A Letter to 221B

Dear Watson,

I owe you this dedication as my dearest, and only, friend.

Solitude has given me time to relate back to what’s really at focus. I’m beginning anew, creating my own mix of identities that were stifled in my childhood. This death in part had to be done, surely you can hold this to your chest when you find it unfair. I know that I am unfair, but my intentions mean well.

Cleaning the mess my Moriarty left me is an integral part of the case. Just like writing the letter to your father was for you. Remember that argument we had in the kitchen? By god you humans always fight me tooth and nail on my deductions. Remember I had to tell you it was the only way it could be done as well? It took a year to persuade you but eventually you wrote it. I’ll never forget how much it took a toll on you. The bravery you showed was able to change the entire relation of your family, too.

You may have even been able to save him from the addiction. We solved that case together, me and most importantly, you.

I called that one, ‘The Dying Man’.

—-

I bought a sword the other day, yes, a sword. It’s a curved blade and I figure I can use it during the zombie apocalypse, hm?

I still remember the moments we’d spend

during the summer, the walks in the park at midnight. It was an escape from the inevitable boredom a civilian life offers. You’d talk nonsense about yourself to no end. Such simple things, too. Friends from high school and stories drawn straight from the blood of the heart. I didn’t know people could be so forthcoming, I didn’t know people could be so attached to other people. The entire concept of your character was such a learning curve for me. It didn’t take long for me to see that it was your outstanding empathy that held the key. For some reason it would never annoy me, even when you did gab on and on with each passerby.

Sometimes you’d turn around and I’d of wandered off towards something actually interesting, like finding the bats hidden in the trees. You’d an endless amount of patience with my lack of morality. I’m still not sure how you managed that. To each his own, I suppose.

You always said from what I came from I sure did turn out to be a pleasant anti-hero. The word ‘sociopath’ never fell from your lips and you hated when it was used. You wanted to see the human in me so badly, you wanted to be the one to draw it out, and I’ll tell you now that in the most roundabout way you did accomplish that.

I want you to know that even though I solved the cases (and every single one of them with a keen precision unlike any other – not the right time for this? Understood.), there is an entirely new strength in the John Watsons of the world, too.

After all this time, a few fist fights and countless crimes, even though you can no longer call me yours nor can I call you mine, I can say with the utmost certainly I will always have respect for you. I know you will have it for me, too.

The sharp, unwavering brilliance and the emboldened, selfless heart of 221B Baker Street will live on in legacy.

You chose to see a hidden side in a very clever ruse, something to this day that no one else has chosen to do.

For that I sincerely thank you… and I am as apologetic as I can be for any pain my absence has caused you.

If you ever find yourself stuck in a rut of something unsolvable, you have my number. And yes, I’ll bring that god awful hat with me.

Signed,

Sherlock

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