Letters To Sherlock

by jessisnotdeadyet

These are the letters that John wrote to Sherlock during the time when he was 'dead'. He left the letters on his grave every week on a Wednesday, starting from one month after the Fall. Includes Johnlock, and these letters lead on to a fanfiction in story form rather than letters which I am currently working on. Mystrade included in such fanfiction. Rated M for later chapters.

47. 02 01 2013

Dear Sherlock,

It was New Year yesterday and everyone came over again to our flat for drinks and dinner, which was good, but now we're all sleep-deprived and grumpy. So I'll tell you about the rest of Christmas now, shall I?

So asides exchanging presents, we passed around drinks - I had a glass of red wine or two - and we all sat down for dinner. A seemingly impossible task, considering the lack of a table big enough for us all. We couldn't use the kitchen one because it was serving as my kitchen counter. So Greg and I brought up a couple of tables up from the café and managed to get them through the door and set them up for a traditional Christmas meal. I made the dinner; it took me almost six hours to do all by myself. We had a huge roast turkey with sage and onion stuffing, and then a shoulder of pork just in case we ran out of that. There was a mountain of sprouts, carrots, cabbage, roasted parsnips and then there were all the roast potatoes - a mixture of normal potatoes and sweet potatoes. I roasted them in oil and not animal fat, by the way. I made the gravy from scratch, too. Mrs Hudson kindly donated a jar of cranberry sauce so I didn't have to make that as well. I would've been happy to, as cooking is sort of a new hobby of mine, but it made preparations a little easier.

It was delicious, if I should say so myself. We all had a good evening in terms of food and alcohol. There were loads of leftovers which we ate on New Year's Eve. We stayed up to see the fireworks and the clocks tick over.

I remember when it was New Year when you said "Happy New Year, John." and you played the violin at the window. That year with Irene Adler. We'd just found out that she hadn't died, and you played happy music for the first time since that Christmas Eve. How did you feel about her, really? Were you attracted to her? Were you actually sad when she was dead? Heartbroken? What was going on with you and her?

Needless to say, I was filled with jealousy whenever she was around. But I wanted you to find someone you could love, and even if it wasn't me, I still wanted you to be happy. So I didn't do anything. I could always put you before myself, no matter how painful it was for me.

I loved you that much.

Love,

Your John.