Chapter 1: January
Being a father will suit you. You always thought (incorrectly) that you would be a poor father.
You are happy.
I wanted this for you.
I am a fool. (Scratched out, violently.)
I am able to walk around with my cane now.
It hurts to stand for long periods of time.
The scar is ugly and dark. Knotted skin on my thigh.
I think of you. How you overcame your shoulder injury. I must do the same with this.
I will never be able to track down your killer if I am incapacitated. Mycroft is running out of places to search. I can feel his frustration. I can do what he cannot. I must find him.
I wonder if you would have tried to do anything for my birthday had I told you. Probably.
Perhaps it is a good thing I never did tell you.
Mycroft is angry. I have stopped taking my pain medication and have removed my stitches myself.
I do not care.
I have started walking faster to see how much my leg can cope.
I am waiting to see if I will develop a psychosomatic pain in my shoulder. It would only be appropriate, wouldn’t it? For us to be complete opposites and yet the same?
It is a foolish thought.
Today Mycroft attempted to bring in a doctor to tell me how to stretch my leg and learn to use it again. I laughed at him and had him leaving within an hour.
It has been two months since I was shot. My leg is healing well.
How is your leg?
Two years since my jump. Two very long years.
You have moved on with your life since I jumped.
You still visited today.
Mycroft let me watch on the CCTV cameras.
Mary stood at the back of the graveyard and waited for you.
You didn’t say anything. Only touched the headstone and left.
I’m sorry John.
I am near the end of this journal.
Molly sent another to Mycroft months ago. It is waiting on the desk next to my bed as I write.
I will start writing in it soon.
To think. Two years ago I thought this was a foolish idea. I still do. Yet I see the reasons for it. Perhaps someday I will give these to you. So you understand.
Would you understand?
I miss you.
What a foolish thought. Yet I have it so often.
Every time I change my bandage, I think of you doing it instead.
I hear your voice chastising me for walking too much on it and not taking proper care of it.
I shall endeavour to take better care of myself.
I have resumed my investigation.
I will go by first names in alphabetical order.
And finally Sebastian.
Whichever of them is the head of the network and your sniper, I will discover. And soon.
I promise John.
This is the last entry I will write in this journal before I start the new one.
I have a lead on Geoffrey. I must go to Leeds.
London isn’t safe, but even Mycroft had trouble recognizing me with my natural hair color and brown contacts.
Would you recognize me?
I would like to say yes, but I am unsure.
A new journal. Perhaps a fresh start.
I am still limping when I walk. I must learn to stop before I leave.
A limp is noticeable.
People would remember me and start to look too closely.
However, it may be useful as a way to be under-estimated by my enemies.
No one expects a man with a limp to be dangerous.
Or to carry an illegal handgun tucked into his jeans.
Chapter 2: February
Sherlock narrows down his list further.
Still limping. Only slightly.
Running is difficult.
Mycroft sent men to investigate my lead. Leads in Leeds. I can hear you snickering now.
Of course they found nothing.
They do not know where to look.
I must be able to walk soon!
Stupid commercial holiday. It is everywhere.
What are you going to do for Mary?
Get her flowers, chocolates and roses?
I am able to jog for extended periods of time. Not run or sprint, but I can make do.
It is time for me to leave.
Have arrived in Leeds.
Geoffrey Stanton is harder to track down than I anticipated.
Of course, I expected this in some measure. If you are dead according to everyone, then you should not be easy to find. Even if he has changed his identity and goes by a different name and has changed his appearance, I would be able to spot the military bearing.
I continue to hide in Leeds. No one has noticed me. I am able to blend in easier than I expected.
Foolish commercial holiday. Why is the need felt to buy all sorts of gifts and things to show you care for another person? What is so special about this day compared to the rest of the year?
I hope a serial arsonist sets fire to all of the card and flower shops in London.
That would make this day worth all the trouble.
Have begun to tail Geoffrey. He hid himself well. He shows no signs of wishing to remove to London to keep a closer eye on you.
I have alerted Mycroft to his position and crossed him off of my list.
He will take care of Geoffrey and ensure he never poses a threat to someone again.
