Dear Sherlock,
It snowed today. The whole of London went silent for a while. The days are getting longer again and people are still rushing around, trying to get their work done. Everyone's stressed out and a lot of people are becoming sick. You can't imagine how many people I've examined this week. Well, you probably could. I don't feel well either but getting sick is impossible right now. The ambulance needs me and I need the work to keep my mind off of… well, you, actually. It still hurts, Sherlock. More than I thought it could. It's so quiet, Sherlock. There's no-one here to talk off my ears now with brilliant deductions. It's not like other people tried to - talk to me, I mean. But they don't understand. They don't understand what it's like to suddenly be without you. Lestrade wanted to meet up for a pint but I couldn't go. We would have talked about you - at least Greg would have tried to. I just can't do this right now. Mrs Hudson… Dear old Mrs Hudson misses you too. But somehow I feel like I'm the only one truly mourning you. Maybe Mycroft does as well… But I'm not talking to him. I hope his guilt eats him up from inside. Slowly and painfully. It's his fault Moriarty succeeded. Without him you'd still be… It's quiet, Sherlock. Peaceful. But you would have hated that anyway. It's been a week, Sherlock. I still believe in you. Please come back.
Yours truly,
John Watson
Hello there! This is going to be a very angsty fic and it will be written completely in the form of letters. I intend to finish it but I'm a lazy ass and I'm also quite busy with school. (Bleargh..) This story hasn't got a beta so any mistakes are mine and I'll gladly correct any if you tell me to. Reviews would be lovely since I'm insecure about my writing. Anyway, to much bla-bla, I know. Sorry. Go on reading now, if you want! :)