"You really love him don't you?" Ella, John's therapist, asked him after his second appointment of the week. It was three months after Sherlock Holmes had died, and John was finally admitting it to himself.
"I-I don't know. He makes-made-me more than I have, more that I had ever been. With Sherlock I was alive. My limp went away, I was happy. And Sherlock, Sherlock is-was- the best and wisest man I had ever known, he was my best friend and no one will ever convince me that he lied to me." John told her all of this with tears in his eyes. He might have just begun admitting Sherlock was dead, but he was far from over it.
"John, I know this hurts you, I can't even imagine what you're going through; but I think you really need to figure out exactly what he means to you." Ella had been pressing John about the full extent of his relationship with the legendary detective.
"He made me feel like no one ever had before, he was amazing, I will never stop believing in him. I, he, I miss him." There were silent tears falling down John's face as he was speaking, "There were so many things I didn't get to say to him."
"Say some of them now."
"I'm sorry, but I can't. It's now use now, Sherlock is d-dead. And, god, I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I loved him. Bloody hell, I still love him! You're right, Ella, you're fucking right, I'm in love with a dead man. Are you happy now?"
"John, I-I'm sorry. I-"
"Can I just-can I just go now?" John asked, his voice shaking.
"Yes, John, of course."
John stood, turned militarily and limped away. Tears streaming down his face. He wasn't in love with Sherlock Holmes, he couldn't be, but he was. Great timing. Good time for a realization John. Great fucking job, he thought to himself.