John walked into the kitchen and saw that Sherlock's pen knife was sticking out of the table, he sighed and walked over to it and found that there was a letter, his eyes skimmed over it and he rushed upstairs with the paper in his hands only to find Sherlock in the bathtub with his wrists slit open. His eyes were close and his head was tilted back, his skin was paler than ever and slightly blue around his finger tips and the corners of his mouth.
John slowly walked over to his friend, checked for a pulse and found that there wasn't one. He sat on the bathroom floor and looked at the letter. It read:
Dear John,
I'm sorry that I've shocked you, believe me, it's the last thing I would want. At St Bart's, three years ago I didn't leave you a note, and you weren't aware of my motives, that was unfair to you.
John, I love you and would die for you, but you have Mary now and that leaves no place for me. It sounds selfish I know but if I hung around I would only be getting in your way. John don't you dare blame yourself, my idiocy and my idiocy alone, is to blame.
Don't miss me too much, You know I was never one for sentiment (I'm talking about myself in the past tense a bit premature). Anyway I don't want to drag this out, look after Mary's child and I must tell you one last thing...Sherlock is actually a girl's name.
See you on the other side - SH
John laughed to himself, even in death his best friend was still the funniest person he knew.