"…And thus ends the final adventure of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."

-Excerpt from the final post on John Watson's blog

The last key clicked and then the room fell into silence. How long has it been? I glance at my wristwatch and sigh deeply. My life would never be the same again.

"My god, Sherlock… Why…?"

My life had been empty before I met him. Dull and lifeless just as my fallen comrades. I began work at St. Bartholomew's Hospital after my return, and it was there that I met Him. He was brilliant! A pure genius! Yet his talents remained wasted due to his broken mental health. He had delusions of grandeur His life was a fantasy, a farce, a tale of mystery and betrayal.

He knew not whom he truly was. To be quite frank, I don't even know if Sherlock Holmes had even been his real name, yet the stories he had to tell were fascinating! Before I met him, he had been almost catatonic, refusing to respond to anyone at St. Bart's but the moment he laid eyes on me, he grinned.

He began to tell me of our adventures together, every single story I have transcribed for you.

He was the single-most exciting part of my life, but now even he is gone. Dead. Murdered.

James Moriarty, a fellow practitioner at St. Bart's, was a right bastard. He seemed obsessed with destroying the delusional life of Sherlock Holmes. And one day he succeeded. Sherlock was broken. I tried in vain to return him to the clever man he had been before, but the Sherlock I knew was gone.

Weeks passed and as I was walking to work I received a call on my mobile. It was Sherlock.

"I'm a fake."

"Sherlock…"

"Moriarty was right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly, in fact tell anyone who will listen to you… that I created Sherlock for my own purposes."

"Okay, shut up Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met - the first time we met, you knew all about me, right?"

"Nobody could be that clever."

"You could…"

Our conversation continued as I neared the hospital. He told me to stop as I reached the street opposite the hospital.

I stared up at him on the roof, his mobile held to his ear.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me." He grew frantic. "Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?"

"This phone call – it's, er … it's my note. It's what people do, don't they – leave a note?"

What…? My thoughts were racing. No… No! This can't be happening!

"Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye, John."

"No. Don't." My sight began to blur. Oh god no… Sherlock! No!

The mobile slipped from his hand, landing on the roof beside him. He looked down at me for a moment before gazing straight ahead.

"No. SHERLOCK!"

And with that, he was gone.

-This manuscript was found alongside a single, handwritten note which reads as follows.

You told me once that you weren't a hero. There were times that I didn't even think you were human. But let me tell you this, you were the best man and the most human…. human being that I have ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. And so… there. I was so alone and I owe you so much. Please, there's just one more thing. One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be… dead. Would you do that, just for me? Just stop it, stop this…

-John Watson was found dead in his flat three days after the manuscript was finished. Investigation continues but it is believed he may have committed suicide.