John is distraught by Sherlock's death and still blogs about him regularly. Sometimes thinking about the Detective is too much for John and he ends up making a drastic decision.
Well.. It's been three months and it's not getting any easier. I miss you.. everything about you. Your smell, your clothes, your deductions. The way you would protest and say you didn't need sleep or food and only after hours of me nagging would you even look at your bed or the kitchen. The way you were, the way we were. I miss that. Three months without you... without my detective. I need you back.. I need this miracle. I need you to be alive. I am not the same man anymore... Not without you by my side.
Six months and four days. Six long, lonely, aching months. The pain never stops, the nightmares don't seem to end. The day's seem longer and longer and time passes by so slowly. I don't feel like I am living any more.. I merely exist in this world without you. Without my best friend. I see people looking my way with pity, telling me they're sorry. Telling me everything will be okay. But it isn't. It's not okay and it will never be okay. You'll never read this blog and you'll never realise the pain I am going through and you'll never come back to me.
Christmas now. My first Christmas alone. I didn't go to any of the parties I was invited to, I stayed in on Christmas day. I ignored every phone call I had because I knew it wouldn't be you calling. I just want to hear your voice again. Hear something that reminds me of you. The silence you left behind is deafening. Your violin hasn't been moved. A thin layer of dust has made its home on the strings and the dark wood. You would play every Christmas for me and now this year, I stare at the once tuneful instrument and want to smash it pieces. It reminds me too much of you. Of the person you are.
...Were.
I've lasted a whole year without you. Without my best friend.. my love. That's what you always were. You never knew and you never will .. but I loved you. I still do. Each day I see your face in my mind, I hear your voice. I close my eyes and surround myself with memories of us together. Cases we worked on, nights we spent in the flat. Even our worst arguments seem like a better place than where I am now. What I would give to be back there.. with you.
I can't help thinking that there must have been something I could have done. Something I could have said to stop you jumping. There must have been something, anything to have kept you here and alive. I was the last person you spoke to and all you said was 'Goodbye, John'. Why didn't I stop you? How could I have been so stupid to leave you alone at Barts? Alone doesn't protect you. I wish you could have seen that, I wish you would have listened.
I can't do this anymore. I visit your grave most days and all I can picture is my headstone next to yours. All I can see is an afterlife with you. Because that would be better than living alone this way. My nightmares and fears don't leave me alone. Every spare moment I have is spent thinking of you. Every day I just wish for the end... maybe then I will see you again.
I found my revolver today but it didn't seem right. I felt like a coward as I stared down the barrel of the gun. Holding it with my left hand, shaking. Crying. I couldn't help but ask myself what you would be thinking if you could see me now. You'd say I was scared.. and you'd be absolutely right. No, a gun won't do it.
I found myself this evening on the rooftop. Staring down at the ground where you once lay. Where you landed. Where you died. I stared down and wondered how much it would hurt, whether it would be over in a second. Whether you were hurt when you jumped. I stared down and lifted a foot into the air, ready to jump. I was so ready to go when I heard a voice. I turned, my cheeks red and stained with tears. I could have sworn it was you.. your voice. But there was no one there. I went home and cried myself to sleep.
Today is the day. I cannot hold on much longer without you. The world just doesn't seem right. So, as this is my last blog entry and I will never get to express my thoughts or feelings again, I may as well get them all out now. I loved you. I always did and that is why it is so hard now. You were so stubborn and you could be such an annoying dick, always being right and never listening to me. Never caring about the victims in the cases we went on, more about the killer and their reasons for killing. You cared too much about how their minds worked and you never noticed mine. My mind was always thinking of you.
It happened again.. I was so ready to jump. To take the plunge and see you again when I heard your voice. You told me to stop. Told me I was wrong. I turned and again, there was no one there. I was alone on the rooftop but your voice was so clear. I could've sworn it wasn't my mind. It was real. I searched the rooftop for an hour, calling your name and crying. You weren't there. God, Sherlock.. I need you right now. I need you to come back to me and tell me everything is going to be okay. Tomorrow is the last time I will try. Even if I hear your voice, I know it is just my imagination and I will jump. I will die in the same place you did.. and it will stop all this pain.
I know I said I was going to jump but... Something happened. As I stood of the rooftop and looked down at the street, I saw Sherlock. He wasn't an illusion or hallucination. It wasn't my imagination. He was there. My Sherlock. Staring up at me like I stared at him. I saw him start crying and I reached for my phone. I stepped away from the edge and rang Sherlock hoping my mind wasn't playing tricks on me. The phone rang for what seemed like forever, my eyes never left Sherlock's face. He reached into his own pocket and then I heard him.
"Don't jump, John.. I'm here.. I'm alive.."
I dropped my phone. I was completely shocked. My body shook and Sherlock started running. He ran towards the hospital and before I knew it, two hands were holding my face. Sherlock was staring at me, he was crying. He looked so hurt.. so lost. He stared at me and kissed my forehead.
"John, I'm not dead. I'm here.."
He pulled me in and held me as my knees collapsed and I cried. I cried for so long. Letting out every emotion I had held in for years. I sobbed and wailed against Sherlock's chest as he comforted me, showering me in kisses and telling me he loved me too. After I finally collected myself, Sherlock brought me home. I cried again in the safety and warmth of the flat. I stared at my gun on the table and up at Sherlock. I could see he knew how hurt I was and he was sorry. He apologised over and over and I sobbed.. It feels so good to have him home. Whether this really is my imagination and I am spiralling into madness or it is actually him, I do not know. But, he's here. And I love him...