Dear John,

Please forgive me.

Before you faint in shock from hearing – reading the words no one ever expected to hear or read from me, or throw this note away in disgust, please hear me out.

I know I really shouldn't be writing this, it's too dangerous (I know, the magic word) but it's got to the point-

I know I shouldn't be watching you, but it's both a comfort and-

You look completely and utterly destroyed, John, and I realised that the one who destroyed you was me, your supposed friend. Some friend. I could give you all the little clues that told me your state of mind, but I doubt you'd say 'amazing' like I always not so secretly wanted you to. So I thought I should write you a proper note, not that dreadful parody I gave you before.

Before you start wondering, you're not going crazy, I am actually alive. Before you get really angry, please believe I wouldn't have done it if I had a choice. Moriarty threatened to kill you, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson unless I completed his story, so I faked my death. I'll tell you how when we can actually talk face to face.

I had no time to warn you. The phone call would have been tapped, so I had to carry on completing his story. I tried to give you clues. Now, the spider may be dead, but the web remains. That's what I'm doing, destroying the web.

Yes, I know you made me promise after the whole Killer Cabbie thing that if I was going to run off and do anything life threateningly stupid, I would at least warn you, so you could be there with me. I regret not having you here, my blogger, but, and I know you hate it, but you're going to have to trust me without any explanation. This is one adventure you cannot join.

One day, I promise, I will explain everything, and you can hit me as much as you want for all the pain I've put you through. One day we'll steal ashtrays from Buckingham Palace, giggle at crime scenes, chase taxis across London and pull rank in military bases we have no right to be in, Captain Watson.

Look at me. I've always despised sentimentality, and now I'm as soppy as a teenage girl.

The thing is, Moriarty was right. I have a heart.

It's you.

I know this is the worst place to admit it, but since when have I been normal? And if you can't admit it in your not-suicide note, when can you admit it? This is what you've done to me, John Watson, I'm blaming it entirely on you.

I know I tend to take advantage of you, order you around, but just do this one thing for me, and I'll do anything, because all this was for you.

Don't. Let. Them. Burn. You.

You look after yourself, John Watson, or I will not be responsible for my actions.

SH

Dear Sherlock,

I couldn't think of anywhere else to put this, but attached to your gravestone in a plastic wallet. Don't worry; if anybody else finds this they'll just think I've finally gone completely mad. Most of them think I'm halfway there already. Including my therapist. I don't see her anymore.

And don't worry, your note is hidden in the best hiding place, yes you know the one. Don't look like that, of course I knew about your 'very secret stash' and I didn't tell Mycroft or Lestrade. I just checked it wasn't used from time to time.

And the irony, you telling me to look after myself, after all that time me trying to get you to eat, sleep. OK, I'll try harder to look after myself, for you, just as long you do the same, understood? Just because you're destroying the web, and therefore 'on a case' does not mean you can neglect your body, especially as it will probably take even you a long time. Doctor's orders.

On that note, please come home.

I suppose I should tell you, since you admitted to me in your letter, and it's the one thing you're rubbish at deducing. I love you too.

I need you. Life's so incredibly dull without you around, you have no idea, well I suppose you do. You say I infected you? Well you infected me too. I may have craved the adrenaline and danger before you came around, but at least I wasn't mentally begging patients to attack me to liven things up a bit, or at least have an interesting disease.

You say I couldn't come with you, I couldn't know? Well, you better explain that properly when you come back and you better promise that you will never go running off without me again.

Does anyone else know? I won't be angry. Even the greatest mind might need help to fake a death and disappear.

If it's too dangerous to write back, I suppose I'll understand, but if you can, give me this. I need something, Sherlock. I can't keep living like this, day after day. Your not-suicide note was the best thing that's happened to me since it happened, and isn't that sad?

God, I just need somebody to shoot at me, something to happen!

That's it. I'm going insane. I've gone insane.

Please come back.

John

John,

I promise I won't go running off without you again, but you must trust me now.

I'm glad you're rid of your therapist. Sometimes I thought she did you more harm than good. She didn't understand you, what you needed.

