Dear John,

I know that most people start letters off this way when the are hoping to leave the person away at war, but that is most deffinatly not the case here.

John, I miss you an excruciating amount. I don't like you being this far away of this long, it reminds me of before- well you know when I'm talking about. It doesn't hurt, I suppose, to say it. To say that this reminds me of that dark time in my life when I had nothing, but drugs, yet everything to prove to my brother, even to Lestrade. Even after I had recovered from the blackest part of my life, nothing was beautiful, it just was, and then there were things to use to my advantage. By this point everyone had assumed that I was less than human, in my emotional range at least, and had given up on trying to make me civil. Though Lestrade had never given up his hope that I would change, I just never did.

Then Mike Stanford introduced you and you were interesting from the very beginning. You thought what I did was fantastic and wonderful, when others just averted their gazes. I know you think I was just daft to the attempts of Molly, but I wasn't. She just isn't my type and, before you, I refused to mix business with pleasure. I just assumed that if I was 'oblivious' long enough she would stop, after a while I didn't have the heart to tell her. God, if Donovan were to read this I would never hear the end of it.

Speaking of the Scotland Yard team, Lestrade continues to give me case after case after case. I believe it is his plan to work hard enough to forget that you aren't here right now, but in reality it only makes me more acutely aware that you are not here next to me. I am also aware that Anderson and Donovan are being nicer to me than usual, which is annoying in itself, I find it rather insulting that they assume I can't cope without you. Yes, it's true that I can't, but there is no reason for them to know that.

It seem that Andrew has taken over your duties of "taking care of me" since everyday he asks me if I have eaten that day or how well I slept the night before. I also spied him rummaging through the medicine cabinet looking for the sleep pills you think I don't know about. He is rather tactlessly trying to slip them into my food, at least you ground them up before trying to feed them to me. I believe he is hoping they dissolve before my food gets to the table. I also must ask you to never put them in my tea, seeing as they make the tea taste like soap.

Just please promise me that you will come home safely and will never leave again.

You will always have my love,

Sherlock Watson

Sherlock glanced down at the letter he had just finished penning and had every want to crumble it up, just like the other ones, but not this one.

This one was going to John.

His John

His blogger

His friend

His husband

Letting out a deep breath he had realized he was holding in, Sherlock picked up the empty envelope slipping the parchment inside. Looking at the closed door Sherlock flushed with embarrassment as he lightly kissed the sealed envelop.

"Really, John," Sherlock whispered into the silence of their shared room, "You seem to have turned me into romantic." A smile graced his pale pink lips.

"Thank you, John."

This chapter was harder to write, not because of writer's block, but because Sherlock is such a hard person to portray. Also, sorry it's not that long, but I always thought of Sherlock being a man of few words when it came to expressing himself.

I would appreciate your feed back on this so I can get an idea if you think I stuck to his character well, since he isn't an OOC.

Thank you very much