Time.
So, I guess it's time.
Time to move on. Time to get a proper job, to move away from you, from the memories, from the pain. I'm sorry. The time we had. It was great, yeah?
Time to help myself. I'm getting married, you know. Mary. She's lovely. I wish you could come to the reception. We already have a kid. He's called Sherlock.
Time to stop this. I asked you to do the same once. But it was too big an ask. In time I realised how it was me who needed to stop, to let go, to move on. To stop holding.
Time to realise that you'll never come back. And I won't either now. I'm sorry.
Time to see that I can never truly forget you, the times we had, the things we did. I'll still think of you every day, every hour, every minute, every second. How could I not? You were my everything.
Time to reflect on the once-weres and release them. We were never apart. The hybrid, if you like. The Sherlock-and-John. You were a part of me - and yes, I know it sounds cheesy, I really do - and it was as if we fitted together like pieces of a complex, beautiful puzzle. And now you are gone. And it is just me. And I am nothing
Time to move on, let go. I can hear your voice saying it, your arms hugging me when I break down, and I know it is true, because of these things.
Goodbye, my love. Don't leave me.