Неожиданно, блин!!!)
Тряхнем же стариной)))
Как бэ Джим/Шерлок, PG, предРейхенбах, у кого-то утро и кого-то плющит
Эпистолярный бред, да
***
My dear Sherlock!
First and foremost – I hardly ever write letters, considering them to be old-fashioned sentimental bullshit. The only reason for doing it now is knowing too well that you will never have the opportunity to read it and that I will never have the opportunity to regret my own weakness. Wonder why, Sherly?
Because I’m planning something really WICKED . A new murder. Yours, this time. Accompanied by a tiny little additional element – another death. Mine.
I’m well aware that I have the reputation of mocking around most of the time. So let me be perfectly serious now – for once. One last time.
Why does it have to end this way? My, my…
The proper question would be – why did it have to start that way?
Why were two tormented crippled geniuses allowed to be born and roam this hell of a planet?
Because that’s what we are, Sherlock, part and parcel. Two outcast children on the fringes of a dying civilization surrounded by id…people with a zero ability to think and analyse.
Envied by most, despised by some, misunderstood by everyone.
Don’t you find it a tad unfair too, Sherlock?
You don’t, probably. Not any more. Now that you have a LIFE and a FAMILY.
Fate has been much more merciful with you - even though we both carry our scars, let it be insanity in my case and a complete social inadequacy in yours.
We are both lone wolves. With no real homeland, no real family bonds. Well, at least you have a faint shadow of a brother out there. And an absolutely priceless gem of a best friend.
I was not so lucky. Still alone, just so you know.
And, what a surprise - I’ve chosen the other way – not your righteous act of saving the world - just the opposite.
Would you consider it a clichéd and childish image of a villain? Have it your way, it’s up to you to interpret and draw conclusions.
I’m well aware of the choices I’ve made – rejecting society in a SLIGHTLY harsher way than you do.
To tell you the truth – I’m not exactly what you would call a humanist.
BUT - surprise, surprise - neither am I a villain.
Just like you – I couldn’t care less. I’ve simply outgrown the stage of wanting to HELP or LOVE.
Orphans don’t get much of those, do they?
Oh, never mind feeling sorry for the little tortured monster – he had it coming.
He still has the scars – physical as well as mental, be sure about that…
Of course, I took my revenge – on everyone.
And since then remained completely indifferent to the black pit that the world has always seemed to be to me.
Until recently. Until I first heard of one infamous character in this parody of a life-theatre.
You.
How shall I call you? My shadow? My twin? My reflection? My obsession?
The last term would probably be the best – as far as psychiatry goes.
The moment you appeared the world stopped being black and white. And life stopped being meaningless.
Suddenly it filled with emotions: suspicion, surprise, envy, hatred…as well as others that would be a “touching” nuisance to mention. Pleasant emotions. Warm emotions.
Everything at once – almost too much to bear – barely enough to make life worth living.
You see, fighting you was like breathing. Oxygen.
And poisonous gas.
Paradoxically, my feelings for you were both salvation and slow death.
Most painful, I admit. For many years.
And as much as I would want our little game to go on – I most unfortunately have to put an end to it. The only end I can think of.
Let’s call it self-preservation, because “I couldn’t take it anymore” would be far too melodramatic to fit my style.
Killing you and myself. At least – in my imagination.
Because I don’t doubt it for a minute that you will find a way out of it, that you’ll survive and continue astonishing the world with your unparalleled brilliance – which wouldn’t mean anything to me by that time.
It’s not about envy you see, not about hatred.
And as you will never see this letter – I can freely say it now – forgive me for all the pain I’m going to cause. For all the pain I have already caused.
You are not the one to blame, dear old Sherly.
How I wish we could have another conversation, another bitter and brilliant confrontation like we used too.
WE.
As if we were FRIENDS, something I never had and never will.
Pity.
Yet, I’ve said more than enough.
I won’t end it with a pompous heavy phrase like: I hate you Sherlock Holmes. But love you too - my beloved, perfect enemy.
Even though it might just as well be true.
Just do one little thing for me, will you?
Defeat me. Please. Go on living.
So that you can still be your snobbish, haughty, absolutely impossible self.
P.S: Give my love to Watson, he’ll be soooo pleeeased.
See you in another life. When we are both cats.
JM