My Sherlock Holmes

You all seem to think you knew Sherlock Holmes, but you didn't. You didn't know him like I did, you didn't understand him like I understood him.

Sherlock Holmes was a high functioning sociopath but he certainly was not a psychopath.

Do you know how many murders he solved? How many killers he put behind bars? Or did you all forget? Pray tell me because I am anxious to know.

You read my blog religiously, you read what we were doing, what cases we solved and yet a single newspaper article by a snubbed journalist and you wanted him lynched. You were after blood.

Why?

Was it purely as he said that you could not handle the thought of someone else of higher intellect than you? That it scared you that such a man should exist? A man who's concepts and methods seemed alien and therefore you decided the only way a man could be that brilliant, so truly magnificent was if he cheated.

If so then you should be ashamed. Only the minds of morons would be altered by an article. Like play-do ready to be moulded, putty in his hands. Are you that naive? Is that what you are? Is he right? Are you all to busy swimming in your own thoughts and unimportant details that you can't see when you've been fooled?

Because Jim Moriarty sure pulled a number on you.

Does it hurt now? To see that he jumped, to see that a great man died because of the actions of fools? It should because it bloody hurts me.

To you he may have been cold hearted but I know him as he knew me. He saved me, I wanted to blow my brains out. I was ready to die, boredom and Afganistan did that to me. I needed the adrenaline I was a junkie for it- I needed it to survive. He saved me, he injected life back into my veins and suddenly I was alive, running again without the aid of a cane and with adrenaline pumping through my veins my shaking hand a long forgotten memory.

He saved me and he saved many others.

He didn't show off, much.

He let idle detectives take the credit as he slunk back into the shadows; it was never the glory for him or the money, maybe that's why you didn't understand.

Someone once told me 'he got off on it' but that simply isn't, wasn't true.

He got off on the thrill of the chase, the complexity of a crime. He enjoyed the hunt of the killer, the mystery.

He never enjoyed the death.

It was never that, it was always the mystery. He enjoyed having to think, being the only one who could possibly solve a crime and you thought him a fraud. Do you honestly think that if the great Sherlock Holmes had committed crimes that he would have ever allowed himself to be caught? It sometimes got to me, I'll admit. His lack of compassion and understanding of some things but I had realised over time that it wasn't that he didn't care for people he just didn't know how to show it.

Love and friendship was something more complex than the most mysterious murder to him.

But I had seen his love.

I saw him throw a man out of a window because he dared touch a woman that was the closest he had to a mother figure.

He did care and he did love.

He is dead because of you and I don't think I can go on, he was the one keeping me going; keeping me alive. Now I have no one because anyone who betrayed him also betrayed me.

But I have to live, to die would be a disrespect.

I will continue to live just to keep saying the truth, for him. I will repeat it for the rest of my life, until you finally believe.

He was innocent.

I was his blogger and he was my detective. Now I have nothing to talk about, nothing ever happens to me.

It never did.

One day you will all realise you are wrong- I hope it hurts.

A/N Please review! I felt that John would have to find a way to express how he felt- to inform them they were all wrong. Hope you liked!