Hey again guys, this one was makeshift, its not very good so bare with it
This song always hurt John in a way he didn't understand, but nevertheless he kept listening to it
'I miss you and nothing hurts like no you.'
" Oh, you idiot," John sobs into his hands
'and no one understands what we went through.
It was short.
It was sweet.
We tried.'
' ...
please...' his voice cracking at the very sentence.
John had wiped his eyes so much they begin to sting with every touch. He just felt so empty and needed to fill it, but how?
Then... it hit him, not a book from the shelves he was leaning on, but a idea.
'I shall...d'you reckon...a letter? He whispered to himself
Yes, that seems like an idea, at least then I can, say everything I needed to say.
He collected very ounce of energy he had left, stood up, made a cup of tea and disappeared back into Sherlock's room.
After many failed attempts and hundred sheets of paper later, John finally had enough and threw the cup of tea, at the mirror, sending tea and glass everywhere.
John slumped on the floor against the wall fighting back the flood of tears that threatened to break free. "I just don't know anymore" he sobbed.
Then came a knock on the door;
"Yoo-hoo, John dear, you okay?" Mrs Hudson asked as sweetly as she could.
As she saw him in the corner, with Sherlock's old scarf clamped in his hands, her motherly instincts kicked it and pulled him up for a hug.
'What's wrong, Hun? Please talk to me, you've been cooped up in here for months now'
John thought about it for a while then sighed
' I wanted to write him a letter, I can't stay like this so I figured if I write down everything I wanted to say I'd feel better about it '
Tears began to fall down his rosy cheeks ' i...just can't figured out what, I need some air ' and with that he got up and left.
Mrs H, sighed and began tiding up the mess, laying around the floor.
Just as she was about to walk out, Mrs Hudson saw a piece paper on the floor, that john had been working on, as she picked it up she couldn't help but see how far John had got to.
Moments later, tears formed in her eyes, she sighed took the letter into the kitchen.
"You need to tell him" she said
" I can't, not yet" a husky voice boomed from the sofa.
" Why ever not? Haven't you seen the poor man, He's torn to pieces Sherlock...his letter proved that" her voice shook.
She placed the letter on the table and said "Tell him Sherlock, before it's too late" before returning to her flat.
Sherlock sighed and reluctantly picked up the letter and began to read:
Everything you said about it all being a trick, that wasn't right. No-one, and I mean No-one will make me think otherwise, even you,
All I wanted was a proper explanation, Sherlock, what was it I said, 'you'd get yourself killed to prove your clever?' But I guess that what idiotic geniuses do isn't? Act so irrational, and don't think of the results of those actions. I guess, in a way you saved us from killing each other, you and your boredom, drug use and megalomaniac ideas and decisions..
God only knows what I'm doing here though
this is me slowly wasting away, I suppose, my insides dying and just waiting to see what happens to the rest.
I know this letter isn't very long, but that's a good thing as I'm writing it as if I'm expecting a response.
Just one more thing,
You are the best man, the most human being that I've ever known and..
I love you,
I always have and always will.
The front door slammed and heavy steps sounded up the stairs, John pushed open the door,
"What the.." he turned to turn on the lights.
"Sherlock?... Sherlock turned around, fingers grasping the letter,
"John, I..." One perfect tear fell down his face and onto the paper.
John wasted no time a pulled the taller man into a death hug.