Sherlock Oneshots and Short Storys

Dear John

Dear John,

I have written and rewritten this letter a hundred times, knowing that it will never reach you.

I have never been a man of religion, even when my substance abuse got so bad that my condition was considered critical or when you had bombs strapped to you. I never once turned to god for help. I know that you too are not a man of religion, even though you have come face to face with death and turned to god with prayers to live another day. But I now find myself praying every night that you are well.

My every waking moment is spent thinking about you. I know that I often seemed cold and distant but whenever we were together, I didn't just get my high from running after criminals through the streets of London, I got it from spending time with you. I know the notion of it is illogical; to get a natural high from simply being in another's presence, but I did and I am an expert in natural highs.

The only thing I can think of that explains this natural high is that, I Sherlock Holmes, are in love with you, John Watson.

I know that you think I don't understand love and you're right, I don't. It's irrational, to give one's life to another so entirely that one wrong move, one wrong word could bring you to your knees. It's like holding the life of another in the palm of your hand and knowing that you could destroy them, tear them limb from limb, on an emotional level of course and possibly even a physical one.

Sentiment is a defect found in the losing side, that's something I've always said, isn't it.

But I do understand the chemistry of it. The fastening of ones pulse in response to the chemical reaction that occurs in the brain upon seeing someone you think is a good mate to continue the human race with, and how that reaction causes your pupils to dilate. Love is a silly notion, it's the biological need to want to reproduce and carry on the human race whether that's with someone of the same gender or not.

Love can bring a nation to its knees, and as Irene Adler found out, bring you to yours.

I am in love with you John Watson. Completely and utterly head over heels as people say. I spend every waking, every sleeping moment thinking, dreaming of you. Even when I try to escape to the serenity of my mind palace all I see, hear, smell and think of is you.

All the signs are there. I even conducted an experiment to prove to myself that I love you. I looked into my own eyes in the mirror as I thought about you and my eyes instantly and without hesitating, dilated to double their normal size. My pulse quickens and I felt the ever so commonly described 'butterflies' in my stomach.

John Watson, I love you. I'm sorry for the pain I've put you through and I'm sorry that you had to grieve my death. Please forgive me for my feelings if you do not feel the same way. I beg you, I will get down on my hands and knees and beg you, please forgive me for my actions and my feelings. It was my sentiment towards you that put you through so much pain in the first place. Please forgive me.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

Postscript: The flowers on my grave really were beautiful, thank you for knowing me so well as to choose them.