Letters to Nowhere, a sherlock fanfic

A/N: Post-Reichenbach fic. Letters from John. I needed to get the angst out. *bucket for my creys* R&R. Enjoy.

You aren't here.

That's all I can seem to think about lately. My therapist wants me to write letters so I can get my feelings out, like my grievances and my pain. This is my first one and I don't really know what else to say.

I miss you. The flat isn't the same without you. Mrs. Hudson is fine, coping better than I am. She has her niece and her sister. I have Harry, but I really don't want to talk to her about this. Not yet.

I hope wherever you are, you are happy. That you're doing well and that you know that I know you never lied to me. I believe you. I believe in you. I wish you were here.

I'll talk to you later.

Hey. It's my birthday today. I found the gift you were going to give me when I was cleaning up your room a few weeks ago. Thank you. It's lovely and I'll wear it whenever I go out.

I haven't had the heart to sell any of your things, no matter how much Mrs. Hudson wants me to do so. I found your catalog too. It's very impressive, I almost want to get it published. I'd give you a pseudonym. I couldn't take credit for it.

I hope you don't mind that I went through your things. I wouldn't want to upset you. I'm wearing your robe right now. It still smells like you. That sounds creepy, but, I really don't care at this point.

Please come back, Sherlock. I need you.

I thought I saw you today. You were a man on the Tube while I was going to Cardiff with Stamford. When we got to the station, I had to sit and keep myself from breaking down, especially in front of Mike.

Why did you have to leave me, Sherlock? Why did you make me watch? Why did you say goodbye? Why?

I see you everywhere and it's so painful for me. I see you at the market, the park, the hospital, the cinema, everywhere. I see you so much but I can't touch you or talk to you. I can't tell you about Bart's or Mrs. Hudson's lemon bars. I can't laugh with you or listen to you deduce, or just talk to me for no good reason. You're such a git for not having a voicemail message. I want to hear your voice again.

I want to hear you say my name again.

I didn't do much today. I worked and came home and made tea. I'm watching telly while I write this one. I keep trying to deduce things about these people, but I don't think I'm doing a good job. If only you could be here and help me.

A woman flirted with me while I was at Tesco. She gave me her number but I threw it away. I actually didn't mean to, but I don't feel that bad about it. She was ordinary anyway.

I miss your cleverness, Sherlock. I miss your cheekbones. I miss your gait and your stride. And your aloofness. I miss having takeaway with you at 1 in the morning. I try and go by myself and it doesn't feel the same. I have some fortune cookies left over from the other night when I went out.

Do you want to predict my fortune?

It says, 'Financial gain is in store for you.' In bed. I had to, sorry. Couldn't resist.

Yours says, 'Keep your heart open and let your spirit free.' Nailed it.

Today was a bit so-so. I had coffee this morning. I put sugar in it just for you. I think I might actually start putting sugar in my coffee from now on. I was reading one of your books when I got home, it was about modern forensics. It was finding it really intriguing until I started crying. I hate to admit it, but I did.

I just felt like you should be there, explaining it to me as I read it. Like you should be right over my shoulder, turning the page for me and whispering little notes in my ear. I had to put the book down and write this out.

I'm wearing the robe again too. It doesn't really smell like you anymore. I should stop wearing it, I don't want to lose anymore or your scent. But it's really soft and comforting for me. What a conundrum.

Mrs. Hudson is threatening to put your stuff in storage and to have me find another flat mate to help pay the rent.

I don't know what to do.

Help me, Sherlock. Come back and make things better.

It's been a few weeks.

Almost a month.

I saw you again.

It hurt.

It's been another month since I've written. I'm sorry. I've been working more because I still refuse to get another flat mate. Mrs. Hudson isn't talking to me much. She's still bitter. She still thinks you were lying. I know you weren't.

Your name is finally out of the papers. It took them long enough. I saved all your clippings. I made a little book of them and put it with your catalog. Hope you don't mind.

I think you would, but I needed to do something with my hands. Occupy myself for awhile. I know you would think it was trivial and meaningless and not worth my time, but I don't care. I need to keep you around me somehow.

Christmas is coming up fast this year.

I was thinking about getting you some new gloves. Or maybe a dinner date. I don't know.

I'll talk to you later.

I learned today that inflammable and flammable mean the same thing. The only way to know if something isn't flammable is if it says flame retardant. I thought that was interesting. I bet you already knew that, but, I thought I'd share.

I ran into that woman at Tesco again. I think she's been stalking me. Just kidding. We have a date Thursday. Her name is Mary. She's nice.

I don't know if anything will come of it. I know you wouldn't be happy about this, but I can't sit around here forever. I still love you and I always will, you know that.

I'm going down to Speedy's.

Mary and I are kind of serious now. I thought I'd let you know because, I want your blessing. I know I won't actually get it, and I doubt I'd get it even if you were here, but I hope that the gesture of asking for your regards would be enough to show you I still care.

We're going to Sussex for Christmas together.

It'll be my first holiday away from Baker Street since you left.

This is going to be good for me. I hope.

It's been almost two years since I wrote one of these. Mary and I got married. I'm sure you would've been a good best man. The best. I make the worst jokes. I moved out of 221B, I'm across the street now, so I can keep an eye on the place. Mrs. Hudson is still there and all of your stuff is either in storage or with me.

My life is getting better. I think you'd be happy that I'm happy. I still miss you and wish you were here with me. I still believe you and believe in you. Until we meet again, old friend.

I'm moving on but never forgetting.

Neither am I.