I believe he is alive -he has to be. He wouldn't
leave me. I remember the times you used to play your
violin to think - oh how I loved how you played the violin,
the masculine face of yours in deep concentration, trying
to solve whatever case we get.
When you grabbed my hand as we ran down the streets,
our fingers fitted perfectly together - like a missing
puzzle piece. You don't have friends, just one.
I saw the tears running
down his face before he fell;
I heard the break in his
voice - I knew he didn't want
to jump. I couldn't stop
him. Just stop this Sherlock,
for me. Please come back
so I can see you happy when
an interesting case comes
so I can see the way you look at me - wanting to
tell me something but can't -
Please Sherlock, don't
be dead...
