I was writing chapter four for my story Feathers, but joy beyond joys, my computer flipped out and deleted chapter three and the start of four before I got a chance to upload them. So, here's a really short Sherlock fic: (Psst, I do not own) Can anyone guess the code? It's really easy.
Molly had retrieved the letter from the pocket of the blue coat. It was a simple thing, made of heavy paper, sealed, and folded up with his name on the front in green ink. Sherlock had always used fountain pens, said that the normal cheap ones made his hands hurt when he wrote with them for too long. John had just laughed and signed it off as another of Sherlock's peculiarities at the time, but now it felt like the letter was something so uniquely Sherlock that it made him want to cry. The green words sat in front of him and his eyes traced the way Sherlock made his g's loopy and his f's always carried onto the next line. The paper was nearly flat from being read so much, but there were no tear stains on it.
John, I'm...
I'm not sorry for what I did. Dead, living it's all the same in the end. I'm sorry I never told you I was a fake, it felt good to have someone believe in me, someone to care. That I lied to you for so long is tearing me apart now. Told everyone I'm a fake, John, tell Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, everyone. You, I, you need to forget about me. I was never your friend. Fakes don't have friends. Maybe we'll. Meet again? Sorry,
SH
John refused to believe it. Moreover, he knew that there was something odd about the letter. Why had Sherlock used the word "told" when the Grammar Nazi knew it was "tell"? Heck, he had once refused to help a man escape a murder charge (mind you, he actually did it) because of the man's poor grammar. Add to that the stutter, substituting words, only to change them back again. And the weird pausing between "we'll" and "meet". The writing was completely smooth, with not even a hint of a stop between words, showing that the man had know exactly what he had written.
They had used to play a game after Blind Banker. Whenever Sherlock was bored John would make him leave the flat while he composed a code, using one of the books in the flat. One memorable time, John had gotten fed up and left a double message. He put a number in his room and a message in code for Sherlock. Sherlock had stormed about for hours before realizing that he needed to run the number scheme through the coded message before deciphering it. He still figured it out in less than a day.
"Dear?" It was Mrs. Hudson, who paused at the sight of John sitting in the armchair with the letter. "I'm sorry. John, I need to let out 221. Not B, of course, but C is going to this lovely young lady named Mary..."
Her voice trailed off as she saw that John wasn't listening anymore and she left. 221. The number ran through John's head and he looked at the paper again. 2. 2. 1. John bent over the paper, scribbling madly on the phone pad next to it. A tearful, but smiling John Watson got up a few minutes later to tell Mrs. Hudson that yes, it would be fine if Mary moved in, delightful actually. And that he had some news to share with the aged landlady. On the phone pad behind him were the words:
John,
I'm... I'm not Dead I'm sorry That I Told You I, I was Fakes Maybe we'll Meet again? Sorry,
SH