"Don't be dead."
Who am I kidding? You've never done a single thing I asked you to do; you certainly won't start right now. I feel stupid, begging a dead man to return, come back to me. But I've never been the clever one, right? That's all you. Was you.
Oh God.
I mean it, you know. You are human, and your humanity was so beautiful; more so that so very few of us saw it. There were glimpses other people could see, but you could never hide it from me. Even if you tried so hard with the not-eating, the long sleepless nights. You'd eventually crash and you'd trust me to take care of you. A blanket tucked around you, a cup of tea when you finally wake up.
Why didn't you trust me to take care of you this time?
I would've. It's my job. John Watson, glorified Holmes-sitter.
You'd gone and jumped instead. Like a fucking great bat, limbs spread out and your coat flying behind you. Great giant bat that couldn't get his wings to work properly. Is that what happened? You couldn't figure out how to stop Moriarty?
I won't believe it. You're not a fraud, Sherlock, no matter what the media says. I know you, I've lived with you-
You were real. You're my best friend and you were real.
Mrs. Hudson's waiting for me. I shouldn't keep her waiting; her hip, you know. She'd understand, though. She left me alone with you, so I could-I could do this on my own.
Christ, you're dead now, Sherlock. You've got a grave and a tombstone and everything.
Stop it, would you?
You perform miracles. You used to. "Just one more miracle."
I just need one last-
God, won't you stop it now? Please, Sherlock, won't you stop being dead?
"Just stop it. Stop this."
Just one more. You know I don't ask much from you.
I have to go now, Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson's waiting. I'm sorry I can't stay.
I wish you had.