Dear John,

First and foremost I want it to be clear what my intentions are in this letter. I am not asking you to take me back. I am not asking you for forgiveness or for another chance. You are making the right decision. You should stay away from me. I have caused you nothing but so much pain, more pain than any one person should ever have to endure, especially you. I don't want to hurt you, John, and I'm worried that that is what I am doing with this letter. Promise me that if at any point the contents of this letter upset you, you will discard it and never pick it up again. I need you to do this for me, so I don't make my last interaction with you a harmful one. What I am doing now, this letter, is selfish. It is for me. I need to say these things for myself, so I can have closure. That's what people do, isn't it? They get closure? You left your cane and I am leaving you this. Admittedly, this is a lot worse. For that, I apologize. I hope you don't find the contents of this letter too disturbing.

I must apologize again because I'm about to do the worst thing a friend can possibly do. I am doing to tell you all of my secrets.

I am sorry. I am so, so sorry, John. I killed your wife. I took everything away from you, every sense of stability you ever had, with her and with me. I'm going to talk about the fall now. I know this is hard for you so please skip this section if you must. But I need you to know. I need you to know I am not a machine. You were my best friend. You were the closest to getting to know me, to understanding me, than anyone else. I need you to know this. I need someone to know the things left unsaid.

That day on the roof I had to jump. Moriarty had snipers. One on Lestrade, one on Mrs. Hudson, and one on you. They were instructed to shoot all three of you unless I killed myself. Mycroft and I saw this as a possibility and staged a plan for me to fake my death. I never wanted you to be there, never wanted you to see me like that, but you knew me well enough to know where I would be and to know I would need you, that I lied to you about Mrs. Hudson and was about to do something terribly stupid. You were right, as always. I am sorry you had to witness that.

The snipers were immediately rid of by Mycroft's people when deemed safe, and I wanted to tell you then, to see you, to leave you a message or a hint that I was still alive, but I couldn't risk it. Moriarty's network is huge, vast, everywhere. Undoubtedly he left people to monitor you, checking to be sure you were acting as if you were truly in mourning. If I had told you the truth and your behavior suddenly shifted, you could have died. I could not risk it.

I spent the following two years travelling the world tearing down Moriarty's web bit-by-bit. It was an endless mission, one I was not sure I would never finish. I considered settling down in the country and making a new life there, but I kept pushing, walking through the web, because I could not bare the thought of never returning to our flat again, of never seeing you again, John.

I made great progress but never finished the job. I was apprehended. Held captive. Tortured. Mycroft found me and retrieved me from my cell. He thought it best I went home. At that point I could no longer disagree. It was dangerous of me. Selfish. There are still people out there loyal to Moriarty. Luckily none of them have come for you, I beg they never do.

None of this is meant to be an excuse. I did not involve you. I left you in the dark. I tactlessly came back with no warning. I ruined your engagement. I am selfish. But I need you to understand that the decisions I made, the things I endured, were for you. I wanted to be with you. I value you, your thoughts, your opinions, your expertise, your companionship. I have feelings, John, I'm just too much of a pretentious arsehole to show them.

If you decided to skip the part about the fall, you can start reading again.

You are the bravest, wisest, most human human-being I have ever known. I never was and never will be worthy of your friendship. You are brilliant. You inspire me to be my best. You taught me to be kind. You showed my how wonderful it is to have a friend. You brought me out of my isolation. You humble me. You made me believe that I am extraordinary rather than abnormal, brilliant rather than a freak. You've given me the confidence to grow, tear down my walls (as much as they will allow) and become human again. I haven't felt this human, this alive, in so long and it is because of you, John Watson, that I am able to do so again. You have saved me so many times in so many ways. Living with you was the best time of my life. It was an honour to be your flatmate. To be your friend.

Upon listing and acknowledging these facts it is becoming very difficult to accept our departure from one another, but this is something we both must do, for you.

Do not worry about me. I did briefly consider returning to old habits. Suicide, even. But I have learned. You have taught me that my life is important, that it has value. I do not want to risk hurting you the way I hurt you before. Even thinking about doing so is intolerable.

This letter is becoming enormous; I have wasted enough of your time. I should stop stalling and get to the final point.

I love you.

I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, am in love with you, John Watson.

This is not a fib to get you to talk to me. This is not meant to make you feel guilty about leaving me. This is simply me stating a fact. I know I have manipulated you in the past but I am done with that now.

I am in love with you. I always have been, and I probably always will be.

This feeling (feeling is completely inadequate to describe the pull I have towards you, the drive and need to keep you safe and close to me) has caused me much pain over the years, but it has also brought me joy. Joy that could never be matched by drugs or any case, even a 10. For that, thank you.

Thank you for being my friend. My best friend. Thank you for being my first love. Thank you for making me feel important, for making me feel human. Thank you for giving me the best years of my life. Thank you for giving me a second, third, fourth? (who knows at his point) chance even though I clearly never deserved it.

I am sorry if this confession tainted your fonder memories with me. I'm sorry if I have made you uncomfortable or upset.

Do not feel the need to forgive me. I just need you to know this, all of this.

I am sorry.

I love you.

Goodbye, John.