see that? It's obvious. You said she's terribly popular and pretty and wishes to be an actress so why would she fancy you just because you're the captain of the rugby team? On a side note, why are you still persisting with that Neanderthal nonsense? You don't even enjoy it.
Don't bother writing back.
Sherlock.
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Dear John,
If it isn't too late, please destroy my previous letter. Mere hours after posting it I received all seven of your letters that had been lost in transit due to our change of address. My sincerest apologies.
Our new residence is nice, although being just outside London means that Mycroft is visiting frequently. I know that was the point, in Mother and Father's view, but I was in denial until the final moment.
Please write back. I'm starting a new school tomorrow.
Your (hopefully still) best friend,
Sherlock.
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Dear Sherlock,
You're a first class prat, you know that? I read both your letters, you git, and I can't believe you didn't even give me the benefit of the doubt! Why the hell shouldn't a girl like Jeanette fancy me? What's wrong with me?!
On a totally unrelated note, Jeanette and I are no longer together. I quit the rugby team and she ended it. So you might've been right a bit, but that's not the point! Tosser.
Okay, I've just gone for a long walk and I think I've calmed down enough to finish this letter without verbally killing you. I've been writing to you for six years now so I know you're never going to apologise for being a twat, so let's just move on, eh?
How's Mycroft? London's culinary delights keeping him happy? Harry finally moved out last week. You should've seen it! She said she was sick of hiding who she really was and has moved in with her girlfriend's family. Mum didn't stop crying for two days and Dad has barely said a word. He's obviously furious and I can see he's going to snap sooner or later.
Tell me about your new school. Hope you're settling in okay by the time you get this letter.
Still your best friend,
John.
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Dear John,
I'm glad to hear you've finally quit rugby. I hope your father took it well, although with his distraction of Harry, I'm sure he had little energy to spend on your sporting career.
Sorry about Jeanette. (Not really. It was doomed from the start.)
Mycroft is, yet again, attempting to diet but is constantly thwarted by the bakery around the corner from his office.
School is ghastly. The people are so dull, the curriculum uninspired… Naturally I haven't befriended anyone, although there is a girl in my class that seems to have intellectual potential. Her name is Molly and is also somewhat of an outcast due to her allegedly morbid interests in corpses and human anatomy. She may be one to watch; I could utilise her when I become a detective.
Sherlock.
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Dear Sherlock,
I'm not surprised it took you fifteen years to notice the existence of girls. I hope this Molly doesn't distract you too much… Don't want to lose my best friend.
John.
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Dear John,
Why such a short note? I can hardly call it a letter. Are you busy? Ill?
And Molly will most certainly not be distracting me. I have no interest in her other than as a potential future contact for post mortems when I am solving grisly murders. Perhaps when you've qualified as a doctor you could assist me? We could be a detective team. Your medical expertise would come in handy.
Thoughts?
Sherlock.
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Dear Sherlock,
Oh, so you don't fancy her then? That's good. I mean, just in the sense that… Forget it.
That'd be cool, if we worked together to solve crimes and stuff. Do you think you'll study Criminology or something at University? That's all the teachers are talking about now, University, as we're in our last year of school.
I'm starting to get nervous. Dad keeps hinting that I should join the military. He said that University is a waste of money when I can do something worthwhile like fighting for freedom. I don't know what to tell him. I feel like he's relying on me to do something big, because he thinks Harry's a failure.
John.
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John,
Don't join the military. Just… don't. Please.
Sherlock.
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Dear Sherlock,
Wow, calm down! He's just been talking about it, that's all. Anyway, it might not be that bad. The army can actually help me get medical qualifications, and chances are I wouldn't even get deployed anywhere. It'd just be something to do for a while.
Any plans for your sixteenth birthday? That's not too far away now.
John.
Dear Sherlock,
Dad's anger has been building for so long. I knew it was only a matter of time before he snapped. Harry came over to see Mum tonight so he was really on edge. After she'd gone I told him I didn't want to join the army; that I've already applied to University and just wanted to do a standard medical degree and be a doctor, nothing else.
He hit me. I didn't even see it coming. If you'd been there I'm sure you would have deduced it before it happened.
I'm so tired, Sherlock. I just want to leave.
