Private Entry

by footshooter

I'm posting some private entries to my blog. Don't worry, it's under the guidance of my therapist. She thinks it will help to get things out, but everything's still pretty raw and I'd rather the world wasn't able to access them just yet. Not with how public everything has become. I can't hide them properly but you won't be able to access them. Thanks. John.

1. 19th June

19th June
Private Entry visible to: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes

So this blog nonsense is supposed to help, right? Writing down the grief is meant to help it get through. And I'm hoping it will get through to you, Sherlock, because you and me are the only people who can see these entries. Yes, people will talk (but when do they not) and people will say I'm crazy (refer to earlier bracket) but I just want you to know I'm never giving up on you.

And that's particularly hard to say right now because your funeral is tomorrow and I think if you don't show up at the door before we bury whoevers body that is (I can't think it's yours, I saw it, but I can't) then everything will become real and I'll have to admit you're gone.

I'm not sure I can bear that, Sherlock, I really don't think I can. I'm tearing up just thinking about it.

Mrs Hudson is inconsolable. Me and Molly are really trying, but it's like losing a son to her. Greg's devastated, I don't think he really ever believed anything Moriaty said. We've been for a couple of pints but it turns into a fanboy club and it's starting to get embarrassing. Donovan and Anderson are being dicks, as you'd imagine.

But it's Mycroft that gets me. I would have thought if anyone would know you were still around it would be him but he looks like he's crumbling at the seams. He has dark circles and he's lost about three stone. I know you'd be impressed if you saw him, make a sarcy comment about it being about time.

I keep expecting you to waltz in in your dressing gown (or that damned sheet) whenever it's quiet in the flat because, let's face it, you'd be bored right now. All I've got now is this skull staring at me and a bunch of people trying to be sympathetic.

I think I might get a dog. What do you think? A dog? I saw an advert for some bull terrier pups. I can't work out whether you'd hate it or not. It might break the monotony of life for a while. Give me some company.

Anyway, if you see this then do me a favour and get in touch, okay? I might be on a hiding to nothing, but we'll see. I can't accept that you're dead just yet.

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