A/N – I have been quite busy recently but taken a break from everything. I will update my other two fics soon but this had to be written down before I forgot! Enjoy! :)

It's been a year since Sherlock's death and John is still struggling to cope. Ella, John's therapist, decided it was an idea to write down all he was feeling.

'You mean like, write a letter or something?' John asked.

'Yes, I think it will help if you write down everything you want to say to him... or wanted to say to him.' John shakes his head slowly.

'I don't see how that will do anything...' John says.

'Just try it John, you may be surprised.'

'I'll think about it, thank you Ella.' John said rising from his seat and heading towards the door.

John sat at his small table in his new flat. As much as he wanted to, staying at 221B would have been a bad decision. All those memories would make it harder to move on. He doesn't want to move on, but everyone tells him he needs to carry on with his life.

He put his head in his hands. His laptop was out of battery but he wasn't going to write his letter up on it anyway. It felt more personal if he wrote it by hand. John took his head out of his hands and stared at the paper. He picked up his pen and started to write his letter to Sherlock, his best friend.

Dear Sherlock,

It's been a year today. Since you know, your fall... Everyone thought I would be feeling a bit better by now but to be perfectly honest, I think I feel worse.

For the first few weeks of the 'incident' there was something inside me telling me that the fall wasn't real, you were still alive. I think that's why I feel the way I do. I know your not coming back now.

When I came back from Afghanistan, I was all alone. I had no one. Well, there was Harry but like you worked out the first day we met, we're not that close even though she wants us to be. Bumping into Mike that day was nice. Seeing an old friend and all. Then I mentioned having to move out of London as I couldn't afford it on my army pension but he suggested getting a flatmate.

That's when I met you.

At first I couldn't understand you. To be honest, I still haven't worked you out. I don't think anyone ever could. You were a mystery but some how I felt relaxed when I was with you. Mycroft said the first time he 'Kidnapped' me that he knew I had trust issues. I did. I do with new people still. You were the one I put all my trust in those few days of meeting you even though I denied it to Mycroft. You were one for danger; the least afraid of danger. Somehow though, even though pretty much every case we went on meant maybe risking our lives, I always felt safe with you.

I know you didn't have friends but the people you knew and accepted, Molly, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, I feel as they are some of my closest friends. Without you I would never have met them. Without you, I would still most probably be alone.

Mrs Hudson calls round every now and then. Usually with a cake or something, trying to get me to eat. I do eat, she just worries. She said she feels lonely now. I told her she is welcome over whenever. Least she doesn't get woken up with criminals at the door or you firing gun shots because your bored now.

Molly also texts me sometimes to meet up for a catch up. We usually just go for a coffee and she tends to talk about work and what she's been up to. She met someone. His name is Lee, I think. I said I would go out for a drink with them sometime. She's still not over you fully I don't think, but we all need to start somewhere. That's the trouble with me. I don't know where to start. That's why I am writing to you. Ella said it would help.

I also meet up with Lestrade a lot. We go for a drink about once a fortnight. Sometimes a couple of times a week. It varies. We never talk about his work. I think he thinks it will upset me. I must admit we are a lot closer, seeing as we only talk about what we like and dislike, things in general. The kind of thing people usually talk about.

Do you remember the day we met Moriarty? I know you probably don't want to hear his name. I don't like thinking about him, let alone writing his name. Anyway, the day we met him, when I was down looking at the tracks the guy I was with, before you came, said something to me. He said those who throw themselves in front of trains are 'Selfish bastards!' because their life is over in seconds, the driver however has to live with the guilt and pain.

You took it too far that day Sherlock. The press say all sorts of things about people, manipulate the truth. You didn't have to throw yourself of the hospital roof. Your life, was over in seconds. My life, well I have to live with the pain forever. You were my best friend Sherlock. I was nothing before you, and I am now nothing without you.

As I mentioned earlier, I'm seeing my therapist, Ella, again. I guess things have just gone downhill. She is trying so hard to help me get my life back on track. Her ideas probably work, I just don't try them. This is the first of her ideas I am actually trying.

You were the best man Sherlock! The most human! You were also a rude, patronising, annoying dick most of the time! But that's what made you, you. The man I trusted more than anyone. The man who I moved in with without knowing anything about him. The man I called, and still call, my best friend.

Why did you have to go Sherlock?

I don't have nightmares about Afghanistan now. Just of your fall. I wake in the night sweating, scared and alone. I haven't told Ella that part. I feel pathetic. I get so scared that I bring myself so close to tears, just thinking of what it'd be like going through that again. I can't live this life by myself, Sherlock. It hurts.

