Hope you like it! That's my first fanfic in English(I'm Spanish) but it's checked by a lovely friend, so I think it won't have many mistakes.
Disclaimer:None of the characters are mine. Credit to Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC for the modern adaptation.
Letter to John
"Dear John, I leave this letter to remind you, once again, that I love you. I'm not entirely sure if you have forgiven me for what happened with Sherlock. You look the same, like it never happened, but the guilt is still growing in my chest.
I lied and did all of that because of fear, I had fear of loosing you. John, you're the most important person in my life and I would hate you to stop loving me because of my past. I am not proud of what I was but I'm not AGRA anymore, actually I'm Mary Watson, a nurse that have a normal life.
The day you forgave me, at Sherlock's parents, I didn't have time to tell you everything I wanted to or to explain why I did what I did.
As you know, I shot Sherlock. Yes. But I never wanted to kill him, it was a strategic shot, like he explained. The bullet stayed in the vein so prevented the bleeding by plugging the hole.
He's your best friend and I also like him, so I would never kill him. He has helped with everything so much, I never meant to kill him. I just wanted to avoid you seeing me there, in Magnussen's office about to murder him.
I thought you wouldn't accept my past life and you'd run away when you knew everything but you didn't judged me. You forgave me and it shows that I don't deserve you. You make me the happiest woman in the world every time I get up in the morning and I see you sleeping next to me, holding my hand and waking me with a soft kiss on my lips followed by "Good morning, Mary".
John felt the tears welling up. It was the tenth time he read the letter and every time he read it he began to cry, just remembering that Mary wrote this letter to him before going to a very important mission, her last mission. Because Mary died in that mission on October 12. Since that day John goes to her grave on the 12th of each month and left a bouquet of white roses. Mary's favourites. His love.