A/N: It's all in the title of this one.
"Good heavens! What's all this?!" asked Watson as he entered the sitting room after returning from a short holiday he had gone on with a couple of friends.
"Hmm?" said Holmes absently. "Oh, that. It's the post, Watson."
"There's so much of it!" exclaimed Watson, swiftly joining Holmes by their armchairs, where there were a few stacks of letters, as well as a pile of unopened and unsorted letters.
"Yes, your romanticized tale under the title of... what was it? Oh, I remember. 'The Adventure of the Empty House', was it not?"
Watson ignored the insult to his writing. "Yes, that was the name."
"It seems to have been a success, Watson."
"So... this is all mail from people who read it?" asked Watson, staring almost uncomprehendingly at all of the letters.
"I would assume so."
"And the piles are..."
"Possible clients." Holmes pointed to a pile of six or seven letters on the floor to the right of his chair. "People wanting me to teach them about my methods," he pointed to four letters balanced precariously on the left arm of his chair. "People who want to learn about 'Baritsu'—which you misspelled, by the way. It's 'Bartitsu'." he pointed at about ten letters on the opposite chair arm. He then pointed at two piles in front of Watson's chair, one considerably larger than the other. "These are letters from your adoring fans, Watson," he drawled almost mockingly, but his grin showed his friend that he didn't mean any harm by the statement. "That pile is addressed to me," he pointed to the larger pile, which appeared to have between twelve and fifteen letters in it. "That one is addressed to you." Watson's pile probably only had four or five letters.
"Yes, well it's probably far more interesting to write to the 'dead' detective than his biographer," said Watson. "Do you want me to help you go through the rest of the post?"
"Certainly, if you want to," he said.
They set to work, opening and skimming letters, then putting them into various piles. They had been doing this for about two minutes, when Holmes happened to glance over at his friend. Watson was standing as still as a statue with his mouth hanging slightly open and his face a deep shade of red as he read the contents of the letter.
"Watson?" Holmes said with a slightly amused air. Watson started and quickly looked up at his friend. "May I ask what that is?"
"Erm, sure Holmes," he said blushing more deeply than Holmes had thought possible. "It's a letter from a young woman." In answer to his friend's raised eyebrows, he hastily added, "It's addressed to you, Holmes, not me!" He handed the letter to the detective, and watched as he displayed a reaction similar to Watson's.
"Do you have a pile for that kind of letter, Holmes?" asked Watson mischievously when Holmes had finished reading it.
"Yes, indeed I do," he replied earnestly, throwing the letter into the fire.
A/N: Yep. I'm leaving the exact contents of the letter up to your overzealous imaginations.
Have fun!