Dear Sherlock,
I don't know why I'm doing this. Really. You're never going to read any of this, so there's obviously no point in me typing page upon page for you to read. Still, my therapist says it's a good idea. Ella was right about the blog, at least partially, so now I'm going to try this. I know you'd frown upon it. It's silly of me to try to follow through with it.
I'll start by saying that I've yet to vacate 221B. I know I should because I can't stay, both for monetary and emotional reasons, but I can't yet. Mycroft has made it his personal mission to keep me here for now, for whatever his reason is. I threatened to leave for Harry's, since she's gotten back together with Clara, but he insisted on my staying for at least another month. I can't argue with him, as you well know, so I'm going to stay a while. Even if I am having to live with a silent threat over my head in this old flat, I don't think I'll mind it so much. Sometimes at night if I've just woken up from a nightmare, I imagine you're playing the violin downstairs, or doing some sort of experiment that caused a noise to wake me up. I've spent every night setting up a pretense of normality that you could see through without deducing a thing. Still, I've got to do it to keep sane. It's nothing new to me, anyhow, I've seen plenty of people exit my life by way of death, so I just do what I've always done. Anyway, I won't be here long, hopefully. I imagine Mycroft will eventually talk some sense.
I've not touched any of your things, you'll be happy to know (nothing that wasn't a bio-hazard, anyway). I want to move all of it someplace that I won't be able to see it or think about it anymore, but if I did that, then I'd have to re-do the entire apartment. New furniture, wall paper, cabinets, new everything, but I won't touch your room. I promise you that if I ever do decide to stay and just change everything, I won't change your room. That was and still is your space. Of course, I'd add in a joke about that just begging for a haunting, but I wouldn't really be joking, now would I?
I will admit it is difficult to get up in the morning and not see your coat and scarf on the door, and that I've had the odd sleepless night because of the sheer amount of silence in 221B in the middle of the night. I want to wake up one night and hear the normal ruckus, just once. I wouldn't complain at all, I promise. Even still, I'm fine for now. You'd say otherwise, I know, but I have to keep my thoughts positive. Ella insists. She always insists that I keep my thoughts positive. I'm just sorry there isn't a true reason for me to.
I won't bore you with the details any longer, though. You'd probably rather hear about what cases Lestrade's had troubles with recently and all that, but I'd be lying if I told you any of those stories. I've cut all of that out of my life for now. I am sorry, but I can't do it anymore. The very minute I hear about a murder case on the telly or someone asks if I've been taking up cases in your absence, I freeze up. I lose the ability to function properly for a good day or two and drink myself into bloody oblivion.
And luckily for you, I've not shut down my blog. I want your cases to be up forever so that everyone can see all that you did and all that you were. Yesterday, I even sat down and read the whole thing from start to finish. It was more difficult than I had initially thought, but I did it. That night, I dreamed of you and suddenly everything was ruined. Every positive thought I'd collected for use when I felt down, every carefully constructed façade, everything, it was all ruined. I didn't fall asleep again for several days, but it gave me time to think. Time to think on all of it and whether it had all been worth it for me. I did lose my job twice, and I managed to upset several small children in the process of some cases (no thanks to you), not to mention all of the times I violated the Hippocratic oath, but in the end, I came out a better man than I had ever been. Of course, now I'm back at the start. This time, I won't be allowing myself the luxury of recovery because I didn't earn it. You decided to earn it for me. How does that thought sit with you?
-John