"Here we go."
He needed this. He needed this so badly. He knew it, too. It was something he had to do. No matter how irrelevent and unnerving it was.
As he stretched his hands over the keyboard everything became vividly real. Everything locked away, came flooding back. All that he had forced down his throat and out of his mind. lets face it, nothing took it away. Nothing kept him from crying in the night and waking up soaked in sweat. This was his final and only option to put this horrible experience, not behind him, but less at the forefront of his mind. He needed to cope.
The only sounds that could be heard were staggered breathing and typing. It seemed like years once he was done writing. Once he started he couldn't stop. All the emotions and heartbreak in multiple paragraphs until he hit the delete button and started over. Finally, John hit enter and walked away. He needed out. He needed space. He closed the door to 221B and kept walking.
There was a muted BING as a blackberry lights up in the pocket of a pair of worn down jeans. A dark haired man stares down in awe as he reads. Tears rolling before he can stop himself.
"Sherlock, my love, I need to do this for me. I need closure. I need to have the ability to be me again. To be able to face the world and not dwell on the past. I'm thinking of leaving Baker street. There are to many things that I can't yet handle. I know you are somewhere watching over me. There are so many things left unsaid. I thank you for everything.
Your, John"
John really has no idea why he checked his mail. He knew there would be no response. The thing he saw as the screen went bright stopped his heart and shattered it at the same time. An email:
"My dearest Watson, please don't leave. -SH"