"It's hard to forget someone who gave you so much to remember"
From the moment I first met the late and great Sherlock Holmes I knew he was different, the way he spoke with honesty and without doubt, he seemed to be a god. He brought the excitement and danger I so longed for after returning from the war and for that I am eternally grateful. He conveyed to me friendship and companionship, something neither of us assumed we would find, especially not in each other, but we did. Mr. Holmes was a great man, a good man. You are all idiots for believing him to be a fraud, to quote him, "It's a trick. It's just a magic trick", Moriarty played a trick on you and you all were stupid enough to fall for it. God, fall, it still hurts. It's all your faults. I miss him so much, the constant sound of bullets being shot into the wall, the smell of decomposing flesh in our refrigerator, I miss it all because it reminds me of him. A lot of you will never truly know how I feel about him, and that's all right because it's not all that clear to me yet. I can honestly say that there is and never will be another man as brilliant, eccentric, or cunning as Sherlock Holmes. Though my feelings for Sherlock will never be crystal clear I know that I love him. Everything I did and will do is for him. Lestrade, I assume you will read this, do not share this with anyone, it is my last wish.
Sincerely,
Dr. John Hamish Watson
Lestrade hides his tears as he folds up the letter. He walks out of the flat behind John but stops as they cross the threshold outside, a mix of police and ambulance lights hitting his face. He approaches the stretcher to say his last goodbye to the good doctor, lifting the white sheet and exposing his pale, colorless face, and the purple bruises around his neck. "Damn it John" he whispers softly, "He wasn't gone, not completely, but now thanks to your will power and a rope he'll be gone forever". He takes one last, long look and recovers his friend's face with the white cloth as the medics take him away.