A/N: Don't ask me why I went back to pre-season 3. It felt right.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Please don't sue me
He was free. He wasn't sure how long it had taken him to escape, but he'd gotten out of the torture chamber he'd been trapped in for...days? Weeks? Months? He wasn't sure of that either.
Sherlock knew he should be concerned about this, but instead he trudged onward until he found the best shelter he could in the rolling hills of the country side: a cottage.
Lucky for him no one was at home. He sighed in relief as he closed the heavy wooden door behind him. The room was, at best...quaint. At worst?
It was barren and devoid of any semblance of interest. In one corner was a wooden bed with what appeared to be handmade coverings. Against another wall was a small kitchen with a refrigerator and gas stove. Across from the kitchen was a wooden desk and chair, and there was a sheet of paper and pen atop the desk.
Sherlock was not prone to pangs of feeling. So the sudden desire to write a letter, to one person in particular, startled him enough to rouse him from his spot in front of the door and to drive him to sit at the desk.
John,
I'm sorry does not even begin to describe how I feel regarding my supposed death. If I could have avoided it I would have, but I didn't have that option. I had to keep all of you safe from him.
I hope that by the time you read this I will be back home in 221B, but if I am unable to return...just, please, please know that I am sorry. I will never do anything like this again...well, I suppose I can't promise you that. Your safety is much more useful than mine.
After all, everyone needs a doctor. How many really need a consulting detective?
Sherlock
A/N Thank you for reading! Please review and...
DFTBA darlings, :)