A few more letters! (Patreon)

My schoolwork and life stuff have been... chaotic this week. But I, just an hour ago, finished one large assignment and should be able to use the weekend for some efficient writing if all goes to plan—

Here are 3 new letters.

I'll do the final four (unless more drop-in) this weekend, most likely.

Dear Doctor J. Watson,

Your flatmate is very charming. Are they free for the taking?

Signed, unknown.

Unknown,

They are charming; this much is true. But.

I do want to impart one particular thing, and I want you to read my words carefully and plant them firmly in your memory, for if I ever have to repeat this, I can’t safeguard my doctoral oath:

Sherlock is not, in any sense, 'for the taking'—by you or anyone who would speak in such a manner. Any taking would be unwelcome, unwanted, and unspeakable in their presence should I have any say in it. And should you attempt it still, with such little regard for them, I will find ways to remind you of my third previous profession, before writer and before doctor.

Free or not, they won’t ever be yours.

J. Watson

{authorial note from Doriana: I REALLY LIKED THE LETTER, I JUST FELT LIKE WATSON WOULD BE PROTECTIVE, PLZ DON’T FEEL BAD BY THE TONE!}

Dear Doctor J. Watson,

Why did you dislike it when Sherlock attempted to name the bird after you, their dear friend?

Signed, unknown.

Dearest Unknown,

It’s an understandable question, my most perceptive reader.

I do not, of course, mind the bird; in fact, I think rather well of her. I want to clarify this. But, I suppose… well, my worry was two-fold. I thought it might cause confusion in the household—this is the easy answer. The harder truth is that, I hoped I was seen as something unique in their mind. Something that couldn’t and perhaps shouldn’t be attempted to be replaced or replicated.

Were I ever, god forbid, to lose Sherlock… I could never hear their name in someone else, ever. I would not allow it.

I could not bear it.

And so, I hoped, maybe, this same feeling existed somewhere, deep inside of them, too. I assume such deep thoughts were not given to the moment when they asked, it was a joke, a spontaneous idea, perhaps an homage. But I would like to remain the only Watson in their life. And they, the only Sherlock, in mine.

Yours faithfully,

J. Watson

Dear Mrs Hudson,

What are your thoughts on the Inspector G Lestrade?

Signed, unknown.

Dearest unknown,

Who?

—I asked Watson, and they informed me this is the inspector that the two of them often work with... I shall admit their name and rank entirely escaped me for the moment. We have only met the once… or perhaps it was twice?

I only remember they cast a very tall shadow, do they not?

And… thinking on it, I do remember—they are in the stories sometimes, I believe… And Watson, and even Sherlock on occasion, do mention someone by the name of Lestrade. Do forgive me, dear reader, for my memory is not what it used to be.

I suppose the simple truth is this: I am not in the habit of thinking of them at all.

With the warmest regards,

Mrs Hudson

Ps. If a certain inspector ever reads this, do pardon me, I am simply an old lady of no consequence of an ever-failing mind. If you ever come to the residence, I shall give you tea and biscuits as my absolution (I have some with raisins!), and we shall get to know one another much better!