[[ ooc: Sticking this here for posterity and for others to see Sherry's unintentional love letter to his Watson. ]]
To my dear John Watson,
I write in hope that my words somehow reach you though far apart we are. I find myself deeply missing your presence. Others here remind me so much of you, but they are not you. They are in the same play performed by other actors and adapted by another director. The familiar feels wrong for they are not the local production I have known this past year. They are not who I've begun to depend on in more ways than you know. Or maybe you do but your kind heart keeps you from saying so to spare my ego.
By now you're aware that I hold very few in confidence. It has not been by design but the result of my solitary life. My reality is that no one stays by me. Even someone I cherished above all else hurt and left me. Why do I have your trust, dare I say, your attention? All prior cases, all previous evidence in my life has shown me to expect the worst to come.
Yet, my mother taught me that "Even the most chaotic miracle becomes sequential when you take a closer look." The truth lies in the details. I must understand. If I concentrate solely on you, what do I see? Someone with courage and kindness, loyalty and humility. You know when to be serious and when to let humor take hold. Even if you do not understand my thoughts, you are patient towards my mind and moods. Am I someone you are trying to save? Are you doing so because you're a doctor? Is it that pattern I see in our world and beyond? Is there a more personal reason?
And if I think about myself in relation to you… I cry out for you in my wakeful nightmares when sharp edges rend my flesh, when my bones break upon stone, when I'm devoured or strangled by revolting horrors. I hear you call my name as you shine through tenebrous waters to lead me back to the surface above. You are my conductor of light, chasing away the storm clouds which rob my vision.
Those are the sequential details; there must be some reason for your continued companionship. Can I truly stand on the same stage as you in the role given to me without darkening your luminous performance? Are you a miracle in my chaotic existence? What am I to understand with the data I have?
My condition worsens as you've no doubt noticed, and you know little of the devils which plague me. Would you wish to have me still at this case's end? I wish I could have your reply. Because, if you still wanted associate with me, I would forsake my chance of a future to remain by your side, and believe me that I would be,
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cw: Victorian Era mental illness topics and Cthulhu-Lovecraftian madness
Date: 2023-12-15 01:43 am (UTC)I remain, to despite and to spite... but I'm cracking, Mikotoba. I am getting worse, and Watson... he has other men to save.
Voice. | ... sometime after the mission, time is loosey goosey
Date: 2023-12-21 09:12 pm (UTC)John Watson has requested I verify your well-being, with the clarification that trouble 'tends to gravitate toward you'.
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From:text, before the final mission
Date: 2024-01-08 06:41 pm (UTC)text | un: S.H.
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From:Unsent letter written during the Amaryllis Grove Mission
Date: 2024-02-23 11:29 pm (UTC)To my dear John Watson,
I write in hope that my words somehow reach you though far apart we are. I find myself deeply missing your presence. Others here remind me so much of you, but they are not you. They are in the same play performed by other actors and adapted by another director. The familiar feels wrong for they are not the local production I have known this past year. They are not who I've begun to depend on in more ways than you know. Or maybe you do but your kind heart keeps you from saying so to spare my ego.
By now you're aware that I hold very few in confidence. It has not been by design but the result of my solitary life. My reality is that no one stays by me. Even someone I cherished above all else hurt and left me. Why do I have your trust, dare I say, your attention? All prior cases, all previous evidence in my life has shown me to expect the worst to come.
Yet, my mother taught me that "Even the most chaotic miracle becomes sequential when you take a closer look." The truth lies in the details. I must understand. If I concentrate solely on you, what do I see? Someone with courage and kindness, loyalty and humility. You know when to be serious and when to let humor take hold. Even if you do not understand my thoughts, you are patient towards my mind and moods. Am I someone you are trying to save? Are you doing so because you're a doctor? Is it that pattern I see in our world and beyond? Is there a more personal reason?
And if I think about myself in relation to you… I cry out for you in my wakeful nightmares when sharp edges rend my flesh, when my bones break upon stone, when I'm devoured or strangled by revolting horrors. I hear you call my name as you shine through tenebrous waters to lead me back to the surface above. You are my conductor of light, chasing away the storm clouds which rob my vision.
Those are the sequential details; there must be some reason for your continued companionship. Can I truly stand on the same stage as you in the role given to me without darkening your luminous performance? Are you a miracle in my chaotic existence? What am I to understand with the data I have?
My condition worsens as you've no doubt noticed, and you know little of the devils which plague me. Would you wish to have me still at this case's end? I wish I could have your reply. Because, if you still wanted associate with me, I would forsake my chance of a future to remain by your side, and believe me that I would be,
Very sincerely yours,
Sherlock Holmes