Sometimes, when I think about grief and loss and desperation, I think about how different people react to it in different ways. Some people throw themselves into their work and pretend that actually, everything is ok. Some people just eat, and eat, and eat. Some people can't concentrate. Others pretend like nothing has happened.
I always thought that I'd be one of those people who moved on fairly quickly, regaining my hold on reality and getting on with life. That of course, was before I met him - the greatest man I have ever known. The one man who understood me, who listened, and accepted me for who I was; who protected me, trusted me – who was my best friend.
But now he's gone. He ended it all in a heartbeat so that he could die on his own terms. So that no matter what happened, Moriarty couldn't win.
And now I'm alone. One man in a world of people who all believe that my best friend was a fraud –a world where almost everyone believes that, to satisfy some strange desire to prove he was clever, he kidnapped and murdered hundreds of people and hired an actor to play his "arch enemy".
And so, after 18 months of friendship and a 5 second fall, all my views on grief and loss and desperation have changed. I feel empty – everything is dark and there is no light at the end of the tunnel. I can't move on, not only because i don't want to, but because I can't. Wherever I go I see reminders of him – a long coat, someone with dark curls, a street where we chased a murderer or poster declaring "I believe in Sherlock Holmes".
It hurts. It always hurts. And I think it always will.