Wedlocked
In script that reminded John very much of the sea- with all its undulations, froth and frisk- the note had been slipped into his jacket pocket. He hadn't noticed it until now, as he swept his coat off the hook to wrap around himself. Alone in 221B Baker Street, hallway lit only by an outside lamp, John unfolded the paper.
'Simply this, John~
I shall always love you. But from my mind, never my body.
No other soul holds permanent residence.
You are the sui generis.
I am not gifted with the desire for or intelligence of physical expressions of adoration, save, perhaps for this loving letter.
Yours
S.H.'
Without sound, barely with movement, John carefully refolded the note and swallowed as he took his wallet from his back trouser pocket. He tucked it into a secret compartment not used for any other purpose. He would not mention the letter, would not hint of its discovery. Simply, he would keep the fragment of Sherlock's heart on his person at all times- this mute manuscript, passion parchment; this emblematic engagement ring. And theirs would be a marriage of souls. Wedlocked.