It is down to three now.
Only three men left.
I have returned to Mycroft’s (and mine!) country estate.
Our mother doesn’t live far from here.
She does not know I’m alive either.
I need to investigate James Longue and Richard Holbrook.
I believe they both live in America. While I have no desire to return there (I am on their Most Wanted list after all), in order to keep you safe, I need to confirm their positions.
That leaves only one man who could possibly be here watching you, and running the network.
I must confirm this information.
Have spent the last four days on the computer tracking down the information that I need.
Leg is almost completely healed. I can run for short periods of time now.
It's the beginning of the end as the list starts to be narrowed down, in reality this time.
Chapter 3: March
Sherlock is on the cusp of something. Whether it is oblivion thanks to heroin, or finishing off the last of John's snipers, or realizing how he feels....something is there, waiting for him.
It looks like both of my targets are indeed in the United States.
I cannot confirm this without approaching both of them.
They are adept at changing their physical appearances.
They will be a challenge.
Yet I cannot bring myself to leave.
I have not thought of the heroin in weeks. Work distracted me, as Mycroft promised it would.
Today I was reminded of it.
Molly again - quite by accident.
Your wedding is on April 18th. Before the baby is born.
I recognize all of the signs this time. My hands are not steady. I cannot concentrate.
I have locked myself in my room. The needle is between my fingers, being twirled slowly from finger to finger.
It glitters in the bright sunshine.
I can see it. The heroin there. Promising oblivion.
Holding this pen in my other hand is the only thing keeping me back.
Perhaps if I keep writing I will not use it.
Mycroft is banging on the door outside. He knows.
I have been in here several hours at least.
Every time the needle brushes my fingers I shiver.
I think of you. How disappointed you would be if I succuumbed.
What would you think if you knew you were the trigger?
It’s always you John.
Mycroft barged in just after that last word and took the needle from me. His face was paler than usual.
He saw the journal entry. Grew angry.
The journal saved me.
The journal is to you, so I must infer that somehow, you have saved me once again.
Thank you John.
Mycroft wishes me to see a therapist. Or to talk to him.
I do not know which is worse!
Higher probability that Mycroft would understand.
I have no desire to say any of these thoughts out loud.
I write them here so that you may read them one day.
You will understand better than I do. I never understand emotion.
Mary lost the baby.
You are devastated.
I haven’t seen you, but I know. I know you will be cursing yourself for not having done something. For not having noticed as a doctor. (You are not an obstetrician John.)
You will tell her everything a doctor would. (There was something not right. Your body recognized it. You can have more children. You will be all right. You will heal.)
You will, of course, tell her everything a lover would. (I love you. We can try again. I love you.)
Perhaps this is a sign of a marriage doomed to fail? (Crossed out, though not violently, only one thick line.)
I am sorry for you John.
I have seen you on CCTV footage.
Your limp has worsened.
You did not smile.
I hate it.
I have started preparations for returning to America.
I need to make sure they are not here in England watching you.
Mycroft returned from London today.
He had my violin.
I remember the last time I played.
It was a week before my fall. You had had a night terror. I was down on the couch. I heard you shout when you woke up.
I played Mendelssohn for you. It was always your favorite. You were sleeping deeply when I went to look in on you an hour later.
Do you remember?
I am staying until your wedding.
I will see you one last time before I go.
I want to see Mary. Make sure she is right for you. You always had horrendous taste in women when we lived together.
Mycroft thinks it is a bad idea.
I am determined.
He is making the necessary arrangements.
Happy Birthday John.
Your miracle is not far off now.
Do you still want it?
I remember crying when I wrote this chapter. So much of this was written in a state of mind I can't even describe, but I loved it. Each word seemed to describe exactly what I wanted to.
The only thing I'm not proud of in this month is the scene with the needle where Mycroft is outside his room. I wanted better description, but since it is Sherlock writing it, I was limited. I could see that whole scene inside my head, and it begged for better description. Perhaps I will write this story from Mycroft's view, only to make sure that scene is done.
The next month is a promised doozy. It will not disappoint.
