TITLE: Apology
FIRST PUBLISHED: Apr 23, 2012
SUMMARY: "Many times I have lifted my pen to write to you"-SH. Another of those times. After the Return, reflecting on the Hiatus. This is the 'original' Holmes, from ACD's stories, but it is sort of inspired by Sherlock. If that makes any sense.
oOo
I never expected it to come to this.
Or perhaps I was afraid That you would die And it wasn't him who did it, it was I I sent the note that took you out of harm and now I watch you as you mourn
The best and wisest man you ever knew— come on, now, what a laugh. I tricked you, left you, all alone. And there's nothing you can say to change the facts.
I hold my pen above the virgin sheets and let the brown ink curl across like blood and in my mind I tell you all I've done but all I can write is your name— John. John. John.
I traveled through the mountains of Tibet or maybe it's a lie (I've done that, sometimes, don't make me a hero. I never said I was.) and let me tell you something: they're not worth it without you.
I sometimes think I might be running but then I wonder what I'm running from and I think it might be you. you are "grit in a sensitive instrument." or maybe I'm an oyster? Then we'd make a pearl.
I search around the globe for Moriarty's men its caution, but I was never cautious in my life. not like this. Maybe I just never met someone so frightening before. And I'm not talking about Moriarty.
Sometimes, in the farthest wastes, I turn around to ask you something before I realize you aren't here. It was never like this before. I never needed anyone before.
And finally Moran makes a move and there is no putting it off and I heard Mary died and I can't keep running when you need me.
And so I travel back and here you are, looking just the same, only older, and I fear I will look so different you won't recognize me because I am not the man who left you. perhaps I've learned something since then.
And when I appear again from death I cannot read the look on your face before you faint. and when you wake, I tell you flippantly of those awful years when I had no reason to live but the hope of this day.
And I really should have expected that you'd be angry and I don't blame you and the ink pools on the page silently scolding me telling me to make words from black tears.
And Watson, you are the best and wisest man I've ever known because you forgave me and I don't think I could ever be That good.