Sherlock-
My therapist was actually the one who suggested this. Writing to a dead man seems bloody ridiculous, but I didn't want to lie to her when she asked me about it. She said it might even be better than writing a blog. Maybe it is. It certainly is easier.
Mrs. Hudson found another jar of thumbs hidden in the back of the cabinet. I don't know what you were doing with all those. Are there really honestly that many different experiments you can perform on only human thumbs?
That funeral was bloody brutal. I sat in the front row, and I swear I was one of the only ones not actually crying. It's not that I'm not sad that you're...gone. I am. But I don't think you would like it if you had known I was crying at your funeral.
Your parents weren't there. I checked. I asked Mycroft about it, and he said "They're busy, John. Leave me alone," Why can't I ever get a straight answer from him?
I honestly can't think of a single thing to say. There isn't much to say. I've left the flat maybe two times since you died, and that was to get the milk. I even called out to the flat, asking you to get it, before I remembered.
I can see now why you had taken to talking to that skull of yours. Mrs. Hudson insisted on putting it away, but I wouldn't let her. He does listen, it's kind of nice sometimes. He doesn't call me boring like somebody I used to know did -hint, hint- and never has any sarcastic remarks to make.
The picture of you they (when I saw "they", I mean Mycroft) were going to use at the funeral was awful. It was taken several years ago, and you were grimacing at the camera like you would rather be dead than I have your picture taken. Maybe that was the wrong figure of speak to use there. Sorry. Anyway, I convinced them to use the only decent picture of you I have. It was low quality once they had blown it up to a larger size because it was taken on my crappy camera phone, but it was better than what they had.
I haven't let Mrs. Hudson dust yet. I think it's because I think she'll dust away some of the memories as well as the actual dust. Is that weird? You'd think it was.
I'd expect that if you actually read this, you'd be very much bored by now, so I'll stop.
Until my therapist makes me write again,
Sincerely,
John
I was bored so this was born.
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