John, should you receive these from a hand other than my own, then I am dead. I have died or about to die with no chance of escape. Right now I expect that you would be cursing and yelling at my ghost. How boringly typical, John. But please listen carefully. Forget me. Just forget me.
Let our time together be something at the back of you mind, a strange blip in your life story. And over the years you and everyone else will move on and forget me too. It will be easier for you to deal with things. Especially upon relising I was alive when you expected me dead.
One more thing. Just one. Have a good life, John. Have the least boring, dull, typical life. Let it be brilliant.
Sincerely Yours,
Sherlock
Surveying his handiwork, and liberal use of a reference from a TV show he could remember John liking, Sherlock sat back in his chair, placing the note on top of several letters, bound with red string. The detective then placed the pile back into a wooden box and locked it with a key. Mycroft had a copy of his own. This was only to be given to John in the event that Sherlock did not survive the task he had set himself. He owed it to John to let him know what had happened. Didn't he? These were letters and notes that he had chosen to address to the one person who understood him.
And should he survive? Then perhaps one day he would show them to John. His memoirs of the one adventure his best friend could not be a part of.
January 16th
Dear John,
Yesterday I died...
Yesterday I jumped off St Bart's to save your life.
This is less a letter, more a note to myself. I do not have the skull anymore, nor you. Just this letter. It will have to do for now.
Sherlock
January 22nd
Dear John,
I decided to start writing letters addressed to you, in the event that I fail in the task I have set myself. Perhaps one day you will receive them, if that is indeed the outcome, and you will learn all that I have tried to achieve during my undoubtably long absence. If that is not the case, perhaps one day I will show you these letters and laugh.
Today I went to my own funeral. It was both an interesting and strange experience. You cried. Mrs Hudson cried, even Molly and she knew I was alive. She was the only one. Lestrade cried. I was surprised to see him there. Considering all that had happened before my fall. Mycroft did not cry, however, he did when he went to see my 'body' at the morgue. I have never seen him cry before. It was unnerving.
It is strange to hear my name spoken in the past tense. Was and were instead of is and are. It's funny how a mere switch in one's own grammar can generate such sadness. You tried to stay calm. You saluted my empty coffin. Why do you still show me such loyalty? I have never been the best of friends to you, I could have been. I should have been. Maybe one day that will change. Maybe.
I was at the cemetery as well. Perhaps you saw a man with red hair talking to Molly. That was I. Molly has been so kind and caring. I doubt considering how I used to treat her that I deserve it. And normally I would not care for such things, but right now things are not normal. Far from it.
I told Mycroft. I had to. Not just because I needed the resources only he can provide. But because, after all he did, all the problems he caused, he is still my brother. He was calm, collected as usual. He may even have suspected. But I have always been able to fool him. I know he was relieved to find me alive. Though I suspect a strongly worded lecture later.
I promise I will return soon.
Sherlock
Feburary 12th
Dear John,
I saw you at my grave the other day. Please move on. I told you those lies hoping you would. But you still believe in me. Why? I'm leaving the country, John. There is little I can do here, except watch you mourn from afar. I wish I could answer your pleas. I wish I could say something to stop your tears. But it's not safe. I sacrificed myself, in a way, for you. For Mrs Hudson and strangely enough, for Lestrade. But mostly for you. So until it's safe I can not return.
I'm leaving for Europe. Moriarty's web is still spinning. Now is the time, while the spider is dead, to destroy whats left of his empire, before another spider takes his place. If I do not return, Mycroft has orders to explain everything to you. And to deliver all my letters. You were and always shall be my closest friend.
Sincerely Yours,
Sherlock Holmes.
March 7th
Dear John,
Another string from the web has been undone. Some of these 'missions' as Mycroft insists on calling them, are terribly boring. All I need is a gun and back up, and they are behind bars in minutes. Dull. How I long to be back in Baker Street on a case, shooting up the wall, complaining to you. How I long for something exciting to happen.
I think you would find my current appearance very amusing. I have red hair when in London, but on many of my missions I am blond. Molly is kind enough to help me with these aspects of my disguises. I attempted to do so myself once and ended up making a mess of Mycroft's bathroom, although that wasn't entirely an accident.
Before you ask, I am keeping myself safe. So far the only injuries I have sustained is a bruise on my right foot from dropping Molly's toaster and a burn to my hands due that cat of her's. Dratted animal. Aside from that I have been quite well.
Little else to add. Shall write another letter soon.
Sherlock
March 9th
Dear John,
Please ignore the above letter. I recently sustained a head wound, most likely a concussion, not long after writing the previous note. Arrived at Molly's dazed and confused. She patched me up and I believe I fell asleep on her couch. Today my head is still relatively sore but this should clear up in a few days.
Will be much more careful in the future.
Sherlock
March 31st,
Dear John,
Mycroft tells me you have cleaned out our flat. I suppose this means you are moving on with your life. Good. However I hope you have kept some of my things. I do not wish to return to a completely empty house.
You were at my grave today. Mycroft told me you were going, as usual. I watched you. Listened to you. Please don't cry, John. I am not worth your tears. I think there is a poem, yes I do read some literature other than non-fiction John, that I came across whilst doing some research for an alias. However I find only the first and last lines applicable to your situation.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
Sherlock.
April 5th
Dear John,
Bored.
Sherlock.
April 17th
More men behind bars.
Have become incredibly bored in between missions and borrowed a computer from my brother. A little tweaking and anyone who cares to look at the IP address would believe me to be in Norway. You might have heard about the remarkable observations and explorations of a man named Sigerson. It probably never occurred to you that you were receiving news of your friend. Unfortunately like myself he is becoming quite the internet sensation.
This was not the outcome I wished. I simply needed something to occupy my mind. It was either that or drugs and we both know how that normally turned out. Besides with my brother checking me over as often as possible for needle marks or any other sign of drug-use, it would be impossible to sustain that habit at the moment.
I hope you are doing well. Mycroft says you are still in mourning. It has been four months. Please move on with your life John.
Sherlock
May 9th
Dear John,
Mycroft and Molly tell me you have fallen in love. How chemical. I expect you would think that love is a mystery to me but the chemistry behind it is absurdly simple. Dopamine, serotonin, oxytoxin. Testosterone and oestrogen. Love is but a chemical reaction, John and nothing more.
I am at a loss on how to feel. Should I feel? I always did, I just refused to show it or buried my feelings on the matter deep within my soul. I am...happy for you. Thats what people say? Isn't it? It's a lie of course. I am not happy for you.
She seems to be much smarter than the women you normally consort with, but that does not mean I have to like her. However, it is a sign that things are getting better for you, which is what I want but.. my mind is conflicted still.
If I return and you are still in love, I will be alone. You will live with her and I will live by myself like I used to. I will go one cases alone, you will be with her. My life would not be the same. You would be happy and I would not.
But, who knows what will happen in between now and my return. If I return. Perhaps it will go nowhere, perhaps she is not the right person for you. We shall see.
Sherlock.
P.S . Mycroft says Irene has returned. And she thinks me dead. She is now in my brother's employ and I have the difficult decision on whether or not to reveal myself to her. What would you do John? Why am I asking a piece of paper? It's illogical and it's emotional but I miss you.