John,

I'm seeing Ella now. She wants me to write you a letter. She's big on writing, isn't she? Ella said I can burn the letter when I'm done. I don't know if I can do that, not when it's about you.

Here goes.

You looked into my heart and saw the dark things. Everyone sees the dark things. What made you different was you saw something more, something of worth. You made me laugh and feel once again when I had tried so long not to. You made me want to be a better man.

I tried. I tried for you, John, my dearest and best friend. I don't say only friend, because you showed me that there were friends around me I had ignored.

I thought it was enough, then you brought her into our lives. I wanted to hate her. I tried to hate her even before I had reason, but I couldn't. Even after she shot me, I was helpless. She became my friend. Mary understood me in a way you never could and now I fear never will.

Your anger is falling down on me every moment of every day. It's like an acid rain that burns down to my bones. I'm supposed to save you, Mary asked it of me. I don't know that I can when I can't save myself.

Each day passes and my dread grows. What if your anger burns you away from the inside out? What will happen to Rosie? She deserves all of you, not a burnt out husk.

I can't do this anymore... It's too hard to put on paper. I'll try again tomorrow. If there is a tomorrow. I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't put that on you, even in a letter you will never see.

I just... yeah.

-Sherlock