Author: Es Aitch PM
After his fall, Sherlock writes letters to those he left behind. He never sends them. Letters are in no particular order. Letters are addressed to John, Mycroft, Molly, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. Disclaimer: Everything recognizable to the general public doesn't belong to me, but to the BBC, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.Rated: Fiction K - English - Friendship/Angst - Sherlock H. - Chapters: 16 - Words: 7,103 - Reviews: 56 - Favs: 16 - Follows: 34 - Updated: 02-15-13 - Published: 07-05-12 - id: 8288327
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
My Dear Blogger,
You told me that your therapist had you writing a blog to help you adjust to civilian life. I'm having a hard time adjusting to my life of being 'not alive'. So I thought I would give it a try. I suppose, in the end, it can't hurt.
I should start with an apology. As you've probably figured out by now, I arranged the phone call that sent you to check on Mrs. Hudson. I'm sorry, John, but I had to get you as far away from Bart's as I could. I wanted to send you somewhere safe, because there was no way I could focus on doing what I had to do if you were in jeopardy of being hurt. But I also wanted to send you somewhere that when you heard the news you wouldn't be alone. That's what people prefer, yes? To not be alone when they receive terrible news?
While I was doing everything in my power to not take the drastic last steps, that I've obviously had to take, I also had to have everything orchestrated and prepared as if I would have to do that. In the end, you did what you've always done: you surprised me. I didn't think you'd make it back so quickly, but from the rooftop, I could hardly miss your presence.
It was never my intent for you to witness my fall. Perhaps it was better. It did have the benefit of making me more sentimental than usual. Which probably made the phone call more believable. The phone call in one sense was the absolute truth. I won't try to explain it in a letter, I'll save that for when we can speak in person.
I've been watching over you for these past few months. It's an interesting thing, watching you suffer. On the one hand, it motivates me to ensure your safety. On the other, it sometimes seems impossible to remain hidden because I just want to laugh with you again - to have your wonderful tea. To argue with you about the status of my health. To make you not so sad anymore. I want to fulfil your request for "One last miracle" - and I promise that as soon as it's safe to do so, I will fulfil it.
I can't say you're my best friend, since I'm not sure one can have a 'best' friend, when they've just got one.
Very Sincerely Yours,