Work Text:
The Letter
A letter had come in the mail. A letter from Great Britain. The sender had been marked on the back of the envelope in an untidy scrawl that Yujin recognized instantly. He would have allowed his enthusiasm to take over and torn the envelope open, but it’d felt like such a waste.
This wasn’t the first letter Holmes had sent his way. Over the course of the past two years of absence, five separate envelopes had found their way into Yujin’s hand. He’d sent a reply every single time. Even so, the very last letter had arrived a good five months ago and so, Yujin wanted to savor the moment a bit longer. He wanted to feel the paper between his fingers, knowing that Holmes had touched it as well. He imagined Holmes sitting by his desk, shoulders hunched as they often were, the tip of his tongue between his teeth in concentration as he tried to get the address just right. There was a very light mark of ink in a corner, as well; half a fingerprint. The envelope’s material felt thicker and heavier than usual, a more expensive brand perhaps. Was there something inside which needed additional protection?
Not until ten minutes had passed did Yujin reach for the letter opener. A neat incision was made along the top, allowing him access to the contents. He pulled out a piece of paper and something fell out from between the folded ends. For a split second, Yujin mistook it for a butterfly. It fluttered down towards his desk and remained there, eerily beautiful in its fragility. Curious, he folded the letter open and began to read.
‘My dearest Mikotoba,
How time has flown since last I wrote to you. I must have solved at least seven cases since then. Nine. Fifteen. It is difficult to keep track without you here to chronicle these events, I will admit. The Yard is certainly as pleased with my work as ever. How have you been? Is the university still as proud as ever to have you? They ought to be. There is no expert in forensic science more brilliant than you to be found anywhere in this world. Nor one as charming.
I took Iris for a walk in McGilded Park several weeks ago. She can walk now, did I tell you? She’s quite fast. And nimble. Curious, too. I cannot take my eyes off her for even a second. Regardless, the most impressive of flowers were in bloom that day. Iris plucked several of them. She attempted to eat one, so to be certain she did not feel lonely, I had a nibble as well. Buttercups don’t taste half bad. When she gave one of the flowers to me, she said that it was for her papa. She expects me to ensure it lands in your hands, I believe. For that reason, I pressed it between the pages of one of my heaviest encyclopedias and left it near the fireplace for two weeks. The result is so impressive, I was struck by temptation to keep it for myself. I do apologize for that, my friend. Here it is. Please take good care of it.
Not a day goes by when I do not think of you. Your presence is still sorely missed. I look forward to your next letter, as always.’
Yujin reread the letter. And again. Once more. Then, at last, his fingers found the dried flower. A gift from the daughter who had never been his, nor did she know him, and yet… He was on her mind, just as he was on Holmes’s. The dried flower was small and fragile, but full of meaning. It stood for faith, hope, courage, wisdom and admiration. A reminder of the love he had lost, and love born anew.
Iris.