Author's note: This was written for a prompt my friend gave me. I'm not sure how I feel about it but I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know if you find any mistakes and PLEASE REVIEW!(:

Sherlock

One month and one day later.

Yesterday I stayed in and read all day. Mrs. Hudson called and we chatted. I'm only writing this still because of Ella. So far today I read some of the detective book one of my readers sent me. It's very good, but not as good as the real thing. I'm off to the store now, so I'll maybe post again tomorrow.

-John Watson

John reset the hit counter one week ago. Now it read 396. Only 396 views in one week. When Sherlock was here, they had thousands in a day or two.

John slipped his coat on and walked out to the rainy London street. Sherlock jumped exactly one month and one day ago, but it felt like years. Every day was slow and dull. There were no more riddles and adrenaline rushes, just reading and blogging. But the milk was sour now, so John was forced to go out.

The walk to the supermarket was cold, wet, and boring. The cashier was a teenager with a bad attitude and a guy nearly plowed him over with a shopping cart because he was texting. The rain was starting to clear up, so John decided to take a rest on one of the benches on his way back. He set the bag next to him and scanned the area. In the back of his head, there was always that thought that maybe, just maybe, he would bump into Sherlock.

But he had to tell himself that he was just being silly and that Sherlock was dead.

He was a woman trying to control two screaming kids, and a group of business men having a smoke. Two teenagers were texting and there was a man who-

No.

"Sherlock!" John was up and running across the street before he even had time to register what he was doing. "Sherlock!" He couldn't let Sherlock get away from him again. Out of breath, he finally reached the curly haired man. "Sherlock," he gasped. But the man turned around and it only took one heartbreaking moment for John to realize that it wasn't Sherlock at all.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, I- I thought you were- sorry." Sherlock was dead. He saw him jump off the roof and there was a grave stone that read 'Sherlock Holmes' clear as day. John slowly walked across the street to get his milk before catching a cab, "St. Bart's hospital, please."

"John!" Molly let out, surprised. She hadn't seen much of John since Sherlock jumped.

"Can I talk to you about something?" he asked, before realizing what he was doing. "You know what, never mind. Sorry to bother you, Molly." John turned to leave before Molly called after him.

"John, wait. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, Molly." Before she could say anything else, John left and called another cab.

"Two-two-one Baker Street."

Sherlock,

I always figured if you were alive, you would sneak back here. Because I know you, and I know you could pull that off. I know that somehow you could still be alive because you can't be dead.

I still don't believe what you told me. Moriarty is real, Richard Brooke isn't. You couldn't have made that up and faked all those crimes. No one is that good.

I've only been back here one since you jumped. I have talked to Mrs. Hudson a few times and she keeps talking about putting the flat back up for rent. I'm still writing my blog, you know. Of course there aren't as many views. I talked to Lestrade a bit also. I should go now.

One more thing though… don't be dead. Please don't be dead.

Yours,

John