He knew that this was probably going to be the last time he saw John. John didn't know it, but this six month mission that Mycroft was sending him on didn't have a high chance of him coming out alive. This was his penance. His brother was right, unfortunately, there is no prison that could keep him. He shot Magnussen dead, in front of half the military that his dear brother had called in. Of course the higher ups called for punishment to fit the crime. Despite what he says about Mycroft being the British government, and how true that is, his brother could not put off punishment all together. So here he was, sitting at his desk, trying to write something to leave for John. For all the words that normally come out of him, he had run dry. Taking a breath, he put pen to paper and started.

Dear John,

I did what I had to that night. Not for myself, but for you, and for Mary, and for your little girl. I do not regret my actions, and I do not want you regretting them for me. I am content with what I have done, and the consequences that have followed. Before you ask, yes I knew that this six month mission was a suicide mission. I am not stupid John, only you could miss something that obvious.

Anyway, I digress. This letter expresses the things that I would have liked to tell you but I was not sure how.
My parents used to say to me that people come into our lives for a reason, and they bring something that we must learn. A new experience, a new skill, or even a new way of looking at a problem. Most of my life I have not believed that. That was until you strolled into St Barts, chatting to Stamford about how different it was in your day. From that evening that we went chasing the cabbie through London, you have had an impact on me. I have heard it said that we are led to those who help us most to grow, if we let them. While I still do not know if I believe that is true, I know that I am who I am today because of you.

It may be that we will never meet again in this lifetime, highly likely in fact. So this time I am going to leave you with a note, something to explain my actions. That's what people do isn't it, leave a note? I just want to say that so much of who I am now, is made from what I have learned from you. You taught me to look at the person, the emotions. You showed me that not everything is based in fact and common sense. You are my conductor of light, not coming to the right conclusions yourself, but your comments lead me to see a piece of the puzzle that I had been missing or overlooking. Your impact will always be with me, as I learnt while I was hunting down Moriarty. During that time I truly missed my blogger.

Just to clear the air, I ask for your forgiveness for the many things that I have done that you blame me for. The head in the fridge, Moriarty, the incident at St Barts's, and uncovering Mary's secrets how I did. But then again, I suppose there is blame to be shared, but none of that seems to matter anymore.

Go on John and live the quiet life you deserve. Be the father I know you can be, and save the lives of all those people. If you want a crime solved, there is no one better than me, but when it comes to saving a life, there is no one better than you. I am limited, I can not slip quietly into the background, I can not stop the deductions and fit into the world of goldfish. But you, look at you, you can do all the things that I couldn't do. So go out and do them, for both of us.

And now, whatever way our stories end, please know that you have rewritten mine by being my friend. I do not have friends, I told you that time in Dartmoor, I only have one. And that is you. I know what Mycroft says about sentiment, but because I knew you, I have been changed for good.

Your friend,

William Sherlock Scott Holmes

Sherlock folded the piece of paper and placed it neatly into an envelope. The white paper had John's name scrawled across the front. The black pen was a stark contrast to the expansive white of the envelope. He placed the note beside the skull on the mantelpiece, right underneath the cluedo board. With that he walked out the door, coat flying around behind him.