I wish I could come back. Not yet. One day. And did you know that the lady who has just taken the flat opposite you is a diamond smuggler? And I'd give up on the girl you've just started dating; she's got a girlfriend in Peru. Or keep her, if it gets those annoying wellwishers off your back, which is what you wanted, isn't it? Just be careful, she's probably after something.

If you want to write to me again give the letter to Raz, he knows a guy, who knows a guy etc. It'll get to me. Trust me, although it doesn't sound it, it's safe. You know Raz don't you? You and your 'I Believe In Sherlock Holmes' project. You have been bored. I'm almost touched.

It'll be a while before I can reply again. I'm moving out of London to track down the web. Be patient.

Molly knows. I needed her help with the fake dead body. Mycroft suspects, I'm sure of it, but he does not know. Although his help would have been useful, my unwillingness goes beyond sibling pride. He sold me to Moriarty. I'll forgive him, as much as I ever forgave Mycroft for being Mycroft, but for now I'll let him regret what he did. Call it a petty revenge.

Talk to Molly, if you need to do that talking to someone thing that people seem to insist upon, but only if you really need it. This must be kept absolutely secret.

I'll agree to your deal, John. I'll look after myself if you look after yourself. It's funny, I deduced so many things, and out of that our relationship and lifestyle helped you and cured you to an extent. But I never really realised how deep the rabbit hole went, for either of us. I was too scared, I think, of my own feelings. I know what you're going through, John, this hell, because I'm going through hell too, and I will come back. You want bullets shot at you? I know the hypocrisy of what I write, but the casualness with which you regarded your life in that sentence terrified me. You're not looking after yourself. Please don't die, John.

There is an adage, I believe, that a person does not appreciate what they have, until they loose it. It seemed apt.

I need you John. Nobody else seems to have the mental capacity to remember that I will only have full cream milk in my tea. According to one of the ignoramuses, full cream milk in tea is 'disgusting' I am therefore tea deprived. Cheer me up, John.

Sherlock

Sherlock,

This'll cheer you up. Picture the scene. A common mugger is about to attack Molly Hooper (and yes, Sherlock, sometimes a common mugger is just a common mugger) so me, spotting this, and being, well, me, grabbed the first weapon that came to hand. Mycroft's Umbrella. The mugger himself was pretty pathetic: one blow and he went down.

The best bit was telling Mycroft that his beloved umbrella had met a sad but noble demise serving Queen and Country, and defending the honour of an innocent. If you could have seen his face, Sherlock, it was better than when he found out you nicked an ashtray from Buckingham Palace.

It was even better when I suggested a full military funeral for the fallen umbrella. He'd been looking so sad. About his umbrella.

Mycroft does have some uses though. I wouldn't be able to still stay at Baker Street if he didn't pay the rent, no matter how much Mrs Hudson wanted me to. She needs to make a living as well. I think Mycroft does feel guilty.

Anyway, onto the more serious Mycroft news. He kidnapped me again (honestly, can't the man ever just phone? Or pop round and visit? Have a cup of tea? He visited you, but he just kidnaps me) and hinted in his Mycrofty way that he knew you were alive, and he knew I knew. I know you said he suspected, but this was rather more than that. Anyway, I tried to play the grieving friend, and that I was hurt to be asked these questions, but you know what I'm like. I can't lie convincingly to most people, let alone you or Mycroft. He wasn't convinced. He didn't say anything, but he was doing his 'threatening in a Mycrofty way' thing to unsettle me.

He must have noticed a change in my behaviour after I got the first letter. I tried to keep acting the same, whilst doing the 'moving on' thing everyone was telling me to. I thought it would be easier to keep up the act that way. Mycroft noticing isn't so bad, but if the web does… I'm sorry, Sherlock.

I haven't talked to Molly, for safety, like you suggested. I had noticed she was acting oddly before, but, and I suppose you'll berate me for going for the easiest solution, I blamed it on grief. I couldn't think of any other reason, and I didn't want to ask. She does have a life other than you and there could have been a million other reasons, the timing merely coincidence. I don't have your deductive skills.

And I always did believe in you. Always will. I wasn't doing it out of boredom.

