LETTERS
Holmes POV:
It was a spring day in March.
And I was sitting in Watson's bedroom staring at the giant trunk in front of me.
Every year, I dread the coming of this day. Mrs. Hudson drags Watson and me out and forces us to help her in spring cleaning. And every year it means I have to clean Watson's room while Watson cleans mine.
But I've never seen this before.
It was wedged in between his bed and the floor which explains why I had never noticed it.
By the various stamps on it, I understood it to be his military trunk.
I sighed and got to my feet. I never do anything by halves so I set to open the giant trunk.
The first thing I noticed was the dust. Then, as I brushed away the dust-induced tears, I saw the smaller box.
It was right on the top and the relative cleanliness of it as compared to the rest of he trunk proved it to newer.
Stifling my curiosity has always been difficult, so I opened the box.
I was faced with a collection of letters.
On top of the larger pile, I noticed written in Watson's military handwriting: Holmes.
And on top of the other, smaller pile: Mary
My breath caught in my chest. Slowly I fingered my pile, which I noticed contained every single letter, telegram or missive that I had ever sent to him. The last being the note that I had left him in Reichenbach.
My vision suddenly blurred before me, and to my absolute mortification I found that I was crying.
I rubbed the tears away. Sherlock Holmes does not cry.
From below me, I can hear his voice telling Mrs. Hudson that his job is done. Now he is mounting the stairs. I look at the letters in my hand and slowly putting them back in the box, I lock it and push it back under the bed.
The past demons are gone. My Boswell has me now and I have him. There is nothing to look back at anymore.
I know this in no way is even technically near a drabble. It is way too long, I know. But please be nice to me and pretend this is? It's too short to be one shot you see.