"Letters mingle souls; for, thus friends absent speak."

~John Donne

The first one came six days after the funeral. Not sure how that happened. It had no address, no return address, just my name on the front of the envelope. It came with the post at the exact same time, but it had no address or information whatsoever, so it was a wonder that it was even sent with the post at all.

I opened the letter cautiously, extremely curious as to what it said.

Wait.

That's it. Just one word with a period at the end. What was that supposed to mean? I had no idea. I just threw it out and thought it might be a mistake.

The next one didn't come for months.

By the time it came, I was engaged to Mary. I still lived at Baker Street, but we had just picked out a new flat and planned to move in right after the honeymoon.

At that point, I had completely forgotten about the first letter, at least until the second one came.

I had just come in from a date with Mary. I closed the door and hung my coat up. I bent down to take off my shoes when an envelope with nothing on it but my name slid from under the door and hit my foot. I immediately jolted upright and threw open the door, but no one was there. I walked out and said, "Hello?" but there was no one in sight, and no one responded.

As I opened the envelope, the first one came back into my mind. This letter, just like the first, had only one word with a period at the end.

Please.

Again, I had no idea what this meant, so I discarded it like the first.

It was exactly a week before the wedding. I was as happy (and busy) as I had ever been. That's when I got letter number three.

I was trying on my tux one last time before the wedding to make sure that it still fit. As I buttoned up the jacket, which (thankfully) still fit perfectly, the envelope was slipped under the door. I didn't see when it came in, so it could've been there for an hour or even just ten seconds before I noticed it. The funny thing was that I was in my bedroom, the front door was locked (I checked), and no one else was in the flat at the time.

My name was on the front of the envelope, as usual, but the message itself was more than just one word.

Don't give me a reason to lose faith in you.

That was strange. It made no sense. I had no idea who it was from, how they got in the flat, or why they were sending this letter. Even if I did know these things, it still probably wouldn't have made sense.

I put this letter in my coat pocket and left it there, not sure what to do with it or how to feel about the fact that someone snuck into my home just to give me a letter.

The next letter came the next day when I was at the store with Mary, buying bread.

We were in the checkout line, and she was about to take her wallet out of her purse. I had offered to pay for the loaf, but she had insisted on doing it herself.

Inside her purse, on top of her wallet, was an envelope with the words Give to John Watson on the front. She handed it to me and slowly said, "This is for you."

"Who's it from?" I asked.

"No idea. I've never seen it before. I just now found it in my purse."

I rip it open. The note inside is the strangest yet.

John.

That's it. Just my first name and a period.

"What does that mean?" asked Mary.

"No idea."

The next day. It came when I was packing the rest of my things into boxes. It floated down from a vent into the box in front of me. To this day I have no idea how anyone could fit up there.

It had two words.

Just wait.

A week after we got back from the honeymoon, Mary and I were eating dinner at a nice restaurant with the little money that we had left over from the wedding.

"The man over there told me to give this to you," the waiter said, pointing behind him. I looked over to where he pointed. No one was at that table.

I took it and opened it.

A little longer.

Eight days later. I was taking a walk down the street when it was slipped down the back of my shirt.

Closer.

Four days later. I was at a routine doctor's appointment. When the doctor walked in, he handed it to me and said, "Someone in the waiting room told me to give this to you. He didn't tell me his name."

Almost there.

The next one promised explanation. Why anyone would waste so many envelopes and pieces of paper on a normal guy like me was beside me, but I couldn't stop them from coming. Besides, I was curious, and I wanted to know why someone was so interested in me.

Mary and I were having a cuppa at the neighbor's house. On the way out, it was on the ground in front of the door.

Tomorrow. 3:00 PM. The bench at the north end of the park. Be there.

I got to the park at 2:55. I brought that day's newspaper to have something to do just in case if it turned out to be a scam.

At exactly 3:00, a man sat next to me, dressed in all black with a hood, gloves, and a mask. He handed me the letter.

"Are these all from you?" No answer. I took the envelope from his hand.

He threatened to kill you if I didn't do it. I had to. I'm sorry.

-SH

I looked back up at the man. He was taking off his hood, gloves, and mask.

It was Sherlock.

"No! It can't be you! Who are you, and what do you want?!"

"John."

"But you're dead! You bloody died, and I bloody saw it!"

"John-"

"How…? What…? Why…?"

"John!"

I stopped talking.

"I wanted you to be the first to know. I can't have a random stranger notice me before even my best friend knows I'm alive."

We were both standing by this point, but I didn't even remember getting up.

I started hitting as I shouted at him.

"Three bloody years!"

My hand slapped his face.

I wasn't exactly paying attention to him. I just needed to hurt him. Not enough to do serious damage, but definitely enough to make a point. What that point was, I had no idea.

"I thought you were dead! I saw you die!"

My fist hit his stomach again.

Then he was curled up on the ground.

"I'm expected to mourn for my friend who died, move on with my life, and then be best friends three years later?"

My foot kicked his leg.

"I missed a date with my own wife to be here, and this is what I get!"

My fist hit his back.

"You put me in serious emotional pain, and I needed a therapist again because of you!"

He turned his head to look at me. My fist hit his face.

"John…" he moaned.

All anger left me at that moment. I had gotten caught up in my own rage and hadn't even thought of what he was going through. I realized that I had actually hurt him. I helped him up onto the bench, him still in a somewhat curled position, and I looked around.

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Just give me a minute."

I waited for about thirty seconds before he sat up and motioned for me to sit next to him. I noticed that his lip was bleeding where I punched him.

"Please explain," I said as calmly as I could manage.

"Read the note again."

I bent down to pick up the letter, which was crumpled on the ground at that point.

He threatened to kill you if I didn't do it. I had to. I'm sorry.

-SH

I said, "When you say he, you mean…"

"Moriarty."

"He would've killed me if you didn't jump?"

"And two other people. He didn't say who. He just told me that the three people I cared about most were going to be shot. I'm assuming he meant Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade as the other two, but I don't really care about it. You're safe, and that's all I wanted."

He did it for my safety. That changed everything. I wasn't angry at all. At that point, I couldn't be angry.

"How can I repay you?" I asked.

"You're married now?"

"Yes."

"Then just give me a place to stay for a while."

"You can stay in the guest room of our flat."

As soon as he got to the flat, he left to reunite with various other people. I didn't even have a chance to show him to his room before he walked back out the door.

I was filling in Mary on all that had happened (toning down the fighting), and Sherlock got back about an hour later.

"Come on, John. We're already late," Sherlock said as soon as he stepped through the doorway.

"What? Where are we going?"

"I just talked to Lestrade, and there's a murder case that needs solving."

"What? We can't just get up and leave!"

"We used to do it all the time!"

"I can't just go right now! I have a wife! I have a job!"

"But don't you miss it sometimes? The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the two of us against the rest of the world! That short time with you was the best time of my life, and I miss it every day."

"I moved on, Sherlock. As I just said, I have a wife and a new job now. I don't have time for this. You should move on as well." I point to my left. "The guest bedroom's at the end of the hall."

I turned around and started to walk away, but Sherlock stood where he was.

"If you had a chance, would you go back?"

I paused before I answered. "I don't know."

"Here's that chance. Take it or leave it."

I looked to my side and saw Mary watching the whole thing. I quickly turned to her, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and started to walk toward the door.

"I'll be back in a few hours."

"Where are you going?" she asked.

I look at her and then at Sherlock

Excitement flickered in my eyes, and a smile grew on my face. Sherlock smiled as well as he realized what I was going to say. I looked back at Mary.

"I'm going to solve a murder."