John.
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Dear John,
He's a foul cowardly git and I'd like to poison his coffee with strychnine. But just think; only one and a half months until you leave school, and then you can go to University. You'll be away from all of it. Harry got away, and you will too.
I've made a friend, John. Not a best friend like you; more of an acquaintance that I can tolerate, but close enough. His name is Victor. He's awfully clever and we're in the same chemistry class.
I think you'd like him. You'd find him funny.
Sherlock.
Dear Sherlock,
How's your final year of school going? I'm sure all the other kids are doing lots of study but you're so clever, you probably know it all already. Still spending a lot of time with Victor? Be careful, Sherlock. I'm glad you've got a friend you feel so happy with, but some of the things you've said in the past about him… I worry he may be a negative influence on you.
Harry's agreed to talk to someone about her drinking. She blames it all on Dad and I've told her that's all well and good, but she's got to be the one to make an effort to fix things. It won't go away if she just sits there passing the blame.
Ugh, I've got so much research to do for this essay. I wish you were here; you'd be able to give me all the information right from your brain.
John.
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Dear John,
Apologies for my delay in correspondence. Victor celebrated his 18th birthday with quite a dramatic flair. The police were contacted and he was found in possession of some rather illicit pharmaceuticals. I had nothing to do with it but, alas, I was grounded regardless. Mycroft's influence on my parents, naturally. How can they ground me when I'm mere months from becoming a legal adult?! Ludicrous.
Anyway, I digress. By now your first year will have ended. How were the exams? I'm sure they were far more stimulating than my own. Oh, I'm longing for University.
Victor and I have both been accepted to Cambridge. I'm sure you're terribly proud; Mother and Father certainly are.
I'd love to chat longer but I've so much to do.
Sherlock.
Dear Sherlock,
Second year is even harder than the first, although I'm sure you're finding your first year at University a total breeze. Looking forward to the midyear exams? Bet you think its great fun, while I'm here struggling to cram everything into my brain at once.
I haven't seen Mum or Dad in months. I don't really miss the arguing or the atmosphere, always being tense, but I miss home cooked meals and having the sounds of familiarity around me. Harry's gone off the rails again. I'm really worried about her; I don't think she's even trying anymore.
There's a guy I've become friends with called Mike. He's nice, funny, but you're still the only one I can really talk to, Sherlock. Sometimes I feel so lonely here, even with all the people around.
I feel like there's more I want to say but I can't get the words to come out.
Please write back soon.
Your best friend,
John.
Dear Sherlock,
I met your brother. Mycroft. After eight and a half years of hearing about him in your letters, he turned up at my door. He's not even fat, just a bit… round-faced.
Anyway, he told me. About you. About what you did. Sherlock, how could you? I can't believe that you're actually using drugs, let alone that someone as clever as you could accidentally overdose. Mycroft said it was cocaine. How long will you be in hospital? I feel like I should come and visit you. Would you even want that?
I didn't know Mycroft even knew I existed. I've never told anyone about you, about our letters. Apparently Mycroft has known since the very first letter. I'm not surprised; he seems almost as clever as you.
Sherlock, how could you fall into the trap of drugs?! Mycroft thinks it was Victor. Do you know what he said to me, Sherlock? He said that I've been good for you. He said that when you were a kid, anytime you were hurt or lonely, you'd pull out your paper and pen and write to me.
Why didn't you talk to me?
I miss you.
Yours,
John.
Dear John,
I'm sorry I couldn't write sooner. On Mycroft's advice my parents sent me to a rehabilitation clinic and I was unable to contact you. I won't be seeing Victor again.
I don't know what to tell you. I can't explain it. The cocaine… it wasn't for the mere sake of it. It helped me focus, helped me think. Everything was clearer, brighter, far more vibrant. My brain was in overdrive; the deductions I made, John! It was amazing. I was amazing.
Please forgive me.
Your best friend,
Sherlock.
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Dear John,
When my last letter was marked 'return to sender' I reluctantly solicited the aid of Mycroft to find you.
You enlisted in the army?! Are you trying to become a bully and a brute just like your father? Is that it? Pathetic. You're not the man I thought you were, John Watson.
Sherlock.
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Dear Sherlock,
Go to hell.
