Dear Sherlock,
It was Nina's birthday on Saturday, and because I couldn't go out and buy her a present myself, I sent Mrs Hudson on a mission with my card. I decided to get her a Pandora bracelet, because Nina's that sort of sentimental person who loves to keep her memories in physical form. She paints all the things she sees, perfect down to the last detail. She has an amazing photographic memory. But it isn't just beautiful things that she paints. Mrs Hudson told me that she has a painting of me lying on the floor in Baker Street, surrounded by blood with the knife I used next to me. She paints things that stir her emotions, and I hope for her sake that she doesn't have to paint any more sadness.
The first bead I gave her for her bracelet was a smiley face, like the one you painted on the wall. It means 'Welcome to Baker Street'. That smiley face on the wall is still there, and it will never be covered up, nor will the bullet holes be filled in. Sentiment again, there.
She loved it, and as far as I could tell, she had a brilliant day. She came to visit me, and we had the birthday cake here. It was the first solid food I'd eaten since I'd been here, and the nurses looked delighted. They bring me proper food now, and I'm getting less thin - I lost a bit of weight whilst I was living off the drip. And there I was, always worrying about your weight and if you were eating, and now look at me!
My infection has gone down a bit, and the cuts are starting to knit together and scar. They aren't bad, for scars; they're only slightly puckered, but they are white, nothing like what I was expecting. But they are the ugliest things I have ever seen, even though they aren't half as bad as the scar on my shoulder.
Love,
Your John.