Last letter
BBC Sherlock
Rating: 12: angst, implied character death, implied slash
Spoilers: none
Sherlock hesitated for a long time as he stood in Mycroft's office, turning the envelope over and over in his gloved hands. Not that there was much to deduce from it. Standard white C5 envelope, bulk indicated several folded sheets inside, stapled by their feel, no postmark, the only inscription on it a scrawled 'Sherlock' in black biro. He opened it at last, very carefully, so he didn't tear the envelope. The sheets inside were handwritten as well. He began to read:
(1)
Dear Sherlock,
If you are reading this it will be because I'm dead. It's something of a tradition for soldiers to leave last letters behind in the event of them dying suddenly. The next bit, however, is less traditional. Before you read any further, you need to be quite sure I am dead. In particular, don't take Mycroft's word for it. I would say DNA tests carried out by you on my body or whatever remains of it is probably enough of a check. But if there's no body, don't believe I'm dead, however much circumstantial evidence there is.
IF YOU'RE SURE I'M DEAD, TURN TO PAGE 2
***
(2)
Apologies for this being handwritten, but I'm sure you've deciphered worse. I didn't write it on my laptop, because I'm convinced you check that regularly. And it would be quite hard to sit in an internet cafe and write this kind of thing. I'd probably make a mess on the keyboard, and they'd object. But I presume you won't mind if this letter ends up with a bit of sweat or snot or tears on it. Think of it as an extra bit of reference DNA.
Onto the main apology - this letter's largely going to be apologies and explanations. I'm sorry I never said 'I love you'. This is mostly because I'm repressed, and boringly inarticulate, and have really poor timing, but also because you almost never stop talking, and always interrupt at crucial moments. So I decided I was probably better at saying 'I love you' in code. By making you meals, and patching you up, and following after you, and looking after you, and giggling a lot, and putting up with the things in the fridge, and that kind of stuff.
I don't know if you'll have cracked the code, because that was the other problem, of course. That if I did say 'I love you', that only 66.67% of the words would make sense to you. The best I can suggest is that if you look up some of the definitions in the dictionary and substitute in the relevant proper nouns, you might get the general drift:
1) [John] has a great attachment to and affection for [Sherlock]
2) [John] has passionate desire, longing and feelings for [Sherlock]
3) [John] likes or desires (to do something) very much [with Sherlock]
IGNORE CROSSED-OUT PARAGRAPHS BELOW, TURN TO PAGE 3
***
(3)
The other disadvantage of writing this by hand is that it's a lot trickier when you have to update the letter. In version 1, I had to explain why I sometimes behaved so strangely around you. In version 2 I can just say the sex has mostly been great. There are lots of people who are good at separating out sex and love; I'm still not sure about you on that score. I just know I'm not good at separating them out. I offered you my body, as I offered you food, partly as a way of showing I cared, saying 'I love you' without words. But it did have the advantage over food that you were less inclined to lose interest halfway through, and it was more fun for me than cooking. A lot more fun. You know now how to turn the next bloke on.
I should possibly have said about the next bloke on the previous page. I wasn't sure if he should come under 'love' or 'sex', I suppose ideally both. In fact, you might find it easier to chop up this whole letter into individual sentences and rearrange them until you get a coherent and logical structure. It'd probably make more sense then, and I wouldn't annoy you so much with my woolly thinking.
But for now, it's my letter and you can't interrupt. I think there ought to be someone else after me, because you need someone to look after you, and it would be a bit of a waste after what you've learnt about relationships from me not to build on that. You may be a bit distracted and not know what to look for, so here are the important things:
1) Physically fit
2) Knowledge of first aid
3) Good sense of humour
4) Reckless, but not stupidly so
5) Not squeamish
6) Tolerant and practical
I suspect if you ask around at Bart's, you'll find someone. Or get Mycroft on the case. There will be someone else out there, and it won't be the same as with me, but that doesn't mean it can't be good. And a practical, tolerant bloke won't mind that you had someone in your past, someone maybe quite significant, because he'll be thinking more about the future.
TURN TO PAGE 4
***
(4)
If you're reading this bit, it means I still haven't got onto version 3, which is not entirely good. Because version 3 is the letter I'm going to write if we're married or partnered or whatever word it is for permanently together. Formally together, as opposed to now, when they'd have to remove me from your side by surgery, but there's officially no commitment on either side. That's one of the reasons I've never talked to you about it: the reciprocal bit. If I'm in love with you, you haven't, technically, got to be in love with me. Whereas if I'm married to you, you're really supposed to be married to me back. I don't know what you think about that, though I presume you've probably actually never thought about it.
