Howdy ho! Chapter 10. For ten Chapters we've been at this. Let's go.

"John here is his PA... Well, live-in PA." "Oh, perfect."- No slash.

No, no NOOOOO! Of course he's not the boy's father!- Not canon.

"There's a woman lying dead on the floor." "... Perfectly sound analysis, John, but I was hoping for something a bit more detailed."- Remember. T.

By the way, I've never really asked you guys this; Do you genuinely like the little SHERLOCK quotes I put before the notes at the beginning? Would you be upset if I removed them without telling you first? Or do you find them annoying, and you just want me to get on with the story? Okay. I'll get on with it.

In Berlin, Germany...

A man sat at an outside cafe table. The busy city seemed to rush around him, as if he were a bystander at a unprofessional cricket match (not that he would ever watch cricket- too boring- but nonetheless).

He looked at the paper. Of course, it wasn't exactly easy reading. The fact that it was in a foreign language probably made a difference.

The man casually looked up at the shadow that had blocked his sun. His eyes met with a blonde haired, blue eyed waiter that could barely be older than seventeen.

"Ah, very good, the waiter!" The boy looked at him in confusion. "Err..." He repeated the phrase in German.

The boy's face lit up in recognition. "Oh, now I see. You are a Britishman," he replied in his native language. "I am terribly sorry, I do not speak English. Now, what will you have to-day?"

"Coffee. Black- two sugars."

"I will be right out with that." The freckled fellow walked back inside the small cafe.

The man picked up a pad and pen. He scribbled a few chemical formulas in the cardboard on the back to break in the new ink. Once he was satisfied with the pen, he began to write.

Dear Andrew,

Times have sure been changing, haven't they? I'm sorry that I haven't written sooner, but with all of the Moriarty business, I really haven't had the time... And now I'm making excuses. I shouldn't have to make excuses for not writing to my brother, now should I? Of course not.

I remember years ago (you might not) that the therapist told me to use the letters as a coping mechanism. That was Mr. McCouliff, of course. Mrs. Halloway didn't like me writing these letters at all... And I'm stalling again.

I guess that all of this writing letters has really become a habit. Like John's blog. I do enjoy writing to you of course, but... I guess what I'm trying to say is that in old age I've become... forgetful.

Who am I kidding? This letter, Andrew, is an apology. I wanted to apologize for not thinking about you as often as I should. In fact, last week I discovered that I hadn't really thought about you for a month. It frightened me, Andrew, it really frightened me. I don't know what this means. Maybe I'm finally getting on with life after thirty five years. Or maybe, and I shudder to consider it, I just don't... the man paused. A single tear escaped his eye and crawled down his chiseled features. He put his pen back on the paper. His lip quivered when he wrote think about you all that much anymore.

I worry that when I get back to civilized life, I might forget about you entirely. I don't want to do that, but I wanted to let you know just in case.

The man casually tapped his pen to his chin. He considered his writing as he gnawed thoughtfully on the cap.

So when I get back, when I find John again, and when life begins to slow down more, I may confide in John more often. You've been a great help to me over the years, but I think that John is going to work with me on things. Not that you're being replaced, because you aren't. I will never forget about you, Andrew.

When I get back, I'm going to show John the letters so that we can keep your legacy alive. I think he will understand...

I know that you've never liked my tiptoeing around topics, so I'm going to tell you outright. This letter is going to be one of my last to you. After thirty five years,I think that I'm finally ready to move on.

I will always remember you, and I will always miss you.

With love,

William Sherlock Scott Holmes

Several hours later, in London, England...

"Mr. Olton is rescheduling for tomorrow instead of next week."

John silently cursed. It had been a very long day. The last thing he needed to think about was how much more work was happening tomorrow.

"Oi," he said aloud. "Ms. Morstan?"

Said woman poked her head through the office door. "Yes, Doctor?"

