( Hello there.! Thank you for stopping by to read my first submission; the first chapter in the "Letters to Sherlock." series. I might think of changing the title, though, so any suggestions are very much apreciated.!c:
Basically, I wanted to express the different relationships that Sherlock had with other people, and their thoughts and feelings on what has happened to him. Based after the Reichenbach fall. Warnings for implied character death, angst, heartbreak, and possible Johnlock references later on. )
( I'm very sorry if you were expecting better of my writing, but I am not that old in years, so maybe I won't be as good as some other more experienced authors on here. Criticism is welcomed. )
( Please, remember to like and favourite my work if you want to read more of it. The next chapter will be Lestrade's letter, so look forward to that.!
New chapters will be updated weekly. )
( Love and hugs, )
pastachann.( x )
Chapter one. - Your kind and loving Landlady.
Dear Sherlock,
I still can't get to grips with what has happened to you. Even though it happened almost a month ago, it haunts me, thinking about you, poor Sherlock. I'm trying to guess what must have run through your mind in those last precious moments before you … well, before you jumped off the building. Sherlock Holmes, you were a great man. You were an inspirational man; and inspiration to all who had the pleasure to meet you. You were a rude, arrogant, scheming, and slightly psychotic man. But that is what I loved about you. I really did, and I'm never going to stop loving you. Strictly as your House keeper; not Landlady, I only knew you for a short while, but now I feel you are not just some stranger to me like when we first met. You weren't just an ordinary man turning up at my door to pay his rent every month. You were much more than that.
I remember you playing your violin so beautifully, without even faltering on the hardest of tunes. Secretly, I would rise early in the morning just to hear the sound of your new melodies cascading around the house. Although, I don't think your Doctor Watson liked that very much, not at that time in the morning. Unlike you, most people need sleep some time, Sherlock. But what could we have done to stop you? Told you not to wake so early each morning? Silly. We both knew that you wouldn't have listened to us anyway.
That blind, arrogant Sherlock, you even had the nerve to store various decomposing human body parts in my fridge! Let me tell you, I couldn't even believe what I was seeing that time I opened that fridge door. Did you have permission from the Morgue to take that unfortunate man's head out? No, I bet you didn't. And then there was that time when you shot five bullets in to my wall. How dare you, Mr. Holmes! You were very lucky that I liked you so much then, or the rent wouldn't be the only thing you were paying, let me assure you. You were so much work when got bored, Sherlock. Was you always like that, even when you were younger? I hope not. Think of how your dear mother would have felt if she saw you like that.
John told me that he had trouble trying to get you to eat something once in a while. Really, not even you; the world's greatest Detective, can survive on just a mere sandwich every couple of days. John told me that you needed to eat, and he always took time to make sure you had a basic meal a day, at least. He worried about you a lot, Sherlock. I really wish you would have known and considered that, as a Doctor, he feels as if it is his duty to make sure you are okay. Doctor Watson is a wonderful friend to have, and I'm glad that you told him. I always knew that you thought of him as a friend, but it was nice that you told him. He really did like you. You were his best friend, did you know that? Well, you were never good at making friends, so I suppose he was yours, too.
Baker Street seems empty without you around causing unnecessary trouble all the time. I sleep in until noon sometimes, because I never hear your violin playing anymore. Sometimes I will stay up late, hoping to hear just the faint traces that you'll come home. I know that can't happen, though, but John seems to think so. He seems set on thinking that one day you will burst through the door of the flat, all excited about a new thrilling case although you still hide showing emotions on your face. He really believes that you'll come home, Sherlock. How could you leave us; how could you leave him all alone? You should have thought about just who you are leaving behind. I miss you, Sherlock. He misses you.
Anyway, I'm writing this letter just to tell you that you were so much more than a Lodger at my house. You were like a friend to me, and deep down, I know that you would feel the same way about me, to. I know that many people must have said this to you already, but one more time from couldn't hurt, right? You were the greatest, smartest, brilliant, most utterly selfless man who I have ever met in all my years living on this Earth. And I know that I will never get to meet a man who even compares to you in the slightest. That's okay, though, because I got to share many precious moments with you. I know that you can't read this, but I'm writing it anyway. I believe in you, Sherlock Holmes. We all do. Please, never forget that there are so many people who believe in you, and we'll never stop believing, even when you are gone.
Sincerely, your kind and loving Landlady,
Mrs. Hudson.