Comments/criticisms are welcome and even appreciated!
Chapter 4: April
Sherlock makes his way to go see John get married.
We're almost halfway through year three, and this chapter really starts the beginning of the end for end for the Journals series.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Mycroft has asked about the needle in my pocket and why I carry it with me.
I suspect he knows the reason already.
I did not dignify him with a response.
I need the comfort.
I miss you John.
I miss waking up to the sound of you making tea at Baker Street.
I am sure you do it often for Mary.
I miss listening to your slow typing as you work on blog entries.
Kent. You are getting married in Kent.
Where Mary’s family lives.
Mycroft and I travel there tomorrow.
You arrived yesterday. I saw you across the street.
The urge to wave, call out to you walked by almost impossible to ignore. You were meeting Mary’s brother for a quick round at the pub. I hid behind my newspaper.
I am off to see you married John.
I am amazed that despite Mary’s miscarriage, you two have still decided to get married. Get married so soon, rather.
You are stronger than I give you credit for John.
It will now be her job to take care of you.
(After this entry there are a violent set of scribbles, though none of them form words.)
The next chapter will explain what happened....I promise.
Chapter 5: May
Not putting a summary for this one. It speaks for itself. It really does.
Cannot write yet.
May 27th (8:00am)
I now have time to write. There is so much I need to describe. I am weak, confined to a bed until the heroin finishes flushing from my system.
The worst is over.
I must explain what happened at the wedding.
I am not sure where to start, but I will try.
We went to the church early, Mycroft and I. I was situated in the balcony. I could see everything without being observed. I would have a clear view of your face and be able to hear you speak. Everything was in place.
The case with the needle in it was comforting against my thigh. Perhaps I knew then that it was the day I would fall.
It was more violent and painful than I had thought it would be.
I don’t know why I’m writing this. She insists it will be good for me. Because I refuse to talk to her. Or anyone else.
Why should I?
May 27th (3:00pm)
I understand, or am starting to understand why you are the trigger.
I will continue.
I saw you come into the church, take your place at the altar. Lestrade was standing next to you. You were both laughing. He congratulated you. I saw him mention my name. You looked sad for a moment, but you smiled. What did he say to you?
There were last minute preparations. Everyone was in place. You were looking expectantly at the door.
The music started. Traditional bridal entrance music. The congregation stood.
I moved closer. I wanted to see your face. I needed to.
I saw it in your face the second you saw Mary.
I knew the look. One of admiration, awe and marvel.
I remember my hand clenching around the case and pulling it out of my pocket.
I knew that look. It was the same one you had used to give me. Even that belonged to her now.
The syringe was in my hand.
I turned and left the balcony as Mary reached the altar. The look was still on your face.
The tourniquet was in place around my arm before I reached the stairs to the outside.
May 27th (7:00pm)
I haven’t said a word today.
She is worried.
But I must finish this.
It hurts to remember.
May 27th (9:00pm)
Mycroft was waiting outside the church for me with the car.
He realized what I was about to do a few seconds too late.
Oblivion never felt so good John. It took away everything.
The rush took me over. Silenced my mind, banished all thoughts of you, Mary and Mycroft.
It was all gone. All of it. Blessedly gone.
I had to pick the timing of exactly when this would happen carefully. It was obvious that at some point, this type of fall would happen, but I didn't have any specifics on it.
Well, now you know. This chapter is also purposefully vague, but will spawn a lot of introspection in the next two chapters. I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 6: June
Sherlock finally understands. And is devastated.
Since writing the above, I am once again clean. No more drugs exist in my system.
I disappeared for three weeks before ending up here.
Mycroft has no idea as to where I am (unless she has told him) and neither does Molly. I am alone.
I do not know what drew me to Irene Adler’s front door, but it is here I am hiding. Hiding from the world.
Irene finally demanded to know what was going on. I handed her the first of the journals today. She took it without another word and sat down in my chair by the window.
I watched her read all of it.
I even gave her the second journal to read. When she finished, she hugged me for a long time and did not let go.
This time I understood why. I hugged her back.
