Dear Irene Adler,
I got your letter and I have to say I'm a bit disappointed. I though you would stick around to help with the newborn. Though it isn't really your area. Harriett is wonderful; though I'm pretty sure Harriett is a girl's name. I have learned how to change a diaper. We celebrated his birth today. I don't like gatherings in general, especially not birthday; we are celebrating one year closer to death. Jeanine was there today. She still doesn't know who Mary really was. She ignored me besides giving me a polite greeting. I think I won't be using the "getting engaged to break into an office" trick anymore. It was horrible, could you imagine me married? I'm a sociopath with 247 kinds of tobacco ashes. I'm married to my work.
I do wish you would have stayed longer; it has been awfully lonely since John left. Though I don't really know why he left, it might have had something to do with me committing suicide. Nobody I know really dies. You, I and Moriarty, criminal mastermind that one. I wonder how he did it, but though does it matter? The three of us could be the most dangerous group Scotland Yard will ever have to face, or the most helpful allies. It depends if we want to be on the side of the angels or not.
I've composed a new violin tune for the Watson's. I played it at the party today. I got around of applause like at the wedding. Jeanine didn't clap. I didn't think she would. I hope you'll come around soon.
Your friend,
Sherlock Holmes.
P.S. Molly sends her regards
Irene finished reading the letter; she had a smile on her face. She knew in her heart that Molly didn't send her regards, surely not seriously. She planed to change that.