"Ermm..." He checked his watch. "In exactly forty five seconds, we both will have worked three and one half hours over our normal schedule dealing with paperwork that we've fallen behind on. I believe that we are very nearly caught up, and the rest can be easily dealt with tomorrow." He shushed the imminent protest with a hand. "Now, I am very tired, and extremely irritable, and I really don't want to take it out on a sweet girl such as yourself. And so," he grabbed his jacket and casually slung it over his shoulders. "I bid you a hasty adieu." And he walked out the door. After a few moments, she followed him.

"Wait, Doctor Watson!"

"What is it?" He turned to her, frustrated that he would have to spend another few moments stranded at his workplace. She held out a handwritten letter with a bright smile on her face.

"You left this on your desk." A note he'd written to Sherlock between patients. She pressed the page into his hand. "Sherlock... Such an interesting name... Your brother?"

"Oh, no... Just a friend, Ms. Morstan. But a very close friend..." He trailed off, the words he'd written on his blog just the day before imprinted on his mind's eye. Sherlock Holmes is dead.

She must have read the memories on his dazed face, because the next thing he heard her say was, "Care to talk about it? Perhaps over dinner?"

He checked his watch again. He absolutely loved the idea... But, just to play it safe, let's be reasonable. "It's almost nine, Ms. Morstan. And on a work-night, too."

She smiled, but there was no hint of an awkward pause on the rise. "There's always such thing as a late dinner. And please, call me Mary."

"Well, Mary, I don't think that we would really be able to do dinner tonight."

"That's fine, but I would like it sometime. There's more than a world of hurt in those sapphire eyes of yours, Doctor."

He gave a slight smirk. "Just John... But... Isn't it a bit early for a date? I know we both work here, but this is rather... sudden..." He trailed off as she grabbed her coat.

"Well, then, Just John," she smiled jokingly at him. "Don't think about it as a date. Think of it as... Getting to know someone who you are always aware is around, but never knew much about." They began to walk towards the door.

John smiled broadly. "I like that... You're clever." She looked down, and stopped abruptly, barely containing giggles.

"And you're silly!" Mary pointed to his socks, which she evidently only just realized were opposite colors and sizes- one tall and black, the other short and white. But it was as much of a surprise to him as her, and soon they were both laughing.

They finally made their way to the big double doors. "Well, Mary, we will have to work something out for one of these days." He opened the door, and they stepped out into the crisp night air.

"How about... Friday?"

"Sorry, what?" John's thoughts snapped back to reality from ... Wherever they had been before.

"Friday. Dinner. Six o'clock after work."

"Errr...Italian?" John thought of A Study in Pink.

"Sounds perfect!"

"Okay, then," They began to walk their separate ways. "Meet you here, then?"

"I'll be there," she called over her shoulder.

John practically skipped all the way home.

Okay. Chapter 10 is weird. I admit it. But come on, after Sherlock drops that kind of bomb that there will be no more letters, what do you think I'm going to do? I don't know about any of you, but I need a balance between fluff and feels. I needed something to even the last few chapters out, and I decided that John and Mary's meeting would be ideal.

And if everyone's OOC... Just take it as Fanon?

I really have no idea why I chose socks of all things in the John/Mary scene. But here's something fun. On June 10, anyone who reads this should wear mismatched socks like John, one black, one white. (And if you have no black socks, do something crazy like neon pink... I assume you have white socks...) and then review and tell how the day went!

I am hereby taking hiatus for this June month. I really just need a break to take care of all of the other things that I really don't give one about, but that I need to do anyways.

Thanks to...

Icecat62 - really. Mycroft is fun to annoy. I see where Sherlock likes it.

ValkyrieDefender

Strychnine- honestly, thank you for beta-ing. And thanks for the compliment!

Saffysmom- Thanks! This chapter was a bit more on the weird but funny side to make up for all of the feels.

Please review!

Okay, I have an idea. You guys will be my beta-ers. When I publish, the first reviewer bearing any grammar/culture errors is my beta-for-the-day. And others can beta too, but please hurry. (I'm talkin' to you, Strychnine!) Until then, please excuse grammar and cultural errors.

All rights to respective owners.