Perhaps it is all as simple as the one thought I had to get out of my mind when I saw you look at Mary with ‘my’ look.
I was the only one I ever wanted to see you give that look to.
I didn’t realize it until I saw you give it to someone else.
I didn’t realize how special it was.
How much I had missed it, and how much I wanted it directed at me again.
I know that I will never see it again, and that for the rest of your life, Mary will be the only one who will see that look.
That realization hurts John.
It hurts much more than I thought.
Here I must tell you the truth.
Irene was right.
They were all right.
We were a couple.
I lost you before I even knew I wanted you.
How could I have been so foolish?
You even waited for me.
You waited a full year for your miracle.
The miracle just for you. For me not to be dead.
I failed again John. I failed you.
I am too late.
Irene asked me today when I fell in love with you. Despite everything I am starting to realize about what could have been between us, this question never crossed my mind.
I -am- in love with you John.
This the first time I have admitted the thought aloud.
When did it start?
I told her I did not know the answer. She did not believe me. The truth is that I do not know when it started.
Did it start when you first told me my deductions were amazing?
Or during our first case?
Or when Moriarty had a bomb strapped to your chest and paraded you in front of me?
Or perhaps when we were both hauled to Buckingham Palace and giggled like school children on the chaise in the waiting room?
I don’t know.
I remember laughing and smiling with you and it hurts.
I remember everything about you John. I have spent these last two months committing every memory I have of you into my mind palace. Into a room that belongs only to you.
I will never forget John.
I cannot forget.
You are the most important thing that has ever happened to me. Or will ever happen to me.
I miss you John. I love you. (The last three words are scribbled out so hard and violently it is almost impossible to see what they say any longer.)
Even though May was painful, I have to say that writing this, making Sherlock write out his feelings was simultaneously the hardest and the best thing to write. Self-realization was hard to write, but I loved every single second of this.
I would love to know what you all think of this chapter and the realizations that Sherlock has come to.
Chapter 7: July
Sherlock delving a little deeper into his feelings for John and how they came about.
Contacted Mycroft today. Despite his attempts to conceal it, it was clear he had been worried.
Three months is a long time to disappear.
I feel like I need longer. I hung up on him before he asked when I would be coming home.
Home to England. And you.
Sebastian Moran is your sniper. Irene Adler confirmed it.
He was second in command.
I read through both of my journals.
How I feel is so obvious in them. In every word.
Even Mycroft was able to see it.
I did all of this for you. The journals, the travelling, taking down the network. All of it for you.
If I had brought you with me, would we still be together? (Crossed out)
Irrelevant thought. We never were together. You spent more time convincing people of that than any other fact. To assume otherwise is foolish.
(The rest of the page is wrinkled in places, obvious tear stains are there.)
I must be free of this emotion before I go back. It is too powerful and too controlling.
Irene says I will never be free of it. I refuse to believe that. You have moved on. I will as well.
In order to do so, I will write down all of the things I miss about you, or other things I deem important. Once they are committed to paper, I will delete them from my hard drive.
Once and for all.
It has taken me two days to come up with a list that pleased me and made sense. (I found the strangest thoughts escaping when I created this list.)
Here they are John.
1. I miss your mother hen nature. (This includes making tea, buying milk, fussing when I am injured -yes you do fuss-, tidying the flat, yelling about body parts in the fridge, etc.) Included in this is a general concern for my well-being.
You are the only person who cared about that. Mycroft pretends to. You actually cared.
2. I miss your company. Running through London by your side. Watching bad telly with you. Solving cases with you. Having someone there when I mock Anderson and Donovan. Hearing you putter around the flat, just to let me know you are there.
I never noticed how much I enjoyed having someone ‘there’. And not just for talking, since Malachi often serves for that purpose when you are not present.
Hearing your breathing when you fall asleep on the couch watching Doctor Who. Or the way you sigh my name in frustration when you realize I have not bought the milk...or done whatever it is you asked of me.
3. You never judged me. Whether it was finding out I was a drug addict, that I played violin at three in the morning or that I didn’t sleep for days on end, you judged me for none of it.
