Disclaimer: Not mine! Well, the story is. But not the wonderful characters.
I still remember when we first met, the look on your face. In that room, I wondered about you. I was self-conscious for a bit, given our height difference. I was average-sized, but somehow you made it seem as if I were a tiny fairy. When you held my phone, Sherlock, and I felt it. I looked into your eyes and knew you felt it too. You were a foot taller, and I was ever so average. I was of average height, average intelligence (far more superior than them, you used to tell me), and wise beyond our years.
I miss you.
You and your wonderfully good musical talent, Sher. I was average, played an instrument because it was a school grade. You, you were so good. And I miss hearing it. I sometimes wake up at night, and I swear I can hear the whispers of your violin. But then the thunder roars and I realise what a bloody idiot I am, for still hoping.
Your baritone voice, hearing it was the best. It meant a good day, a day of chasing after the bad people, of solving a case. Now, I can't remember how it sounds. I hate it, your voice. I can never remember how it sounds and I hate that. If it makes me sound like a love-sick teenage girl, then so be it. I miss your companionship and that all there ever was to it. And if I knew, that you'd cause me pain, that day at the lab, I still would have followed you to the ends of the world.