Chapter Two: Letters
22nd November, 2012
Dear John,
I don't really know how to start these letters to you if I'm completely honest. There is really no point in me writing them anyway, but I can drift away on whilst I am doing so. That is something that I am missing; there is nothing here to spark my brain. You know what they say: "You don't know what you've got until it's gone".
Denmark is beginning to bore me, and I am thinking of moving on to somewhere else pretty soon, maybe Belgium or Berlin; I always wanted to go to Germany, so that maybe my next port of call. Still in the same hotel too, and although I get some weird looks (due to the beard probably), I don't think anyone has suspected anything suspicious yet.
I have purchased a laptop out here and am beginning to investigate Moriarty and his 'henchman' so to speak. I need to know who I am up against mainly, but it also gives me something to do when I'm stuck in this lifeless box.
I try not to think of you too much-forgive if that sounds extremely rude-simply because it is too painful; I expect you feel the same way. I hope you get a girlfriend soon, I think she could help you in some way, and I hope you are still at Baker Street as I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will offer some form of comfort; in cooking form most likely. Although she's our "Landlady dear, not your housekeeper", I know she was very fond of both of us, and that was just an hard exterior.
Home seems so far away and impossible to reach whilst I'm out here, and I expect it will feel that way until I make it back to you. I am planning on returning John, don't worry about that.
Anyway, my hand is beginning to ache and I'd better get back to research.
Write again soon,
Your Sherlock.
26th November, 2012
Dear John,
Berlin isn't all I'd thought it would be. I mean, I've visited the Berlin Wall, and it was fascinating and everything, but I can't help but find it, well, dull. That's probably disrespectful, but you know me; the king of offending people. It's just a wall; yes it's a wall which changed people's lives and resulted in hundreds of innocent people being murdered, but at the end of the day, it's just a wall. Bollocks, I really do sound like an ignorant sod don't I?
I don't mean to. Other than that, Berlin is okay I suppose. Food's definitely more pleasant that what Denmark had to offer and I think I will stay here for longer. I guess I should have never really come here; I just set myself up for disappointment. And again, I am quoting another wise man when I say: "In the end, what you do isn't going to be nearly as important or interesting as who you do it with".
I haven't found much on Moriarty really, but I guess I've been relaxing slightly. I know Sherlock Holmes, relaxing, what the world is coming to; I can hear you saying it in my head. I don't particularly enjoy it, but it seems I have been left with no choice but to result to relaxing. The cocaine must help. I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said that.
The beard's still there, like a mop on my face. I hate it. It used to be funny, but now it's just a bloody pain in the arse. My hair is growing as well, getting a bit too long for my taste; it's begun tickling my ears.
I'll have to be off now, John. I have to get out of this box. I'll maybe have a wonder down to the river and think for a while.
Write again soon,
Your Sherlock.
28th November, 2012
Dear John,
First, I would just like to say I'm sorry. Second, I was wrong.
You know, John, drug dealers aren't generally very friendly, I wouldn't come in contact with them if I were you; I ended up with a black eye.
Don't worry though-you won't however, because you will never see this-I'll be fine, and maybe it will encourage me to stop. I think he may have twisted my arm around at a funny angle, but to be perfectly honest I cannot remember. Germany is a good place for the beer as well.
I think I got away pretty lucky really. He was an idiot of a man, trying to sell me too little for too much money, and I rebelled. The result: a fist in the face. One thing is certain; I won't be going there again.
There's not much more I have to tell you to be honest with you. My life has become more and more dull as the weeks go by. I miss London. I miss you.
Until next time then,
Your Sherlock.
1st December, 2012
Dear John,
Drugs don't work.
Your Sherlock
2nd December, 2012
Dear John,
Sorry for the last letter.
Christmas has never felt more dull, John. Isn't it supposed to be a time of happiness and joy to all men-and women? A time of family? Well how am I supposed to enjoy Christmas when my family is across the English Channel in 221B Baker Street?
You and Mrs. Hudson are my family. Mycroft maybe my brother, but family is a place of love, and that's not what I find with him. People may say that I don't have a heart; that I am a heartless psychopath; but how am I supposed to understand love when I've grown up with not an ounce of it being given to me. Not even my parents understood me. No one did until you.
I don't even get waves of missing you anymore. It's more like a constant tsunami.
I'll write again when I can,
Your Sherlock.
A/N: Hullo there humble readers. Thank you for reading. Especially thanks to aweirdhumancalledbawb and the two guests for reviewing. The comments mean so much to me, you have no idea. I also love all of you lovely people who favorited or alerted my story.
Au revior,
Holly x