I guess, you could have said Sherlock Holmes died with some bit of dignity. But the truth was he didn't. Moriarty, you could have said, got tired of the games. He went straight for Sherlock, and he got him. Luring the brilliant mind to an old warehouse, he filled the place with traps, pushed him into every one, said a few smart words, then ended it all just like that. As I recall he shot Sherlock in the face. Just to, as he said, "Get back at his brain, personally."

A lot of us ended up having to watch the act. I was in one of the traps, in fact. Moriarty had rigged me up to an electric charge, dangled over a pool of water. Instant death awaited, if Sherlock didn't figure out the riddle in time. Of course he figured it out. But as I have said before Moriarty was tired of the games. So he just cut the rope and let me drop. Sherlock did manage to cut off the electricity current before it killed me, but, I still got hurt. Actually, if you looked closely enough, you could have seen a long scar down my back where the first-charged wire lay.

Nira was another trap, then Lestrade, then Molly. Moriarty even managed to get Mrs Hudson involved. Although, I don't know how he survived her constant talking. She just wouldn't shut up. I'm surprised Sherlock even decided to save her. But that's what he did, he saved all of us. Just not himself.

See, Sherlock's death really hit us hard, you know, and as much as we all hated him, we still missed him. Nira got the worst of it. On the exact day he died, she went into hiding. Only a few of us knew where she actually could be. And that could is very loosely based. Lestrade, on the other, got straight back to business, as he was meant to. 'What else can I do?' was his excuse every time anyone ever mentioned... him. Molly? Well, she spent weeks in her office crying her eyes out; couldn't get a word in edge ways. Mrs Hudson. She took forever to let me even put up advertisements for another room mate, let alone, actually letting them move in. And I know that seems harsh but I couldn't pay the rent on my own. I guess that was my way of moving on. Especially, since Sarah and I were starting to get serious. I didn't want the burden of an old friend to push me down even further.

I, myself, missed him. I really missed him. I missed his insane mind. His voice when he was angry, which was weird because at the time I always hated that voice. Now it was gone, it's like the flat was empty. I would sit in it sometimes remembering. Remembering an old friend. Remembering... just remembering.

I swear I saw him last night. On a street corner. Just walking by, not a care in the world. Then I realised it wasn't him and moved on. It was just some other guy in a coat. And out of all Sherlock was, he was never just "some guy." To Lestrade, he was the perfect backup; to Nira, he was a lover, a childhood friend. And to me, he was kinda like an annoying Brother; as much as I hated him I could have never stopped liking him. He affected all of us, in many different ways.

So, late one night, when I received an email marked "From SH," my heart started racing again. I sat up in my chair and opened it. The folder was empty, of course, - I didn't exactly expect it to be an address and "don't come find me" letter – but still, something was meant by it. I clicked on the hyperlinked sender's name and it came up with a page not found. I sent the email to Lestrade for tracing but he couldn't find anything either.

I know something was meant by that email, I'm sure it. Mrs Hudson said it was some kids playing a prank, Lestrade, a warning message from Moriarty, and I couldn't get anything from Molly or Nira, both for different reasons.

So, I guessed, now it was left to me to figure out the answer then. Question was: where do I start?