I realise that I'm getting my tenses confused here, and forgetting that when you read this, it's going to be too late to make a difference either way. So what I need to say is that I would have been happy to marry you if that had been what you wanted, but I presumed you didn't, and that was, is, fine. Because I knew that your feelings at time t weren't going to be changed at t+1 just because there'd been a wedding intervening. And that 'till death do us part' was never going to be that much of a long term commitment from me anyhow. But it might be worth checking with the next bloke after a year or two if he'd like marriage, because you might end up with someone else sentimental.
It doesn't make that much practical difference not having a civil partnership, because I don't have that much to leave anyhow, and Mycroft's lawyers have sorted out all the paperwork. You get everything of mine: keep it, give it to our friends, dismantle it, as you see fit. But I'd like you to keep Harry's old phone, even though it's third hand and rapidly becoming obsolete. Because it was the first thing you ever borrowed from me, and I'm weird and sentimental like that.
Officially, the will leaves my body to medical science. Actually, it's to medical science and you. Depending on how I've died, the hospital may not want it, but I'm sure you can get some useful data. Just nothing so dubious that it upsets Molly. And if you do keep any bits of me, be careful how you label them. Because even a non-squeamish bloke might object if you kept a dead boyfriend's heart in a jar, or his spleen, or his fingernails.
You'll have guessed the password on my blog: delete it or keep it as you choose. No major loss to the internet if it goes.
I don't want anything fancy for my funeral, so don't let Mycroft organise it. Lestrade will probably know a reasonable undertaker. Mrs Hudson should be asked to do the catering, if only so she has the chance to refuse. Don't give the eulogy yourself: you're a lousy public speaker at the best of times. Mike Stamford's your best bet: dull, but sound, which is probably what you want on these occasions. I leave the choice of music up to you.
There's probably more I should say, but writing by hand like this has got my tremor starting up again, so I'm worried it will be completely illegible. And if I go on much longer, you'll get bored or distracted anyhow. So I'll end by saying what I should have said much earlier: I have loved you from the start, I love you now, and in the unlikely event of there being an afterlife, I will always love you.
Yours faithfully,
John
PS: If you're somehow managed to get hold of this before I'm dead, you are a devious bastard, and I will be very pissed-off with you.
***
Sherlock put down the letter and picked up his phone, punching in the message without hesitation:
Prepare to be v. pissed off & write Last Letter 3.0. [Sherlock] has inexpressible but determined feelings for [John]. Your devious bastard forever. SH
Rating: 12: angst, implied character death, implied slash
Spoilers: none
Sherlock hesitated for a long time as he stood in Mycroft's office, turning the envelope over and over in his gloved hands. Not that there was much to deduce from it. Standard white C5 envelope, bulk indicated several folded sheets inside, stapled by their feel, no postmark, the only inscription on it a scrawled 'Sherlock' in black biro. He opened it at last, very carefully, so he didn't tear the envelope. The sheets inside were handwritten as well. He began to read:
(1)
Dear Sherlock,
If you are reading this it will be because I'm dead. It's something of a tradition for soldiers to leave last letters behind in the event of them dying suddenly. The next bit, however, is less traditional. Before you read any further, you need to be quite sure I am dead. In particular, don't take Mycroft's word for it. I would say DNA tests carried out by you on my body or whatever remains of it is probably enough of a check. But if there's no body, don't believe I'm dead, however much circumstantial evidence there is.
IF YOU'RE SURE I'M DEAD, TURN TO PAGE 2
***
(2)
Apologies for this being handwritten, but I'm sure you've deciphered worse. I didn't write it on my laptop, because I'm convinced you check that regularly. And it would be quite hard to sit in an internet cafe and write this kind of thing. I'd probably make a mess on the keyboard, and they'd object. But I presume you won't mind if this letter ends up with a bit of sweat or snot or tears on it. Think of it as an extra bit of reference DNA.
Onto the main apology - this letter's largely going to be apologies and explanations. I'm sorry I never said 'I love you'. This is mostly because I'm repressed, and boringly inarticulate, and have really poor timing, but also because you almost never stop talking, and always interrupt at crucial moments. So I decided I was probably better at saying 'I love you' in code. By making you meals, and patching you up, and following after you, and looking after you, and giggling a lot, and putting up with the things in the fridge, and that kind of stuff.
