Sherlock,
What have you done? Why did you do this? How could you do this? Why would you go off and kill yourself…? You jumped, you fell and you died, feeling no pain about it whatsoever. You have no idea about the pain you left behind; the hurt from you being gone. I can't breathe anymore, Sherlock. I can't feel anything anymore, I can't wake up without falling to pieces, I can't look in the mirror without seeing the smile that has long-left my face, I can't step out of the house without looking back and hoping to see you bound out of a room and say, "Come on, John! We have a case to solve!" Smile at me, and stride in front of me expecting me to follow like I always would. It's only been a week, and the pain is still fresh in my mind and in my heart. I can hear the pain beat off me every day, I can hear my soul die inside of me; the soul you saved from the depths of darkness. I cry every morning and every night; my eyes are tired, Sherlock. Can't you come back? My eyes hurt so much from the tears. I'm afraid one day I'll wake up and I'd have cried all my tears away because of you. Your smell haunts the flat; I shower and I smell you, I sleep and I smell you, I eat and I smell you. It's comforting yet so painful at the same time. Sometimes I go to your bed, lie in it and pretend you're still there, alive and breathing, and ready to deduct something else and accidentally insult someone else. It hasn't been long, but I miss it so much already. This place is turning cold without you; my home is turning into a haunted house, my heart is turning to stone, and my soul… my soul is gone, Sherlock. I've never told you some things, Sherlock, that I should have. I don't know if I can say them now, it still hurts too much, and the words would stick to my throat and I'd choke on them. I'm scared, Sherlock. I'm going cold, so, so cold. I feel so numb; everything hurts, therefore, nothing hurts anymore. I tried packing up some of your things the other day, but instead of putting anything into boxes, I feel to my knees, threw the things to the ground and screamed, Sherlock. I screamed out of anger, out of hurt, out of pain. I screamed for you to come back, Sherlock! You aren't dead! You can't be dead! You mustn't be dead, because if you are… Why did you have to do it, you damn fool! I let you in and trusted you! I trusted you wouldn't go away, that you wouldn't leave me! And what did you do? YOU BLOODY LEFT. You left me here alone…. Alone again. Some of the last words I said to your face still swirl around my head; You machine. You machine. YOU MACHINE. You are a damn machine. Or are you? No, you have a heart. You just never chose to show it. You think I didn't realize you cared about me?! I knew you did, I bloody knew it or you would have been more of a dick than you were to me.
God I miss you. One day I'll get over this pain, and I'll get over the empty, gaping hole you left in me and my life. But today is not that day, neither is tomorrow, neither is next week, but one day… One day in a few years I'll be able to find a woman and create a life for myself again.