The bold words are ones I tried to cross out, but the stupid doc system wouldn't let me. So just pretend they're crossed out.

Dear Sherlock,

You're not dead. This is...incredible. I was sure I'd lost you for good. Even when I saw you standing over me at the restaurant, trying to be nonchalant about the whole bloody thing, I didn't quite believe it until I actually got my hands on you. Which, I'll admit, was not the best way to welcome a friend home. But since your way of approaching me wasn't the best way of admitting you were alive either, I guess that makes us even.

Mary says you didn't seem to really understand why I was still angry even after you apologized. Well, let me make it clear to you, if I can.

When I thought you were dead, it broke my heart. Even though I'm not romantically interested in any way, shape or form, I love you

I was able to keep going, and find some level of happiness again, but it was nowhere near the same without you. It was like an open wound that I kept suturing and trying to stitch, and that other people would help me with, but could never fully heal.

And then you showed up, out of the blue, acting like nothing had really happened. And even though you eventually were able to explain why it had happened, it hurt. Because you lied to me. Again. And used me. Again. And didn't trust me with the truth. Again.

Sherlock, I know you were trying to protect me, like I said friends are supposed to do. I know I'm not necessarily an actor, and you figured it was better to be safe than sorry, so you didn't tell me. I know if you hadn't jumped, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and I would all have been shot. But that doesn't alter the fact that you put me through two years of hell without once letting me know the truth, and then sprang it on me like a magic trick, and expected me to clap and smile. It hurts. A lot.

It helps to see that you are genuinely sorry (as best I can judge). I remind myself that you're back, and that's what counts. And it definitely helps that you agreed to be my best man. But I'm still working on getting rid of the hurt. And, admittedly, I'm making excellent progress. Already I'm almost able to look at you without wanting to hug and strangle you at the same time. If you are reading this, please try not to mock me. And if you talk about this in public, I will strangle you, best friend or not.

Love

Sincerely

Your friend

In deepest friendship

John