People often ask me, "John what do you see when you look out the window?"

My response, "I see people going about their daily lives. But…" I breathe in and slowly breathe out, "but I can't seem to go about over what I want to do with mine…"

Chapter 1: Message

It's been weeks since I remained standing here in front of the window, looking out and pondering the reasons why Sherlock Holmes decided to die. I've flung my cell phone to the wall about fifty times due to the stress in my hand. There have been no calls since his death. No clients coming to the door since the lies broadcasted all over the news. No one wants to believe in what I say about Sherlock. I want to sell the apartment but I can't, I haven't stopped believing. Believing in that Sherlock, in some way, in some light of hope, he's still alive.

"John?"

I stood myself straight back up; I almost leaned over into my cane. I turned around and saw Mrs. Hudson holding a tray of tea and cookies.

"John, have you considered moving out?" she asked placing the tray upon the cluttered table of books.

"No, not yet," I replied carefully, "I don't have any other place to go."

"But John, it's been weeks. He's not coming back," she reminded me.

"I know! I KNOW!" I screamed looking back outside the window. The ache in my hand returned again as I clenched my fist. I could feel Mrs. Hudson looking back at me with such disappointment.

"We all got to move on at some point," she said firmly.

I heard her footsteps walk out the door and down the stairs.

The day turned to night fall. I lay on my bed with my cell phone on my chest and started to remember the first time I met Sherlock. He surprised me the very moment he could read me clearly. No matter how much I tried reading him in return, all I can come up with is….He's simply just Sherlock Holmes. He will always remain my greatest friend who showed me adventure. So why am I laying here with my cell phone? Could I possibly be waiting here for a sign? Or maybe an answer as to when I would move on with my life? I breathed out another sigh.

"John maybe it's time to move out," I thought out loud, "there's no other reason for you to be here."

I got off from my bed, placed my cell phone on the dresser, and walked over to the closet fighting back the limp in my leg. Opening the doors, I pulled out my single luggage bag, and laid it on the floor. Unzipping it and opening it up, I discovered a single piece of paper inside. I remember emptying my luggage the moment I moved in here, so why would this be here? I picked up the paper and opened it up. There were a few words written on the parchment:

"I'm always here"

I lowered hands…What? No, I must be going crazy. It's definitely Sherlock's hand writing, but when was this note ever placed here? And in such an obvious manner too! As if he knew I would be leaving at some point. So does that mean, even after death he knew? Is he even dead? I've been stressed out ever since, and this note is supposed to comfort me?!

"Sherlock, don't treat me this way…Don't pester me," I said feeling displeased. I closed up my luggage and placed it back in the closet. I'm going back to bed and resting this off. There's no way this note can be written the way it is. It's too good to be true! Sherlock can't have woken up beyond the grave to give this to me, no way! I stood up carefully and trudged slowly towards my bed. As I made my way, I placed the note upon the dresser next to my cell phone. Laying back into my bed, I pulled over my covers and started to reminisce. Sherlock playing his violin, his constant footsteps echoing in the apartment, and his small talk to himself every single night, as I tried to sleep and ignore him. The walls were so thin, I could even hear him whisper. Yet, even though it was quiet enough for me to sleep, my loud thoughts wouldn't shut up. I started feeling a sense of loss again. I felt my tears reach the edge of my eye lids.

"You're always here?" I spoke, "THEN PROVE IT! You're full of tricks Sherlock! THEN PROVE IT, IF YOU'RE SO CLEVER!"

"DING!"

My message tone, on my phone, gave a rang. I laid there, motionless...My eyes widened.

~to be continued