John.
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Dear Sherlock,
I'm sorry. I was angry. You have no right to judge me though. I'll still get my medical training, but I'll be able to put it to a more practical use. Why are you so dead against this? At least I'm not on a path of self-destruction, like you, turning to drugs!
Please try to support me.
John.
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Dear John,
A path to self-destruction? That's rich, coming from the man who has decided to stick himself into the path of bombs and bullets and landmines!
Sherlock.
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Dear Sherlock,
Is that what your problem is? You're worried I'll be hurt?
Please don't worry. I probably won't even be deployed.
Anyway, people get killed just by crossing a busy street! Life is a risk. That's the whole point of life.
John.
Dear John,
I've successfully passed my second year exams.
When are you to be back in London? This is perhaps a mad thought but it has now been just over ten years since we first found each other. An entire decade of correspondence. Perhaps it is time we met, face to face?
Let me know your thoughts.
Your best friend,
Sherlock.
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Dear Sherlock,
By the time you get this, you'll probably have seen it on the news or in the papers. I'm in one of the troops that have been deployed to Kosovo. I don't know when I'll be home, but it'll be at least six months.
I'm leaving tomorrow. Very early flight. I can't stop shaking as I write this. I didn't think it would actually happen. Oh well, maybe now I'll have a chance to help people. Save some lives. Fix some injuries.
I don't know what it'll be like, how often I'll be able to write, but I promise I will whenever I get the chance.
I miss you already.
Don't forget about me, Sherlock.
Your best friend,
John.
Dear John,
It has been four weeks since I received a letter from you. Mycroft shouted at me today, telling me to stop harassing him and that he cannot find out anything about your location or wellbeing.
Please write to me and tell me you're okay.
I cannot think properly. I failed my last two essays because I simply cannot think of anything other than why you're not writing to me.
John, you're truly my only friend. I will forever regret the time I wasted on Victor. John, please. I need you. Whenever a letter from you arrives I feel as though I can conquer anything. You are my conductor of light.
Write. Back. Now.
Yours,
Sherlock.
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Dear Sherlock,
Deep breaths, mate! I'm alive. I'm fine. Just really hard to get any post through at the moment, what with security and all that.
Sherlock, you need to focus on your studies. Stop worrying about me. Not long now until I'm home on leave and you know what? I'm coming to see you.
This is ridiculous; eleven years of writing and you're still the first person I think of when I wake up in the morning and the last person I think of when I fall asleep. As soon as I get back on British soil I am coming to London to find you.
Hang in there, Sherlock.
Missing you,
John.
Dear John,
You didn't show up today. I waited at Angelo's for three hours and you didn't come. I've checked with Heathrow; your plane definitely arrived but they can't (or won't) tell me if you were on it or not.
Mycroft is investigating but there's only so much he can do.
Where are you, John? What happened? Please don't be hurt. Please don't be dead.
You can't be dead. You can't die without me meeting you. It simply isn't right! You can't be the one important thing in my life and just disappear without me having looked in your eyes, heard your voice in my ears, touched your hand to prove to me that you exist.
John, please, if you get this… You must find a way to tell me you're okay.
Please.
Love,
Sherlock.
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Dear John,
Mycroft has found out that something has happened and nobody can get in or out of Kosovo. He says there are no reports of British casualties.
As long as you're unharmed, I can wait. I will be seeing you eventually, no matter what. Nothing is going to stop me.
Love,
Sherlock.
Dear Sherlock,
This is my last letter to you.
It is daft, this letter-writing nonsense. We're grown men, for goodness' sake! I know you think of it as a tradition but this is getting out of hand.
We live together, Sherlock. We've been married for almost ten years! I'm not writing you a bloody letter every week when we sleep in the same bed. You can text me when I'm at work if you miss me that much.
Besides, it makes my shoulder ache when I'm writing for too long. Considering we've been writing to each other for twenty-four years, I think we can move on now.
I've kept all of your letters. I love that you kept my childhood drawing of an otter and a hedgehog and that we have it on our bedroom wall. But no more letters, love.
I've already vowed to spend the rest of my life by your side, so I don't think weekly letters are necessary.
Love always,
Your John.
PS. You forgot to buy the bloody milk again, you prat.