Sherlock had been released from the hospital two weeks ago, John had visited quite a few times, so had Mrs Hudson. He'd partially enjoyed their visits but the person he was waiting on hadn't visited at all. Sherlock walked through the doors of 221B, half expecting Luciana Gilligan to be seated on the couch as usual. But he was instead met by dead silence, he walked into further into the flat. His icy blue eyes wandered around the room, looking for the blonde haired girl. It was never silent when Luce was around, she'd be singing or tapping but never silent. John was out on another date and Mrs Hudson was some place or another. A piece of paper caught his eye from where is sat on his desk atop the books. His name was scrawled in blue in most likely from a fountain pen in familiar, curly handwriting. He tore open the envelope and quickly read through it,

Sherlock,

Seeing you in that hospital bed, covered from head to toe in bruises and know it was my fault, I couldn't stay in the room for more that five minutes without breaking down. I couldn't even step into the room for the first week and just stood, looking in. I'm sorry for what happened, I'm sorry that you got hurt, I'm sorry that I never visited when you were awake, I'm sorry I'm doing this in writing and not actually talking to you face to face. But if I did, I know that I'd never get through it and I'd never be able to do what I've done. I watched you sleep for so long, knowing that no matter what I'd do I could never make you better and I could never removed the pain. I tired my hardest not to pull you into it, but you always happened to find your way back into the middle. When you were asleep I'd stand about a metre away from you bed, afraid to hold you hand, afraid that you'd wake and see me as the monster who's running away. You meant more to me than you could possibly imagine and I'll never be able to forget anything about you, from that damned crooked smile to the way you could analyse anybody in a matter of seconds. I loved the way your eyes would glaze over when you were thinking hard enough, the way that you eyes were the exact shade of iceberg blue and how the first thought when I saw you was that you looked as if you should have been cast forever in marble. You were everything to me, and that is the reason that I have to leave.

Sleep well, Mon Ange and know that I love you.

Luce Gilligan, the white Falcon.

The paper fell from his hands and he collapsed into the chair, she was gone, she was actually gone. Something twinged in his chest and his breath came out as a shuttered sob. His hands shook slightly, he'd never told her, never mentioned it to her and now she was gone. His Luce, his golden haired angel, was gone forever. A text alert signalled from his phone, he grabbed it with slightly shaking hands.

I'm sorry, Sherlock. Goodbye. - LG

A tear rolled down his face, dripped from his cheek and onto the screen of the phone. He wanted to text her back, to tell her to come back to 221B, but he couldn't. He couldn't make her stay because he wanted her around, he couldn't make her give up her job for him. He would have given anything to have been selfish at that moment and to have asked her to come back, but he couldn't do it, not to her. Not to her. He wished he could tell her everything he loved about her like the why she seemed to shine like the morning sun when she smiled or how every time she ate something she'd immediately lick her fingers afterwards or how she had a way of making his heart pound by simply looking at him with her perfect eyes, despite the blindness of the right one.

Goodbye, my angel - SH.