Oneshots of John lock<3

A letter to john, (bbc)

Sherlock Holmes, the great detective who was proven innocent, has now been dead for a year. Many believed his suicide was a escape from the press, others believed the detective was guilty and wasn't going to admit own up for his actions. Though John, his lover, his best friend, didn't know himself.

It was a grey afternoon, John was let off early from the pharmacy due to a bad cold going around, It wasn't unexpected at this time of year. He drove home, struggling to unlock the lock to his house, though when he finally pushed it open with his shoulder he could hear the letters on the other side fall out of the letterbox. It took him a second to pick them all up,
Bills,
Bills,
Bills,
Postcard off Mycroft and Greg,
Bill,
Letter?
It wasn't like the others, it had handwriting and small scribbles on the sides to get the ink running again. The handwriting appeared to be rushed, but the most noticeable thing was a small x in the bottom right corner of the envelope.
He double checked the letter was supposed to be addressed to him and not a neighbouring house, but with certainty it labelled 'Dr John Watson'. Followed by his address. He ripped open the top, pulling out the messily folded A4 paper. Johns fingers shakily grasp the paper, he notices little drops of water over the writing, smudging the ink in some areas. He glances over the words, beginning to read,

(// means crossed out).
—-
To my //dearest// //darling// dearest John Watson, I hope this message gets to you safely. It's been just over a year since I jumped off the roof of ST Bart's hospital, //though I'm very much alive//and if you haven't guessed already I'm not dead. I apologise for not making contact sooner, and I understand by this time you've more than likely //found a new lover// moved on. But please don't get rid of this letter until you finish it. I shouldn't be making contact with you, it took 9 months for me to convince Mycroft to let me send you this letter. Moriaty threatened to kill you all, the only way I could stop him was by jumping, it had to happen. So please consider forgiving me for my absence. I don't have a lot of time to write this letter since a lot has kept me busy, but I'm hoping to come home soon, I miss you very much, I found I don't like being alone as much as I remember.
I want to quickly add that I really am sorry for any distress I haven't caused you, or if I hurt you in any way John. I love you.
Yours truly, Sherlock Holmes. x
—

Johns Heart ached, he still felt as if he hadn't gotten over Sherlocks death yet here he was, alive and well by the sounds. He didn't know how to feel, angry? Upset? Happy? What does sherlock mean by he's coming home soon? How many people were in on it? Was he the only one who didn't know? Tears painted the piece of paper, creating the same marks as the dried drops of water. There was no address to write back to, no way to make contact. He held the paper close to his chest, letting the corners crumble. Sickness bloomed his stomach as he fell on the lowest step quietly sobbing. Why was he still angry? Sherlock was doing the right thing after all, he was protecting him to what everyone thought was the very end.