It's been over a year now since Sherlock...since Sherlock has been gone. After I watched him fall things just haven't been the same, I haven't been the same. His violin sits on his favorite couch just collecting dust..sometimes when I'm coming home I swear that I can hear the faint sound of music. But once I open that door it's nothing but silence, the maddening note less void of the flat.
You know sometimes I even put on that bloody scarf he always wore and just sit and remember how everything was with him..there was never a boring moment with him, though he would say otherwise.
Everyone has changed since he died, Mrs. Hudson doesn't come in the flat anymore..though when I answer the door I always notice her glance inside as though she's half expecting Sherlock to be pacing the room. I was told by Lestrade that Molly had a break down and quit..poor girl. This is all my fault too if I had gotten to Sherlock faster I could have stopped him..The only comforts I have now are my hallucinations.
I'll wake up some mornings and he'll be there sitting in his chair reading the paper and drinking tea. Or when my leg starts hurting he's there telling me to come off it and remember the pain isn't real. But it's real isn't it? The pain, the heart ache..is it him that isn't real? is it him that's all in my head? What am I saying. Sherlock is real no matter the form. I'll not question a good man.
I hear people talk about him on the streets, about how he was a fraud; A fake. And sometimes it's hard but I know with every aching bone in my body that Sherlock Holmes was real, I believed in him then and I believe in him now.