Sherlock it's been about two months, I think. The buzz is starting to slow down. Not every newspaper article is about a new theory about "the man who had fooled them all." Oh, and I can go outside without being bombarded; take a stroll, although I rarely do.
My room suits me. I'm content here; content as I am going to be. The silence is the hardest part. It's different though, then the silence that filled the room when you were here. It's a solemn silence. Only my thoughts and I. Not to say that my thoughts are silent. They yell and scream and play songs of sadness. Sometimes they make me think that I hear you. The sound of your pacing footsteps upon the living room floor. Or the sweet sound of the violin, altough usually that's just the wind. I'm haunted by you. As much as I try to stop thinking about you, I can't. You are everywhere and I miss you deeply. Damn you. Damn you dying. Damn Moriarty. Damn that I didn't save you. Because as much as you didn't care for feelings, you had them. I saw it. I saw them in the way you put your arm around Mrs. Hudson when I said maybe she should leave Bakers St...Remember that? And I saw it in the way you looked at me. You saved my live and brought me happiness. Before I met you, nothing happened to me. You made me feel alive. I owe you and I don't know how to repay you. Please Sherlock, please just be alive. So I can repay you. Give me a purpose again.
-JW