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My Ayame,
There is no moon tonight.
London’s skies are foggy, choked with the grey, acrid smoke that permeates every one of my breaths. I’ve been here for a few weeks now, and my grief is no less heavy for having left Japan.
It makes me wonder… was this worth leaving Susato for?
When I am not thinking of you (I am always, always, thinking of you), I think of her (I am always, always thinking of her).
I think about anger – the anger I feel at losing you, the anger I know Susato will feel years later, at me, at you. The anger you would feel at me for abandoning her, another heavy burden for my conscience to bear.
I think about distance. The distance between you and us, the one we can never breach. The distance between me and her, one that can be mended, if it comes down to it. At least, I hope so.
Hope. I think about hope, and how it feels as far away as the sound of your laughter on the wind.
I am beginning to forget what you sound like. Only a handful of months, and your voice is slipping away into the eddies of my memory. And when it comes to memory… I came to London for a reason, I know. It is getting increasingly difficult to remember what that reason is. Why is it that they never tell you how grief warps the mind out of rationality, how it sinks its cold fingers into memory and pulls everything away?
At least the days are a distraction. In my studies here, I have come to share a flat with a rather curious young fellow. He’s a bit of a rascal, Herlock Sholmes, but he is unfailingly kind and generous, and he seems to come from money. He has been instrumental in making me feel – well, not welcome, since every eye on the street is near-always turned towards me with hostility – but more at ease.
Herlock is also exceptionally brilliant. One might not think so when faced with his brand of absurd antics and leaps in logic, but he has a true aptitude for detective work. I’ve sometimes consulted with him on a case he is working on with Scotland Yard, though I believe that to him, I serve as a human to throw ideas at rather than someone who provides any real input.
Still, he truly does seem to value my companionship. I am glad for his in turn. Sometimes, late at night, when I cannot sleep, I find him awake as well, his eyes shadowed with his own demons. On those nights, I prepare tea for the both of us, and he fetches his violin. He plays beautifully, as soulfully and passionately as you played the koto. These are nights during which I can find a little more rest.
My remaining months in London stretch out far before me, marking the time until I can reunite with Susato and function as a father should. In the meantime, I suppose I have Herlock to help me weather any storms.
I love you, Ayame. I miss you so much. I will do you proud on my return home.
Yuujin
—
My Ayame,
It is another late night, but in Japan this time. I have returned briefly to visit Susato before I return to London again. Tonight, I have been gripped with a powerful restlessness that has made me unable to sleep. My mind races; my heart pounds; my body is racked with chills. I wish I had the steadiness of your hands on my face. I wish I could hear you laugh, as you always did, cooing silly man, you’re worrying far too much. I wish I could hold you close and match my breathing to yours, the way I used to do whenever I was overwhelmed.
Every time I look at Susato, I am confronted with the reality of my inadequacy as a father. Did you know that she has your shrewdness even at her young age? Her eyes light with the same spark that yours did whenever she has an understanding. She sees right through the heart of me—my failings, my shame, my secrets.
I am still running from your loss, Ayame, and consequently, I am still running from her. And for all her world-weariness, she is still a child—how can I explain the extent to which I am drowning in grief? How can I make her believe that it is not her fault when the words ring so hollow in my absence?
I wonder how I will apologize to her in the future. I wonder how I will live with the possibility that she won’t forgive me—or, worse, the likelihood that she will.
Sometimes, Ayame, I wonder if she wishes that you had been the one to live, instead.
Sometimes, I wish the same.
I I didn’t I
Perhaps I have had a bit too much sake. I believe I should set this letter aside and divert my attention. Nothing good can come from dwelling further on my grief tonight.
Luckily, Herlock has written me about a case. In addition to his friendship, he is also excellent at providing distraction.
I love you always, Ayame.
Yuujin.
—
My Ayame,
It has been many years since I have written you a letter in this manner. The last few times have been during moments of grief – the first, in fact, shortly after we lost you.
Today, however, I had to pen my thoughts to you to capture the joy I have found in my life.
The years have been turbulent. My initial time spent in London did, to my relief, help me as I had hoped it would, despite the struggle to settle in. Together, over the years, Herlock and I chased down many fiends throughout London, solved dozens of cases, visited every corner of the city. It was exhilarating. It made me feel alive again.
Until that final case.
Leaving the girl I named after you to my dear friend, who despite his brilliance was still rather immature, caused me incredible turmoil, Ayame. Herlock took no offence to the hesitation in my decision. I remember the mortal terror in his face when I asked him to look after Iris with stark clarity, even to this day. Despite my explanation that there was no other choice, he continued to question whether it was safe to leave her with him.
I was afraid, yes. But above everything, I trusted him deeply. He had become my closest, dearest friend, and I knew that he would rise to the task.
And he has. Iris is magnificent, Ayame. She has a mind that rivals Herlock’s, and she has taken to our family tremendously well. She and Susato are fierce sisters, and Kazuma is starting to warm up to her, too.
Yes, Ayame – our family.
You see, when I returned to London recently to address the repercussions of the series of events that sparked my final return to Japan all those years ago, I found something had changed. This realisation struck me the moment I met Herlock’s eyes for the first time in years. My knees weakened; my heart thudded; my cheeks flushed with warmth.
In feeling the same flutter of nerves and deep, overwhelming affection that I bear for you, I realised that I loved him.
I love him.
As I learned in the tender nights we shared together after the resolution of that accursed case, he loves me, too. He whispered a confession into the side of my neck—for he is uncharacteristically, charmingly shy when speaking of his deepest feelings—that he realized his feelings for me when I left him that after that final case, when he thought he might never see me again. I can scarcely imagine the pain he must have felt.
Did you nudge fate along to allow our paths to cross again, Ayame? You were always the more brilliant of us, and I can imagine you gleefully knocking away whatever God governs the world to tie our red strings together yourself.
If you did, I cannot thank you enough.
It has been two years since our reunion. Herlock and Iris live with me, Susato, and Kazuma in the house you and I built. It is a strange family, to be sure, and the adjustment to life here has been somewhat challenging for the Londoners. But we are all together, and we are all happy.
Even though your absence is a forever ache, even though I will miss you always, I am happy.
I owe you many apologies, Ayame. Apologies for abandoning my duty as a father to both Susato and Kazuma over the years, for keeping secrets, for letting our family splinter apart. But I am determined to do better for as long as I can, and I will hold onto this love with every ounce of strength in my body.
Just like you always wanted.
Love,
Yuujin