I'm not sure i'm going to continue this AU i had in mind, but for now, here's the start of the correspondence between Captain Basil Baker and John Watson.

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- Dear Basil (ugh)

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Basil? Honestly? Where the hell did you pull that from? I thought about asking Mycroft but I don't want anything from him anymore, ever.

(I hate that bloody bastard what kind of fucked up salvation scheme was that, huh? shipping you off to God knows where to probably get killed—)

(are you even alive? are you even actually reading this? Mycroft says you are but, well, see the above)

So, you and Ir- Aida.

You two certainly are made for each other, did you spend the two years (two fucking years you bloody idiot) you were dead (you were dead and you didn't tell me and I don't even know if this time's for real) coming up with ridiculous names like those?

I bet you did. Dismantling Moriarty's network, my arse.

So it's only fitting the baby will be Hamish, that's the absolute worse name. No, don't thank me, you would've come up with something ridiculous on your own, I know, I have faith in both your abilities.

Jesus Christ, Sher- Basil.

Oh, and in case you didn't know (of course you know, you knew from the start) we did name her after you. Poor girl's gonna be so fucking bullied when she goes to school, and it's all on you. I hope you're happy.

(were you bullied in school? God, how come i don't know these things about you (Basil?) after all we've been through? I know talking and emotions and shit aren't your area, neither are they mine, but dammit, Sherlock, you could at least tell me about your childhood, I know about the pirates only through Mycroft and ugh)

So, shall we meet again in 20 years for the arranged marriage of our children? Mary's already jumping for joy. She may or may not be doodling their names.

Hamish and Sherlock.

Sherlock and Hamish.

Imagine the fucking tabloids going crazy about that. Holmes and Watson, finally tying the knot. God, I need a drink.

I realize I've used your real name a lot already, and yes, Mycroft told me not to but damn me if I give two fucks, if I'm never going to see you again I bloody well get to call you by your name.

(God, do I miss saying your name out loud, you arsehole)

So there, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, SHERLOCK HOLMES.

I hope you get killed by a terrorist organization.

-Sincerely, John Watson

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(he really doesn't, just give him time)

-Mary Watson

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- John,

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Basil was the name of our pet mouse. I can imagine your expression, yes, we had a dog, a mouse, two rabbits and a goldfish as children. No, I did not experiment on them, they were regular pets. Give yourself a moment to digest that.

Aida is just Irene's favorite opera. We had better things to do while dismantling the network than coming up with stupid names, if you know what I mean.

Yes, I did just make a sex joke. She's rubbing off on me, I guess.

(I'm still sorry about those two years, I wanted so much to call, to tell you I was alive but it was too dangerous, we've gone over this, you have to understand)

How can the daughter of an ex-army doctor and an ex-assassin ever get bullied? Please, John, she will be the master bully, do try not to let her get expelled.

(yes, I was bullied as a child. Honestly, what did you expect? Do you even know me?)

We're not sure it's a boy, yet. Would you and Mary pressure your daughter into a homosexual union with mine? It never did stop the papers, why should it be an obstacle now?

But whatever the sex, it's still Hamish and Sherlock, Sherlock and Hamish, so tell Mary she can doodle away.

I hope they do get to meet some day, I'm sure they'd be — what's the expression? thick as thieves? (I certainly hope not, myself and Irene have genius IQs as well as Mary (and you're not an idiot yourself), so our children will not be thick, but that's not the point is it?)

I hope we get to meet again some day. I truly do, John. But it doesn't seem to be an option for now, or the foreseeable future.

(I missed saying your name the last time I was dead, and I still do, John Watson, John Watson, John Watson.)

Yes, John, and I hope you get strapped onto a bomb by a pool side.

-SH

P.S. Mycroft is a git and you know it, don't give him the pleasure of bursting that vein on your forehead over him.