Sherlock:
I'm investigating a case where three men went blind before falling over dead. I thought it was curious so Molly let me take the third man's eyes back to the flat with me. I wonder what John will choose to call this case on his blog. I think the title, "Three Blind Mice" would be amusing, but I'm sure John would find my idea insensitive. He does tend to think that of me quite a bit.
I remember the day I walked back into 221B Baker Street after my supposed suicide vividly. John cleared my name with some anonymous help from me. John would have never been able to prove Moriarty plotted to destroy my reputation without the help of a superior mind. I helped him solve the case, and I am now a free man.
How did I do it, you ask? Through my homeless network and with a key. Jim Moriarty is not as smart as I thought he was. Although that suicidal stunt he pulled was pretty clever…Almost as clever as my suicidal stunt. Moriarty shot himself in exactly the right way so that the bullet would miss his brain stem. He's still out there somewhere, plotting my downfall.
As for me, I made sure that a laundry truck appeared at exactly the right moment. I jumped into the truck instead of falling to my death. As for my body, I used the same trick the Dominatrix used, and Molly signed my death certificate. I am brilliant.
As always though, I was insensitive. I let John cry and shout at my grave while I stood idly by and watched him suffer. I should have trusted John, but me being me, I decided not to because of the margin of error. I trust John with my life, but there's always the chance that something could go amiss and I would be right back where I started. I couldn't take that risk, and I think John understood that. He understands things about me that I don't completely understand myself sometimes.
The day after John cleared my name, I crept past Mrs. Hudson into the flat John and I once shared together and that I hoped we would continue to share. I knew that there was a chance John would decide not to forgive me, but I hoped that he would not decide that. It would be idiotic to. I need John, and John clearly needs me. We give each other purpose.
I sat down on one of the armchairs and waited for John to come back from the surgery. While I waited, I observed the state of the flat. It was obvious that John was grieving. The piles of dirty laundry and unwashed dishes were a dead giveaway. He had not packed up my stuff, and it seemed that he's been reading our case files. Also, I saw that my other coat was hung one hook to the left of where it previously was, and the sleeves were rolled up because John's arms are considerably shorter than mine. I almost felt a pang of guilt, but the door creaked open and a hand hit the light switch.
Our eyes met and what ensued was one of the most spectacular displays of human emotion that I've ever seen. John displayed a mixture of fright, joy, grief, rage, and confusion in about ten minutes.
"Well, that was interesting," I said coolly after he finished. "I hope you understand, John, that I had to stay dead until my name was cleared for both of our safety."
"No, I understand. Shouldn't you be asking for something right now, though?" he asked.
"What?"
John looked at me incredulously. "You have caused me tremendous pain and grief. I thought my best friend was dead and gone forever! What do you think you ought to ask me for?"
I remembered. "Oh, yes." I cleared my throat. "John. Although my plan was necessary for my survival and possibly your survival, I have realized that I have caused you to feel a great deal of discomfort. I want to ask for your forgiveness and I believe that you should accept my apology because I did it to keep us safe and Moriarty is still out there plotting our downfall."
John gave me a wary look. "Close enough," he said. "Welcome back from the dead, mate. I need a drink, and then I am going to bed. I am exhausted."
I smiled when he wasn't looking, and then I picked up my violin. I had no case so my brain needed stimulation.
I realize that I drifted off and that the eye is staring at me. I narrow my eyes at it. I can see right through you. I will understand the secrets you are hiding from me eventually. Just give them up now.
My thoughts are interrupted by a screeching sound downstairs. I cringe and John walks in the door smiling.
"What is that noise downstairs?" I shout at John.
John eyes my eyeball and answers me. "That was Mrs. Hudson laughing."
"It sounds like an owl being tortured."
"No, it's laughter."
"Perhaps it's both."
John eyes my eyeball again. "…Busy?"
"Oh, this?" I wave the eyeball with dramatic flair and I lose my grip on it. It flies out of my hand into my coffee. I sigh. "It was for a case. Of course, I already know how they died, but it was just a way to occupy my time. You know how I am. I get bored easily."
John shrugs. "Okay. Tea? Or are you alright with your eyeball coffee?"
"I'm fine, thank you," I answer him.
John puts his hands in his pockets, sits down, and commences to stare at me some more. He wants to ask me something, but he isn't sure how to ask.
"Do you have something to ask me, John? The anticipation is killing me."
"Yeah, yeah, I do. The best man?"
"The best man? The best man is very subjective. However, the best man does imply that the man is of moral importance so maybe the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize? It also could mean the most powerful man in the world, which means that it could be the president of the United States, perhaps?"
John interrupts me. "Sherlock! My wedding. I need a best man at my wedding."
"Oh," I reply, trying to think of a good match for John. "Gavin," I tell him.
"Who?" John asks, confused.
"Gavin Lestraude. He's a man and a competent one."
John shakes his head, and I tilt my head, confused. "It's Greg, and no! He's not my best man."
"Mike Stamford then," I say, eliminating Lestraude. "He's a good man."
"Yes, Mike's great! He's not my best man though."
John is staring at me, waiting for me to come up with another suggestion, but John doesn't have an abundance of close friends…Whoever could be left?
"The biggest, most important day of my life…"
"Hmm…" Are they really? I could think of several more important days…
"Sherlock!" John exclaims. "It is...Don't try to rationalize your way out of this one." I groan. "Just think about it. The two people I care most about in the world…"
"Yes?"
"Mary Morstan…"
"Yes?" I wish he would just say it. He's got me stumped on this one.
"And…" he continues, trying to drag it out as long as possible.
"And?"
"You."