Author's Note: This has been sitting around on my computer for awhile now. I know quite a few people have done something similar - texts or letters between John and Sherlock that aren't really meant to be read by the other party, just used as outlets during their separation after Reichenbach. I thought, hey, why not?

So here is the start of my version of that. I can't really picture Sherlock writing full-length letters, so I thought I'd go more with "notes" - just random little snippets that he wishes he could communicate to John somehow. These correspond with my personal headcanon - Sherlock hiding out at Mycroft's for six months - so he's feeling rather cooped up and bored.

These will be updated as I feel the urge to write them. Just more of a laid-back Sherlock fanfic that I can flick out when I'm not feeling up to writing something longer or deeper.

Feel free to make suggestions as to topics. No guarantees I'll take them, but I'm interested to see what you guys might come up with. Please leave your reviews, and enjoy!

Dear John,

Actually, I'm not sure why you're supposed to start a letter with "dear". It makes even business contacts sound like personal friends.

As you can see, I'm bored enough to start writing you a letter which you'll probably never read. On the bright side (if there is one) I expect this will turn out to be the most civil conversation I've had in several months now.

I believe Mycroft just got home, and in a foul mood, if the stomping and banging of doors are anything to judge by. I think I'll go bother him for a while.

Sherlock

John, for some reason which continues to evade me alarmingly well, there is now a small cat in the room with me. It honestly seems as though the creature thinks it lives here.

Do cats normally make as though to rub their heads against your hand, and then decide they'd rather do it with their backsides instead? I don't understand. I may have to ask Mycroft to throw the animal out of the house.

Sherlock

PS. I just remembered that Mycroft is allergic to cats. It can stay as long as it pleases.

You know, John, it almost makes me feel the tiniest bit better when I realise that I can record all of my brother's misdeeds here and pretend that I'm not the only one who knows what an annoying sod he is.

I think I'll give him a hint about that later on and see what he says.

Sherlock

Mycroft really needs to stop leaving his keys around when I'm in the vicinity. I'm seriously contemplating stealing one of his cars when he goes out. This place is making my brain cramp, and that's not a feeling I particularly enjoy.

The cat has taken to following me around. It seems to have an unhealthy fascination with the ties on my dressing gown.

Sherlock

I know I need some fresh air when I can't even find anything interesting in the fact that Mycroft got up an hour earlier than usual and drove off with a rather grim-looking chap, without bothering to tell me not to do anything stupid while he's gone. Do you suppose he fouled something up? Or, more likely, one of his little Secret Service bullyboys fouled it up for him.

I hope you're having more fun than I am. Actually, I'm not sure it's possible to have less fun than I am right now.

Sherlock

It is now precisely three twenty-three in the morning. You're probably asking what I'm doing awake at this God-awful hour. At least, you would be if you knew. Which you don't. Sort of wish you did, though. This is all merely hypothetical speculation, of course. There isn't really a point, other than giving me something to do. So, on the inaccurate assumption that you do know, and/or are actually interested – if you really must know – sleep evades me. Or, rather, I'm doing my best to evade sleep.

That's all, really. Goodnight John.

Sherlock

Mycroft refuses to bring me a violin. He said it was too risky, given the known fact that he doesn't play, and I do. Actually I just think he wants to avoid listening to it. My brother has no taste. Don't you remember the look he had every time he came to the flat and I started playing? I don't know if you noticed or not, but it was the sort of look one might give to one's plate upon realising that there is a single strand of hair mixed in somewhere with the salad greens.

I hope you've still got my violin. Just don't try to play it.

Sherlock

Reviews and ideas are always appreciated! May the Force be with you.