At first I thought you didn’t care. You would just ignore them for as long as you could, then move out when you got bored.
You never did. You accepted each of them, whether you disliked them or not.
I have never asked you why. I believe it is because you do not want people to judge you in return. I did when we first met. I have tried not to since.
4. I miss your expressions. You are so very expressive, no matter what you are feeling. Whether it is anger, frustration, happiness, laughter, sadness, it all shows so perfectly on your face.
Especially that ‘look’. The one that no longer belongs to just me. But I will always think of it as mine. The small quirk of your eyebrows in disbelief as I start to explain, the way your lips part in surprise, just the tiniest bit, and the way your eyes just stare at me, wanting to know how I saw all of that, how I know all of it.
I miss them.
5. I need you.
I need you John. I do not know how to explain the sentiment properly. Only that those three words are the most truthful I have ever written.
I need you.
I need you in my life, laughing at me, calling me an idiot (no one else would - yet you did within days of meeting me), joking with me, smiling at me, making me eat, making me sleep.
I wish...(Scratched out, violently.)
I hope that Mary appreciates you the way that you deserve.
I want you to be happy John.
That is all of it. Done, now to be deleted and never thought of again.
I have work to finish.
I will be leaving for England tomorrow.
Mycroft has the location of the two remaining men besides Sebastian Moran.
They will be eliminated.
You will be free soon.
God, this chapter makes me cry. This whole summer makes me cry really.
SIDE NOTE: I'm so sorry for the delay in posting. Life kinda whacked me nice and hard like nobodies business. I had a demotion at work, and I've been readjusting to a brand new position, on top of that, I have had a severe case of bronchitis for the past week and half. I am so, so, so very sorry, and if you are still reading this fic, thank you so much for staying with me!
Chapter 8: August
Sherlock starts thinking of what he might do to Sebastian Moran when he catches him....
I am back in London.
I have missed it.
I am on the hunt for Sebastian Moran.
Mycroft has men in place on Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson’s snipers. When I inform him that Sebastian is dead or no longer a threat, they will be taken out without fuss.
Little to report. Sebastian has hidden himself well. There are only a handful of places where he is able to watch you everywhere you go. Those are the places I must find.
He is tricky. He is the current head of the Moriarty network for a reason. James trained his replacement well.
Have taken to trailing you to keep you safe. Perhaps I will see him slip up.
It has almost been three years, yet still he is supremely cautious.
I must be careful.
Caught sight of the man I believe to be Sebastian Moran today.
He is very nondescript. Much like you. Easily underestimated.
I will not underestimate him.
It is him.
He is careful not to make mistakes.
He follows you everywhere. Even to the graveyard when you make your weekly visit.
Why do you still make visits? You’ve been married over four months. Surely you have better things to be doing with your time. You don’t always bring Mary either.
Anticipation is a dangerous thing.
I can feel it across my skin every time I catch sight of Sebastian Moran.
He is the man keeping us from...(crossed out, two harsh horizontal lines marring the words)
He is the only remnant of the Moriarty network remaining that wishes to harm you.
I have ensured that the rest of the network is in such a shambles that there is no way for the entire thing to be reliably brought back together again.
Some of the smarter businesses will survive on their own.
Why does he still carry on Moriarty’s work, even after this death?
Perhaps if I can answer this question, I will be able to take him down and kill him.
All this time and I have never thought about what I would do to your sniper if I found him.
He is not far now.
What will I do to him when I catch him?
He is the reason I have not spoken to you in two years, seven months, sixteen days, two hours and approximately thirty-seven minutes.
What will I do?
Will my hand be steady?
Thank you so much to everyone who gave me their love and support via comments/kudos last chapter. You guys are the best and you are the reason I keep plugging away at posting this.
Thank you, thank you, thank you. You're all wonderful and amazing.
Chapter 9: September
The beginning of the end.
Not too much for me to add to this, only that it is the beginning of the end. September is really, really short. I apologize for that. I blame that fact that I didn't realize I didn't have a month of September by accident. My fault. So you get two chapters for the price of one.
I hate him. Hate him for what he has done to you, what he forced me to do. I must be careful.
