The Beginning
Normally, this would be the end of the story, but it's only the beginning.
You will know, if you've read my other writings, that Mycroft Holmes lost over a hundred pounds. He once admitted to me that it was because, once he'd realized he could live without poppy seed muffins, there were a lot of other things he decided to change in his life. He might be a government operative on a level I can't even fathom, but really, Mycroft is just a guy with issues like any of us.
You will also know that Sherlock beat his addiction. You will have read that he came home and became the detective he'd always wanted to be. You will also know that he didn't just choose me one night after meeting me in a coffee shop. He chose me for the rest of his life—to be his friend, his brother, and his crimesolving partner. I guess, even when he was so high he hardly knew what was going on, he still knew what he was doing. Maybe he was just lucky.
Or maybe I was the lucky one.
I called Harry, just like I'd promised him I would, and it didn't mend our relationship, but at least I got to tell her I loved her. That way, if we never talk again, at least she'll always know.
There's a particular day in the summer of each year, when I haul myself out of bed at 7:30 in the morning and walk the short way to Speedy's Café. It's not a long way from my flat any more; Sherlock and I have a flatshare nearby, owned by a nice lady named Mrs. Hudson.
I sit at a table in the corner, away from the windows, and I order five poppy seed muffins I can't eat and a quadruple espresso I can't drink. And I remember.