I don't know if you'll have cracked the code, because that was the other problem, of course. That if I did say 'I love you', that only 66.67% of the words would make sense to you. The best I can suggest is that if you look up some of the definitions in the dictionary and substitute in the relevant proper nouns, you might get the general drift:
1) [John] has a great attachment to and affection for [Sherlock]
2) [John] has passionate desire, longing and feelings for [Sherlock]
3) [John] likes or desires (to do something) very much [with Sherlock]
IGNORE CROSSED-OUT PARAGRAPHS BELOW, TURN TO PAGE 3
***
(3)
The other disadvantage of writing this by hand is that it's a lot trickier when you have to update the letter. In version 1, I had to explain why I sometimes behaved so strangely around you. In version 2 I can just say the sex has mostly been great. There are lots of people who are good at separating out sex and love; I'm still not sure about you on that score. I just know I'm not good at separating them out. I offered you my body, as I offered you food, partly as a way of showing I cared, saying 'I love you' without words. But it did have the advantage over food that you were less inclined to lose interest halfway through, and it was more fun for me than cooking. A lot more fun. You know now how to turn the next bloke on.
I should possibly have said about the next bloke on the previous page. I wasn't sure if he should come under 'love' or 'sex', I suppose ideally both. In fact, you might find it easier to chop up this whole letter into individual sentences and rearrange them until you get a coherent and logical structure. It'd probably make more sense then, and I wouldn't annoy you so much with my woolly thinking.
But for now, it's my letter and you can't interrupt. I think there ought to be someone else after me, because you need someone to look after you, and it would be a bit of a waste after what you've learnt about relationships from me not to build on that. You may be a bit distracted and not know what to look for, so here are the important things:
1) Physically fit
2) Knowledge of first aid
3) Good sense of humour
4) Reckless, but not stupidly so
5) Not squeamish
6) Tolerant and practical
I suspect if you ask around at Bart's, you'll find someone. Or get Mycroft on the case. There will be someone else out there, and it won't be the same as with me, but that doesn't mean it can't be good. And a practical, tolerant bloke won't mind that you had someone in your past, someone maybe quite significant, because he'll be thinking more about the future.
TURN TO PAGE 4
***
(4)
If you're reading this bit, it means I still haven't got onto version 3, which is not entirely good. Because version 3 is the letter I'm going to write if we're married or partnered or whatever word it is for permanently together. Formally together, as opposed to now, when they'd have to remove me from your side by surgery, but there's officially no commitment on either side. That's one of the reasons I've never talked to you about it: the reciprocal bit. If I'm in love with you, you haven't, technically, got to be in love with me. Whereas if I'm married to you, you're really supposed to be married to me back. I don't know what you think about that, though I presume you've probably actually never thought about it.
I realise that I'm getting my tenses confused here, and forgetting that when you read this, it's going to be too late to make a difference either way. So what I need to say is that I would have been happy to marry you if that had been what you wanted, but I presumed you didn't, and that was, is, fine. Because I knew that your feelings at time t weren't going to be changed at t+1 just because there'd been a wedding intervening. And that 'till death do us part' was never going to be that much of a long term commitment from me anyhow. But it might be worth checking with the next bloke after a year or two if he'd like marriage, because you might end up with someone else sentimental.
It doesn't make that much practical difference not having a civil partnership, because I don't have that much to leave anyhow, and Mycroft's lawyers have sorted out all the paperwork. You get everything of mine: keep it, give it to our friends, dismantle it, as you see fit. But I'd like you to keep Harry's old phone, even though it's third hand and rapidly becoming obsolete. Because it was the first thing you ever borrowed from me, and I'm weird and sentimental like that.
Officially, the will leaves my body to medical science. Actually, it's to medical science and you. Depending on how I've died, the hospital may not want it, but I'm sure you can get some useful data. Just nothing so dubious that it upsets Molly. And if you do keep any bits of me, be careful how you label them. Because even a non-squeamish bloke might object if you kept a dead boyfriend's heart in a jar, or his spleen, or his fingernails.
You'll have guessed the password on my blog: delete it or keep it as you choose. No major loss to the internet if it goes.
I don't want anything fancy for my funeral, so don't let Mycroft organise it. Lestrade will probably know a reasonable undertaker. Mrs Hudson should be asked to do the catering, if only so she has the chance to refuse. Don't give the eulogy yourself: you're a lousy public speaker at the best of times. Mike Stamford's your best bet: dull, but sound, which is probably what you want on these occasions. I leave the choice of music up to you.
There's probably more I should say, but writing by hand like this has got my tremor starting up again, so I'm worried it will be completely illegible. And if I go on much longer, you'll get bored or distracted anyhow. So I'll end by saying what I should have said much earlier: I have loved you from the start, I love you now, and in the unlikely event of there being an afterlife, I will always love you.
Yours faithfully,
John
PS: If you're somehow managed to get hold of this before I'm dead, you are a devious bastard, and I will be very pissed-off with you.
***
Sherlock put down the letter and picked up his phone, punching in the message without hesitation:
Prepare to be v. pissed off & write Last Letter 3.0. [Sherlock] has inexpressible but determined feelings for [John]. Your devious bastard forever. SH