I will do everything I have to. For you.
I have no time to write. I am sleeping in a different apartment each night. I fear Moran noticing, or having information come to him that I am still alive. I will do nothing to risk you. I must save you. I will save you.
I am ready. I am ready. It is almost time John. Will you forgive me?
Chapter 10: October
And it is all set into motion. The ending.
My plans are falling into place.
It will not be long now.
Mycroft is ready.
I am ready.
You’ll be free soon.
Will you know? Know that there is no longer any reason to look behind you when you go out on walks?
We have played a long chess game, Moriarty and I.
The pieces are in place.
There are only a few moves left.
I must keep my Queen safe.
The days are too long.
I am anxious for something to happen. Anything to relieve the tension that is building.
I can tell he feels it. Moran knows something is coming. He follows you closer than ever, sometimes within your sight.
Why do you see but never observe?!
I must be patient.
I must wait.
It is not time yet.
I will know when it is.
I have worked too hard and too long for this to fall victim to my impatience.
He has made his move!
It is time!
Game over Moriarty. I have won.
Your queen is captured.
Your forces have been decimated.
My heart remains intact and safe. Your queen failed you.
I have gone back to the country.
I had always known that there was a time limit on how long Moriarty would have ordered his men to wait before simply killing you.
It was another game, on top of a hundred others. I was in a race against the clock set by Moriarty.
He gave me three years. The lease on the apartments that the three assassins had lived in. They all expired next January. Their jobs would be finished then. With no intention of coming back. That could only have meant one thing.
I did not think I would come this close to the deadline.
But it is over now.
Sebastian Moran was too smart to not realize that I was the one destroying his network from the inside out. He simply had no proof, and most of the destruction occurred as a result of inherent problems in each of the networks.
Genevieve and Persephone ruled the network with him. When they both fell, he could not keep all of it together. I suspect that even now, pieces of the network will continue to flourish (See notes on Ireland) and become their own entities. Others will never be rebuilt. (See notes on Russia and Italy)
Persephone will never be in a position to control the network again. She is the remaining loose end. Mycroft will handle her.
*exhales* Holy cow, this has been a crazy battle to get this completed and posted and here we are, almost finished.
Chapter 11: November
As year three draws to a close, so does the game...
This is the second-to-last chapter of this series. Of the official series anyways, since my brain had to go and add an epilogue against my wishes. Thank you so much to the people who cared enough to read this and comment and tell me what they thought of it. I love you more than you could ever know.
Thank you. And thank you to everyone who has commented and kept me going. <3
I did not expect Moran to try and attack you.
When I saw him come out of hiding and start following you much more closely all day, I knew something was wrong.
I informed Mycroft to take down the other two snipers. Moran was making his move two months early. I would not let him get to you. This time I would not lose. There was too much at stake.
He attacked you while you were on the way home from work.
I was too far away to help.
I watched as he took you into the apartment he had rented.
I broke in.
You were tied to a chair.
I listened outside the door as he questioned you. Asking where I was, why I had not come to your rescue yet.
I listened as the dull thuds of his fist hitting you and your grunts echoed in the room.
I remember the feeling that took me over in that moment. Rage. Pure, simple rage. Sebastian Moran would die for causing you pain.
“You do know that Sherlock is dead, right?”
The sound of your voice, defiant, made my breath catch.
A harder punch from Moran knocked you unconscious and left you slumped in the chair. I could wait no longer.
I do not remember what happened exactly. All I know is that in a moment I was standing next to you, looking at the blood on your face, trailing down your chin and knew that I would kill Sebastian Moran for hurting you.
I was more certain of that than I had been of anything else in my entire life.
He knew it when he looked at me. He told me to go ahead. To kill him.
Mycroft stopped me.
At the last possible moment.
He put his hand on my shoulder and said: “John would not have wanted you to kill him.”
Is he right?
Would you not have wanted me to pull that trigger?
Kill the man who forced me to make you believe I had died?
Who had kept me from getting in contact with you, or informing you that I was alive and well?
I don’t know.
I dropped the gun at Mycroft’s feet.
