Falling (JohnLock)

chpr. 13

My Dearest John,

I want to you to know that I apologise for these past few weeks. I’m sorry for ignoring you. I have had a lot of time to think, over this time alone, and I just want to say that I hate it. I hate being alone. I don’t care if, as I write this, you’re in the next room pretending to sleep. I can hear you crying and I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like that.

Since you’re never going to find this…

I just wanted to say that I love you.

If you do find this, and I haven’t died of embarrassment, please replace it and pretend that you never saw it. Of course I’ll know that you have, but we can preserve that gentle fiction that nobody saw anything.

What have you done to me, John Hamish Watson? I pine after you like a love-sick school girl. I am disgusted with myself but I love every second. You’re my best friend, but I’ve always known that deep down I’ve wanted more from you. For god’s sake I wrote poetry for you, John. I feel ridiculous.

Oh, but what I wouldn’t give to hold you. Just to feel every beat of your quivering heartbeat against me. On second thoughts, if you find this letter, take that opportunity to climb into my bed and let me have my way with you. In fact, even if you don’t find this letter, take that opportunity to climb into my bed and maybe you can have your way with me. I am a very greedy man.

Don’t take me wrong, John, I don’t normally write ‘love letters’. I find that expressing your usually unwanted and unreciprocated feelings through a means of pen and paper is thoroughly both time-consuming and pointless. It not only compels the recipient to return these feelings, but forces them to over exaggerate their emotions to match the intensity of your initial correspondence. I have had no experience in writing these ludicrous little notes, and I have no expectation that you should have to return one to me in the like.

However, I felt like you have the right to know this not in fact a ‘love letter’, but an expression of interest. A lot of interest. And desire. And lust. Never in my life have I desired someone. I guess it's always something to think about. What exactly triggers lust? I've never looked into it, but I know that when you accidentally touch me, I get shaky and needy. I also know that I feel like if I don't have you I'll die. I need you to touch me, John. Like your life depends on it.

Did you know that seeing you at your laptop, frowning softly at whatever foolish thing you're looking at, is entirely amazing? It is frustratingly erotic watching your long fingers skim over the keys all day. Caressing them. Feeling them.

That's another thing I haven't felt, for a long time at least, jealously. I am actually jealous of the way you touch your laptop. It seems perfectly normal in my head, although said out aloud it is ridiculous. Yet I feel no shame. Why do you think I confiscate it occasionally?

I know that I am a terrible person to live with. I know that you get mad at me and I don't always know why. John, I know that I am not worth you staying for me, but I really need you. You are amazing, John Watson, you keep me on the right track. You deserve better than me, but I'm too selfish to let you go. My heart will forever beat in time with yours.

You asked me if it was an experiment, and I wanted to make sure you knew that it wasn’t. I love you, John Watson. For as long as I live.

Completely and utterly yours,

W. Sherlock S. Holmes

xx