A/N: Well, this is just a prologue. What do you think? Should I continue it or stop now? Rated for room to work from.
Prologue:
June 1896
Sherlock Holmes knelt in his room, poring through his belongings. It was not often that he took the time to look back upon his career and see where it had started and where it had taken him. But today, he was revisiting a time which he had, above all else, wanted to forget. Every time he looked back upon the years of 91-94, he remembered those lonely days, constantly on the run, forced to hide his own identity from the world. Above all, he remembered being unable to share that he had survived. He remembered thinking of Watson and wondering how his friend was carrying on while he was gone. He remembered the terrible sense of guilt upon finding out seven months late of the death of Mary Watson.
Shaking himself back to the present, he carefully peered into his relics from the time. A collection of papers, tied together by cheap string, caught his attention. He recognized it at once, a stack of letters he had written but never sent. Each one was nearly complete but he had refused to risk the dangers of Watson knowing he was alive.
Filled with a sudden desire, he untied the twine and put it aside. He glanced at the first one, dated May 4, 1891. That, he recalled, was the day he had finally brought about the defeat of Professor Moriarty, the day he had gone into hiding from the world. Cocking his head towards the door, he recalled that Watson had gone out for the day and would not return until late that night. He had plenty of time and no case to be working on, so he went to the sitting room and sat into his armchair by the fire. Looking back at the first letter, he began to read, feeling himself plunge into the memories of the past.