I didn’t look at you again. I couldn’t.
I left the apartment and London that same day. I couldn’t stay.
It has been a month.
You still do not know I am alive.
I do not want to tell you.
You’ve moved on.
From me, from Baker Street.
They are no longer a part of your life.
The life you have with Mary.
You are happy.
I do not know why I am still writing in this.
The journey is over.
Moriarty is dead.
Sebastian Moran is...handled.
You are safe.
Three years worth of work in two notebooks.
I should destroy them.
Chapter 12: December
This is the last chapter of the official Journals Series. It's all over now, and Sherlock wonders if there is anything left.
I have to say thank you to a couple of people with this.
First and foremost to Jess, Teegee, Sarah and Dani. You guys know who you are. You know that I sat down and wrote this entire series in the space of a month when the idea could not stop clawing its way out of my skull.
Second, to everyone who commented, but I have to call out Orchid, who might be one of the best commenters on this entire website. I can't tell you what it means to me to have someone respond on the level you do. I'm having an actual conversation with someone about something that I wrote and that just BLOWS. MY. MIND. Thank you for your comments and continuing to read this, despite my posting delays.
You guys are wonderful and amazing. The only thing I have left to say is that I PROMISE THERE IS AN EPILOGUE. I PROMISE.
This is the last time I will write in this notebook.
I am done with them. With you.
I shall explain.
I went to tell you today.
I wanted you to know I was alive. That your faith was rewarded.
I waited outside your apartment with Mary for several hours. While I have taken out the contacts that turn my eyes brown, I still have my natural hair color. I amused myself thinking of your reaction when you saw me.
Would you be angry? Happy? Confused?
I saw Mary come home. She started preparing dinner. You were still at the clinic. It was just as good. It would be better if she were not immediately present when I saw you again.
I picked you out in the crowd. You were limping still, though not as noticeably as the last time I saw you. I tried to hold myself still, to wait for you to come to me, but the sight of you was not enough. I wanted to hear you say my name, watch your eyes widen when you realized who was standing in front of you.
I started to walk towards you. The instant I opened my mouth to say hello, you turned and looked over your shoulder, scanning the crowd. I smiled. You always did like to miss the obvious.
You did not stop walking as you surveyed the crowd. You turned and knocked your shoulder into mine. I waited for the recognition, for you to realize who you had walked into. Your eyes only glanced at me before you mumbled an apology and kept walking.
I was frozen in place as I watched you walk away from me. You hadn’t known it was me.
I watched as you let yourself into the apartment, and greeted Mary with a soft kiss. You wrapped your arms around her. You are happy with her. Despite losing your child earlier in the year you were still happy together. I turned and walked away.
I ignored the four cars Mycroft sent to pick me up. I walked past them all.
I returned to my rented apartment. I locked the door.
I didn’t expect it to hurt this much.
To be shown that I have indeed lost you. In every way that I could.
Perhaps this was what Moriarty intended all along. That I save my heart but still lose it.
I don’t know.
I will go back to the country for now.
I will never see you again.
This is goodbye John.
Sherlock closed the notebook and put the pen down. He picked up the first one and held them both in his hands. He stood and left the room.
“Are you sure? Why wouldn’t you give them to-”
“I’m giving them to you for a reason. Do whatever you want with them.”
“Sherlock...haven’t you told him?” Molly’s eyes widened when Sherlock looked away from her.
“Why haven’t you told him?!”
Sherlock turned his back on her and strode to the door. “Everything I need to say to him is in there. When he is finished, demand them back. Destroy them.”
She bit her lip and looked at him. For a moment, she could see the real Sherlock. He was in pain. Heartbroken even. She recognized it too well. But then he was gone again. “All right Sherlock. I promise.” Molly watched him nod and close the door behind him. She looked at the notebooks on the operating table. She picked up the first one.
Her eyes went to the words on the second page.
You asked for a miracle today. For me not to be dead. You did not let yourself cry.
I stand by what I said. I am not a hero.
A hero would not hurt their best friend. Because they failed.
Molly snapped the notebook closed. These belonged to one person and one person only.