You said once that there are no such things as hero's. I think for once you were wrong. You know why Sherlock? Because you were. You were a hero. You are still a hero in my eyes. Even if you were that stupid to throw yourself of Bart's roof!

It's getting dark. So it must be getting late. I'm going to finish writing this now. If only you could read this Sherlock. If only you could see how much you meant to me. You made life bearable, you made me happy. You were my best friend. You are my best friend. I just need to find away to cope living my life now without you.

I feel writing this has lifted a small weight of my shoulders. I know you can't read this but I feel you know it all already. I just wish you could have heard it all from me. I miss you Sherlock, I would do anything to have you back in my life. But it's too late.

Yours ever so faithfully,

John Watson

x

P.S – I will never forget you Sherlock and that's a promise.

John placed his pen down on the table. He looked at the letter and folded it up. John went over to his desk and got a envelope out. He slid the letter inside and wrote Sherlock Holmes very carefully and neatly on the front. A tear slid down his face. John put the letter on the table, wiped the tears away with his sleeve and walked over to pick up his jacket. It was starting to drizzle outside but John had something to do. Somewhere he had to go. He picked up the letter again and placed it in his inside pocket.

John locked the door behind him and set off for a longish walk to Baker Street. The rain gradually got worse but he didn't care. Cold rain drops landing on his head, some hitting the back of his neck. Thunder sounded in the distance and the rain picked up pace even more.

Soon enough John reached Baker Street. He stood outside with the rain still beating down on him staring at the door. John walked up and knocked. Mrs Hudson answered the door.

'John, what are you doing out in the thunder and lightning? It's really raining as well! Come inside!' Mrs Hudson ushered John into the warmth.

'What are you doing here at this time, dear?' Mrs Hudson asked.

'Do you think I can go up to our old flat? There is something I want to do.' John asked politely.

Mrs Hudson nodded and went back to get the keys. She ignored the fact John said 'our' referring to his and Sherlock's flat. Old habits die hard. She came back out with the keys and made her way up the stairs. John followed quickly behind. Once the door was unlocked John felt his heart racing more. He was back at his old flat. Everything was still the same.

'I will leave you be.' Mrs Hudson smiled at John and headed towards the door.

John walked slowly all around the flat. He took in every detail of everything. Mainly Sherlock's stuff. The bullet holes he made, some science equipment in the kitchen and his chair. Sherlock's chair. John made the effort not to cry. He took the letter out of his pocket and held it for a moment. He sighed and went to speak.

'I've heard about people writing letters to friends and family who have died and leaving it in a place they both love. A place with memories.' John looked down but looked up soon after continuing what he was saying.

'I'm leaving my letter here for you Sherlock.' His voice almost a whisper. 'You know, makes me feel closer to you somehow. That even from up there you can read it.'

John placed the letter down on top of the fireplace. He took one last look around before heading downstairs.

'The wind has picked up and it's almost flooding. I think it's best you stay here tonight John. The people on the news don't want people leaving their houses.' Mrs Hudson said to John handing him a cup of tea.

'Is that okay?' John asked smiling to his former land lady.

'Of course it is! It would be lovely having you back here.' Mrs Hudson exclaimed. 'Do you mind having your old room for the night?' She asked worriedly.

'That's fine.' John said trying to sound relaxed.

'Good, well you drink that up then you should be off to bed! You look like you need a good nights sleep! It's getting late anyway.' John smiled.

'Thank you, Mrs Hudson.'

'Your more than welcome John.' She patted John on the back gently.

John finished his tea and headed back upstairs. He went into his room without a second glance to the flat knowing he will struggle to sleep otherwise. It was cold in his room, so decided until it warmed up a bit, after switching the heating on, he would sleep in his clothes.

He climbed into his old bed, the smell of fresh linen sending him sleepy. Before he knew it he was drifting off into what he could only think the best night sleep he is going to have for a while.

It was about 3am when John woke to a loud noise. He was still very much asleep and argued with his brain on whether to go back to sleep or not. John drifted back to sleep again just as there was another slight bang. His door creaked open slightly but he was asleep and didn't notice. He didn't notice it being shut around 20 minutes later either. John was oblivious to what had just happened. What he would probably have deemed a miracle.

John slept right through until morning and again avoided the flat and headed downstairs for some breakfast with Mrs Hudson.

A/N – Anyone want more? Or is it better as a one shot? :)