Dear John

by strawberrywine17

One hour. That's all Sherlock allows himself. One hour, every day, to give himself over to the memory of John Watson. One hour, one daily letter, in the hopes of preventing the darkness sadness and fear swallow him whole. John will never read them, but he writes them nevertheless. / Post-Reichenbach, Pre-HLV

1. Day 1

A/N- This is a little multichap project that will span the two years of Sherlock's self inflicted exile. Updates will be quick & sporadic, and each letter will be a new chapter. I may post one chapter in a week, and others I might post four or five chapters in a night.

It does center around JohnLock (though unrequited), just so you know! However, there will also be letters to other people, including heavy hints of Sherstrade and maybe a tad Sherlolly. It will also deal heavily with drug abuse, violence, death, depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts.

More will be coming soon, but I wanted to publish this on the anniversary of the day Sherlock and John met. Happy January 29th! Cheers to John Watson and his madman!

Please enjoy!

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Dear John,

I'm not sure why I'm writing to you. You think that I'm dead. Which, of course, is only reasonable. I did force you to watch me throw myself off of the roof of Bart's. Not exactly a pleasant farewell, I suppose. But it worked, you're safe, that's what matters.

Anyway, I've decided to write letters to you when I can. You run around my head all too much; I can't risk thinking of you when I'm supposed to be taking down Moriarty's web. It is very likely that any distraction I might have would aid me in staying alive. I need the entirety of my brain power to deal with these people. Therefore, I am allotting half an hour every day to you, should I need it. I would have simply tucked you away, locked the door to your room in my mind palace, but you are nothing if not stubborn. I couldn't lock you up; you kept spilling out at the edges, breaking down the door with your good shoulder, picking the lock from the inside. I'm not sure how you did it. There's not a lock on the inside of that door.

I'm sending these letters to Mycroft. He has agreed to do with them as he pleases, as well as to never read them. Whether he saves them or destroys them I do not care, so long as they are not read. This will be the last piece of privacy that I have for a very long time to come.

Right. Your hour is up. I hope you are doing well- as well as can be expected, anyway- and that I might be able to see you again soon. Things will get better. You just have to believe in me.

Faithfully yours,

SH