Sherlock,
I don't know where to start. I don't believe for a second that you're dead. I know you, you wouldn't leave me alone like this. You wouldn't leave me alone again. I need you. When you see me now, I know what you see- a lonely, pathetic, desperate old man who can't piece his life back together after his best friend left him. I don't want to be that man anymore. What's the point of picking up the pieces? What if I don't even want to?
I remember when we first met at St Barts. Your tall, slender frame, black curly hair and sharp cheekbones. I saw you, looking me up and down, I didn't know it then but you were deducing me. What did you see? A strong, intelligent man- an army doctor? Or a broken, shattered boy who has horrific nightmares? Whatever you saw, you wanted me as a roommate.
Ah, our flat. It's where all my fondest memories are. But I couldn't stay there. Without you. It was hard getting around the flat with my limp back. You had fixed me.
But now you've broken me again.
You saved me in so many ways, the nightmares stopped, my limp went, you saved my life a lot of times as well. Thank you Sherlock, thank you so much. There were times I doubted you would come to save me. But you always did. But not this time.
I know our relationship wasn't always perfect, we argued. A lot. We would say things we regretted and sometimes you really disappointed me. Like when you said caring wasn't an advantage, it upset me to think you didn't care about me. Because I cared about you, more than you ever knew.
I'm sorry that it had to end this way.
I can't carry on without you and you aren't coming back.
I am so alone and I love you so much.
I love you Sherlock.
This is my note, that's what people do isn't it? Leave a note.
Goodbye.
John. H. Watson