All I want is nothing more
To hear you knocking at my door
'cause if i could see your face once more
I could die as a happy man I'm sure

I never thought you'd really do it. Not when I saw you standing there, on that god-awful rooftop, not even when I saw you fall. It just seemed unreal, you doing something like that. Of course, I knew you had your troubles, but so did I, but I always thought, hoped, that you wouldn't be so desperate to do what you did…

There're detectives on your "case", but they work incredibly slow. You'd have solved it with one look, like you always do. Did.

I still don't want to believe you're gone. When I close my eyes, you're still here. Because the truth is, I miss you, Sherlock.

When you said your last goodbye,
I died a little bit inside.
I lay in tears in bed all night
Alone, without you by my side

My dreams are back, you know, just like my cane. It's strange, but I need it. The dreams, or rather nightmares, are different though. They start in the war, like the old ones, but they always end with you. I hear your voice, saying those damn awful words all over again.

"This is my note. That's what people do, right? Leave a note.. Goodbye, John."

Goodbye, John. Those I hear the most. Goodbye, John. The night after you jumped, I cried myself to sleep, if I even slept at all. I clutched your pillow to my side, Sherlock, just to smell you. And now, when I sleep, I dream that one moment. Every single time I see you hitting the ground, every single time I wake up screaming your name, I'm drenched in sweat and every time, when I wake up and realize you're still dead, I die with you.

If you loved me
Why'd you leave me
Take my body, Take my body
All I want is, and all I need is
To find somebody, To find somebody like you

So why did you do it? Why, Sherlock? You said you had no friends, yet you counted me as one. Or, I counted you as one, at least. Perhaps a little more, like the rest of the world seemed to think. Guess it's too late to figure that out now.. But let's just say I love- loved- you, and you did too. Why did you go if you loved me? Even if you didn't love me, why? To protect me? I've been to war, Sherlock, I'm a soldier, I think I can handle whatever was going. I'm not so sure if I can handle this, though. I need you, Sherlock.

You brought out the best of me
A part of me I'd never seen
You took my soul wiped it clean
Our love was made for movie screens

The time with you was the best. You made me forget about the war, the people I've lost back there. You showed me how I could live my life too; like I did when I was younger, much younger, and surrounded by friends. I still try to do that, but it's hard to live with friends without my best one.

Mrs. Hudson refuses to rent 221B to someone else, she says, and I quote, "That man always returns, my dear. I can't let him come home with somebody else in there!" I just hope she's right, cause I'm not so sure about it..

Do you know they're planning to make a film about us? You, mostly, but still.. Weird. We should see it, together, once, when Mrs. Hudson gets proven right and my wish comes true.

Don't be dead.

I'm just gonna continue hoping that, even though I know it's not gonna happen. Don't be dead. I still say those words every day.

So if you loved me, why'd you leave me?
Take my body, take my body
All I want is, and all I need is
To find somebody, I'll find somebody like you

It's been seven weeks and three days now, and it's a Wednesday. I'm at his grave, as usual around this time. 'You know,' I say, 'Yesterday a woman came up to me, with her newborn son. His name's Sherlock, she said she named him after you…' I smile in the sunshine and sit down. 'There are still people who believe in you,' I continue, 'Even though I told Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and the rest of the country that you apparently told a lie. Still not believing that, by the way.' I sigh, as I run a hand through my hair. My mind wanders away to two weeks ago, when I broke down and Mrs. Hudson was there. I'd basically told her everything, about the dreams, about my "feelings" if you could call them that for Sherlock… She listened to me, and after I was done, when I could do nothing but cry, she had said: 'I know it hurts, I know you want him to come back, but sometimes you've got to accept things. He might not come back, and you have got to learn to let go and maybe you'll find someone like him.' I had looked up and said: 'Never.' I know she was right, I know she knows it, but I also know she knew both of us couldn't accept it just yet.

I let out another sigh, as I look at my watch. Oh, that late already? I pick up my cane, and help myself up. 'Well, I better get going,' I say, 'Mrs. Hudson is waiting for me with dinner.' I place a hand on his stone. 'I'll be back tomorrow,' I promise, 'Bye, Sherlock.' I turn around, ready to walk away when I hear a voice. It's so real, it makes the hairs on my neck stand up. A voice in my head sais it can't be real, and deep inside I know it's real, but when I turn my head, I see him standing there. Long black coat, the same curly hair, pale skin.. He seems so real, nothing like my dream-version of him. He sees me staring, and I can see he tries to hide a smile. 'I said,' he, Sherlock, repeats in that deep voice of his, 'Hello, John.'