Dear Sherlock,
Mycroft transferred all of your mother's money into my bank account, and I couldn't tell him to take it all back, as I have no way to give him the message. It's so much, Sherlock! Far more than I'd earn in 5 years working at the hospital. So I paid Mrs Hudson all of the missing rent, but still I am sat on this ridiculously large sum of money, with no idea what to do with it.
I don't know why Mycroft gave it to me. I know he's got more than enough - more than he can spend, in fact - but it still doesn't make sense that he gave it to me. Perhaps it's just your brother's sense of humour. "Sorry that you can't have your wedding, John. Here's the money that you could have used to pay for it!" Yeah, I can imagine Mycroft doing that. And giving me that infuriating little smirk. Bastard. Even though he didn't know, and never will know, how I actually did want us to be together. Married.
So I thought about the wedding I would have chosen for us. I thought about what you would have wanted it to be like. Who you would have wanted to be there. The suit you would have worn, the shoes you would have chosen, how you would have worn your hair, the smile upon your face. I wonder what you'd have said in your vows. Would you have told me that I was an idiot? An amazing, brilliant idiot?
I would have said that you were my life, my whole life. The person who'd made me complete, and made me think that the stars were not beautiful in comparison to you. And, as I slipped the silver ring onto the third finger of your left hand, I would have told you that nothing would ever be the same again.
Love,
Your John.