"Well, it's been three years since…The Event. I can't believe that he's really been gone full three years. There are still times when I open the door to the flat and think I hear him playing his violin by the window, just like he used to. Creating some new melody while he works through a problem. But then I get into the living room and the ghost vanishes and the grief is just as raw as that day standing outside St. Bart's, watching my best friend succumb to Moriarty's plan and fall to his death."

John Watson began to say to the small crowd that had gathered outside, in the spot where the great detective Sherlock Holmes had fallen to his death, exactly three years before. This was the first Anniversary that John had come to. There was one held every year, but he had never shown up. And now here he was. And talking. You could have heard a pin drop.

There weren't very many who still held onto the belief that Sherlock had been innocent. It seemed the general population had chosen to believe Kitty Riley and Rich Brook that Holmes had been a fraud and had paid the actor to play the part of James Moriarty. In fact, there had been rumours surfacing of late that perhaps Holmes had even been mad. Maybe John was too. However, the few that remained loyal, were fierce in their devotion and had even coined the term "John Watson's War". They would stand behind the army doctor and his adamant refusal to believe the papers that the man he had lived with had fabricated everything.

John took a deep, shuddering breath and continued. "I might not ever understand what it was exactly that made him snap. Public opinion had never bothered him before…or it did and he never told me. Such a thought actually makes the knife of pain in my chest so much sharper - I thought…well, it doesn't matter. He had been so adamant that he didn't care what people thought, but I guess he did after all. I couldn't believe how unaffected he was by the news that Mrs. Hudson had been shot, but then I realized that he truly did believe that being alone would save him. He saved me from…so much…and apparently I couldn't even return the favour."

There was a hush through the crowd. I knew that we were all thinking the same thing - realizing just how much the man before us had gone through in the past year. How he had held on, instead of giving in to the press. And yet, he wasn't as strong as we had thought. He blamed himself for what happened. I couldn't even contemplate what kind of a burden that must be to carry day in and day out.

"During the phone call - his note, he called it - he tried to tell me that he was a fake. I didn't buy it then and I don't buy it now. 'Rich Brook' can say what he likes, Sherlock was the real thing and no one will ever be able to convince me otherwise…" John stopped and I could see the tears shining in his eyes, threatening to fall. He stepped away from the naked mike that stood on the sidewalk and it looked like he would leave, unable to continue speaking. But then he stepped back up. "No. I want to say something else. I want to make sure that you, the loyal ones, know the nature of our relationship." And the tears were falling freely, shining like diamonds in the bright afternoon sun.

"I may as well talk about it now. I thought I could do it without crying, but I can't. Anyway, a lot of people seem to think that we were 'together'. We never were. I don't mind admitting that we were…are…soulmates. Not romantically, of course. Deeper than that. We really were two halves of a whole and we…just made sense. If people want to reduce it to a label, that's their own choice, but I know that we were…are…so much more than just flatmates or even friends. So, just remember whatever you read in the papers, that we were never lovers and were never close. We were so much closer than that. It was our very cores. People don't think that can happen, but I know it can. Because it happened to me. We were best friends in the very truest sense of the phrase."

I will probably never know why he finally decided to jump, but I will tell you that he said goodbye. And that is the only comfort I have. He took the time to say goodbye." And with that, John was gone. Limping back to the bus stop - apparently he never took cabs anymore.

The crowd remained for a few moments, giving Dr. Watson his space, and then we began to disperse. There was one man who I noticed, only because he seemed to want to get away very quickly. Understandable. It was hard for all of us who believed Sherlock to be there, at the site of death on the anniversary, but I thought it was odd. I don't remember why. He just seemed to draw my eye. He was wearing a long coat and a deerstalker. Nothing strange there - almost everyone was dressed in similar attire.

He brushed past me and I thought I caught a glimpse of a tear shining in his eye, but it was so quick that I couldn't be sure. Then I noticed that he was hurrying in the same direction that Dr. Watson had been walking. I walked back to my house, sad about the day and the knowledge that John was blaming himself for everything and that he would never see his best friend again.