Chapter Text
Sherlock.
Where are you right now? I know you are far away. I’m at the clinic madly wishing I could be by your side right now. But here I am, in this uncomfortable chair waiting for some patient with a cough, with a headache, I don’t know. I should care, I am a doctor, but all I can care about right now is you.
All I can care about right now is your trembling body from last night. That thin frame I left this morning feigning to be asleep, avoiding eye contact, backing away from my touch. Where are you, Sherlock? Where can I find you? I keep looking for clues on every scar I can see along your body. But I am a blind fool in the map of your mind. I can’t find the scars that life and so many morons had left in your spirit. Please help me trace the map to this place you are right now, so I can be with you on days like this.
Come back to me, Sherlock, please. Listen to my voice trying to lead you home, safe and sound, let me cherish you how you deserve, whole and amazing as you are. Come back to me. Let me reach your soul with my bare hands and pull you from the muddy waters you wade in. I need to feel you close again, hold you against my chest and feel your heart beating strong.
It’s always extremely scary when I feel I can’t find where you are. I know how far we have come. I know how strong you are and how much you work every day. To stay with me. But just the thought of you so alone, somewhere in your palace, maybe cold, maybe lost, maybe in sorrow, makes me feel afraid of losing you again. Of losing you forever.
Sherlock, my love, I don’t know why I can’t seem to make you understand how amazing you are. How valuable and precious you are. How lucky I am to lull you into my arms every night and listen to your violin fill every space in our flat. Every morning I ask myself how someone as extraordinary as you can be with someone like me, but it doesn’t really matter because I know we both have been fighting through different wars to find us there, in the shadows of Baker Street. Us. There.
Please don’t hurt alone. Let me in. Talk to me. Show me the path. Let me be with you even in the dark. I hate these days when your mind has been dragged somewhere else, not because of you, just because I feel I can’t help. I can’t touch you, I can’t talk to you, but I can feel your pain, your sadness all over your body, carved into your skin by so many strangers in the past. By yourself and that merciless voice that follows you everywhere and somehow makes you think you’re not enough.
Oh, Sherlock. I know who you are. You can’t hide from me anymore. And I wish I could show you exactly what I see and make any trace of self doubt disappear from your mind. You are glorious. You are bright. You are a beautiful sunrise on a foggy morning. You are that blue melody you play at midnight when it's cold outside and you’re thinking. You are the quietness of the flat on Sundays. And of course the absolute madness and chaos during cases. You are so much. And so much more.
I know you hate these comparisons. “Rubbish, John”. I can almost hear you mad at me for my ridiculous words. Except they aren’t. You are a treasure, Sherlock Holmes. And you are with me. Please stay here, by my side, taking my hand. If you can’t believe in yourself. Can you believe me? Because I believe in you.
Just the miracle of watching you sleep, so vulnerable and open to me, it’s enough to make me believe. In you. Just the miracle of your existence is enough to make me pray that this would never end.
And I am being self indulgent with my words just to let you know I am a ridiculous man, only redeemed by your love. Do you love me, Sherlock Holmes? Do you love me as mad as I love you today? I hope you do. Because I will love you as fiercely as I do this afternoon forever.
See you in a few hours. I’m coming back to Baker Street. Would you do the same?
Love,
John.