A/N: Well, here it goes! I hope you like it as well as Watson's!
Holmes's POV
"…Whom I shall ever regard as the best and the wisest man whom I have ever known."
I don't deserve the title. What great man lies to his only friend? I can see it in his eyes…When he looks at me. He knows I lied to him…If only he knew why. If only I could have been there for him, like he always has been for me. I don't think Watson understands. Could he really believe that I do not love him as a brother? I could tell what he was thinking when I said my brother was my only confident. He will never know it, (my cold brain won't allow it) but Watson is a better brother than Mycroft. Not that I am saying a word against the man. But where was Mycroft when I was lonely, and tired? Even as a child, he always regarded me as more of a member of society, than as a younger sibling. Watson's good to me, he is.
"…Though I fear that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and especially, my dear Watson, to you."
Oh, but if he could only fathom my agony! To face my greatest fear at that horrible chasm above those hellish cries was an unspoken of horror. I honestly believed I should never see my beloved flat again, (even though it was partially burnt down) or the smile, and infallible bulldog loyalty of my closest friend. My pain was great as well. And to be very honest, I truly believed I should have been better off dying at the falls, so that Watson's grieving wasn't for naught. Watson often calls the event, in which I faked my own demise, "The Great Hiatus" what he should have called it was, "The Great Lie"
"Several times during the last three years I have taken up my pen to write to you, but always I feared lest your affectionate regard for me should tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray my secret."
I did not tell him of coarse, that I attempted to do more than write to him. In one of my escapades in France, after I caught a large member of Moriarty's organization, I had acquired a few days extra time before Mycroft could send me more suspected whereabouts of Moriarty's cronies.
I hopped on a ferry to London, anxious to see a glimpse of my old friend once more. (I went incognito of course) He still lived in Kensington with his practice, and his wife. I peeked in the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. And I did! He was sitting to a nice Christmas dinner, (it was Christmas time) with his wife. They were laughing, and singing, kissing under that bloody mistletoe, and displaying general good humor, and love. He was happy…Far happier than with he ever has been with me. That only fueled the fire to lie.
I wish he knew how much I cared for him…But somehow I doubt it.
A/N: I know it was not quite as long as Watson's…But Holmes is not the writer in the duo! I hope you guys all enjoyed it!