John

John,

Sorry about the delay in replying. The warning was useful.

Don't worry about Mycroft or the web. I can handle Mycroft if he finds me, and I've seen you put down Mycroft more than once. As for the web, like you said, people go for the easiest solution, and the easiest solution to your change in behaviour is that you're moving on, like you said. Most likely they'll accept that, but be on your guard. Moriarty's men are vicious, and some are terrifyingly obsessive.

As for the Umbrella. Perfect. Umbrella shall always be held as a worthy sacrifice to the cause of annoying big brother.

I managed to get one of Morarty's important assassins. I can't name names, for obvious reasons. I'm getting there.

Thank you for believing in me.

Sherlock

Sherlock,

Donavan, Anderson, and that reporter, Kitty whatever her name was, all got fired today. Proper legal evidence was uncovered that Rich Brook never existed and Moriarty was real. Those three have become the new scapegoats for firing up the whole mess and 'driving a man to suicide.'

I'm not sure how I feel about it, to be honest. I mean, yeah, I hate all three of them, they acted on their uniformed and spiteful prejudices. But Moriarty manipulated them. They deserve to be punished, sure, and I'll hate them to the end of time, but perhaps they don't deserve to become the scapegoats they have become.

I can't really be bothered to care.

Oh, and that cover girlfriend I got? The one you said had a girlfriend in Peru? She was (boringly) after the valuables. She didn't seem to notice I don't have any valuables to speak of. In fact, I still have the skull. And everything else, so I suppose there's the violin, but that's tucked away, out of sight. I wonder why she stuck around. Still, she's gone now. She didn't manage to take anything, in case you were wondering.

Maybe I should try and get a new girlfriend, or have I satisfied them that I'm all right? Maybe they think I'll be affected by the fact that my girlfriend betrayed me? I suppose I would have been, if I had cared about her at all.

I'm turning into you, or at least, your personality. This boredom and annoyance with nearly everybody else is driving me insane. Shame I don't have your intellect to compensate.

I nicked Greg's (Lestrade's first name, remember?) ID card when he came round. For old times sake, and I was bored. Might even come in useful one day. Hopefully.

John

John,

You care.

I can tell, even in your letter.

It's one of the qualities that I always admired most in you, and that frustrated me in equal measure. You care about the fair treatment of three people you hate. You cared all the time, about everyone. I don't know how you did it without exploding.

Believe me, I understand the desire to shut off, to not be bothered to care. It's become almost second nature to me, most of the time. But you're not me.

You know, I think for once Mycroft over simplified things. Caring can be an advantage and a distinct disadvantage.

My advice – don't get another girlfriend unless absolutely necessary. Too much trouble.

There was an assassin today so amazingly idiotic I don't know why Moriarty employed him. Decoy, perhaps? Seriously, he was waving his gun about, accidently shot his partner, didn't notice, and carried on yelling. Maybe Moriarty just wanted the entertainment.

I'm going overseas. It will take me a long time to respond to whatever letter you write.

Sherlock

Sherlock,

Nothing's happening. There's nothing to write about.

My job is painfully mundane. When being interrogated by Mycroft livens up your day, you know things have got bad don't you?

If you don't come back soon I'm coming after you.

John

Sherlock?

I know you said it would take a long time to respond, but this getting ridiculous. I would be angry if I wasn't so scared.

John

The Archway – you know which one, 7.00pm, Friday 17th. I'll be in disguise, so keep your eye out.

Sherlock

Despite everything, the long separation, the cautious declarations in the letters, it wasn't a grand emotional reunion that one might have expected.

When John spotted Sherlock, it was Irene Adler's words that came to mind, that the problem with every disguise was that it was really a self-portrait.

Sherlock Holmes looked like a downtrodden, beaten, homeless man.

John dismissed his thoughts as rubbish, because Sherlock had never been downtrodden or beaten, to that extent, besides he knew Sherlock to be a master of disguise, he had seen him pull on a million different faces with exasperating ease. John walked over, the whole thing felt unreal after all the time apart.

"Change the look," John said, "it doesn't suit you." Sherlock smiled, and John could see his Sherlock smiling through.

"I know."

…