So this is the past couple of days entertainment. You know if I just channeled my bored energy toward something really productive I could be totally awesome...perhaps I'll take that under consideration.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, though it totally sucks because who wouldn't want to be in the place of the amazing Steven Moffat and\Mark Gatiss?
Dearest Sherlock,
It's been ten days since you left me alone. Every place I look I see you. I spend most of my hours crying and the others trying not to. Tears come like rivers and I doubt my eyes will ever lose their red puffiness. I feel so hollow, Sherlock, like all of my very organs have been ripped out of my body and I'm some how still living.
We had your funeral yesterday. Anderson even showed up; I beat him to a pulp before anyone could pull me off. I figured that's what you would have wanted. Lestrade didn't even help, he probably wanted to hurt him as much as I did. My hands have begun to scab over but I relish in the pain. I know Anderson is hurting a lot more at the moment. You would have like it, or the attention of it anyways. Lestrade gave a touching speech about how you were a great man and brilliant detective, like we all didn't already know that, but it was touching none the less. I had a speech prepared also but I broke down crying before I got through the first sentence. Mrs. Hudson pulled into a hug right there and let me cry. I'm fairly sure that she was crying right along with me. I want you to come back Sherlock, I'm so alone without you.
I haven't been able to go online yet, I know it's going to be flooded with news saying that you were a fake. How could anyone believe those things? Can't they see that you are the most brilliant detective this word has ever seen? You are so extraordinary, and I miss being the idiot of the tow.
It was always Sherlock Holmes and Jane Watson but now it's only me. There is not and any more and I feel so alone. Why don't you come back Sherlock. We can gallivant around the city solving crimes. We'll run amidst the streets in an adventurous haze, smiling of pure adrenaline. I'll say something obvious and you'll reprimand me, I will scowl but secretly be pleased that you noticed me.
You can't be dead Sherlock, I need you.
Dearest Sherlock,
I've decided to number my entries in that that leather bound journal I got last year. Not that you really care anyways; you never are one for organization. Your papers still lay thrown across the flat like a tornado came through but I won't clean it up and I never will. You always hated it when I touched your things. Besides, I'm not ready, and I don't think I ever will be. Mrs. Hudson leaves food at the door step three time a day. After I know she's gone I open the front door and take it in. I try to eat it, really do, but I can't. Food tastes so wrong in my mouth, like it's poison. I've been sleeping in your bed, I hope that's alright. That's where I am right now actually. I've realized that before you left, I had never seen your bedroom. I expected more of a dull room, small bed and books scattered everywhere. Well I was right about the books thing, they are everywhere. one the shelves, night stands, dresser, closet, heck I even found some under your mattress.
I wrap myself up in your blankets, they smell like you. I'm not entirely sure how to describe it, kind of like lime, rosemary, and basil all at the same time. I love your bed, I could sleep in it forever. The sheets are silk and the blankets lay heavily on my body. The pillows are soft and pluss, I can imagine you falling asleep here. I imagine that you are every night as my eyes start to droop. I image that your arms are wrapped around me and that everything is alright. That you never left.
One of the pillows may be spoiled, it got wet with my tears. I cry almost every waking moment, I want you to come home to me. I'm nothing without you. You, Sherlock are my home, not some number or street. I think I hear Mrs. Hudson knocking again but I make no move to answer it. She will leave soon enough and leave me too your maroon walls.
I wonder how much time you spent in here. Is this your sanctuary that you sneak off to when the world becomes too stupid to handle.? You fit so well in here you know. I don't know why but you just do. everything about it just is so Sherlock Holmes. The gracefulness of it, the dimmed lights and elegant rug. I don't really think I'll ever leave. Maybe if I wait long enough you will be there when I look up.
Dearest Sherlock,
Lestrade came by today. I didn't let him in; he banged and called my name but I still didn't move an inch. He stopped eventually and I thought he had left. He had not. He went down to Mrs. Hudson and got the key. But you already knew that didn't you, you always know.
I want expect him to do that. Lestrade found me in you room and a look of relief passed over his features. I feel so selfish about making him worry about me like that, but not enough to stop. He made me eat something Sherlock, and when I didn't keep it down he made me eat some more. It is painful having to swallow that stuff.
After words we just sat quietly on the couch, neither of us knowing exactly what to say. I've gotten so used to just listening to you, funny how you claimed to hate conversation but yet dominated so many of them. Lestrade let me cry on his shoulder when I couldn't keep them in anymore. I could feel his own tears plopping on my hair. I cried for you Sherlock, like I always do, but this time I cried for Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and the world. Because a world without you isn't a good one.
You were like a light to this world, something to believe in and root for. But without you its dark and cold. without you the world has no meaning. Without you I have no meaning.
I haven't been sleeping. As a doctor I know i should be but I'm scared to. Every time I close my eyes I see you falling. I see that one tear that ran down your beautiful cheek. I know what's coming, I always do but I cant stop you. I am stuck in place, unable to save my best friend. I listen to you say those words that have echoed in my brain since that day. "This is my not, that's what people do isn't it?" You say. I remember the last time you said my name. "I'm sorry Jane" and with that you fall, you always fall. I'm crying again, I hardly know a time when I'm not. I miss you so much Sherlock, it hurts. I just want you to come back to me, please.
Dearest Sherlock,
No one came by today, and for that I am grateful. I don't want to talk to anyone. Except you, could talk to you all day. I put on one of your suit jacket today, it far too big and long but it made me think of you. Though just about everything makes me think of you. I'm so alone Sherlock, I want you next to me again. I know I've told you that about a million times but it is the truth. I would do anything, give anything at the prospect of seeing you again. What did I do before I met you? My whole life revolves around you, I'm like earth with no sun to orbit. Perhaps that's not the best analogy for you though, you did 'delete' it. Have you deleted me, is that why you haven't come home yet? I wouldn't mind, as long as I saw you sometimes.
I got online today. I didn't want to but I thought it was the courageous thing to do. You always had so much courage Sherlock. You are fearless and have always been my rock. When I am scared you are my candle light in the darkness. Now I'm weak like a porcelain doll, I'm not strong without you.
My comments box is flooded. I forced myself to look at every single one. I could hear your voice telling me not to be afraid, not to be weak. There was so many 'sorry for you loss's and 'is Sherlock really dead?'. They were okay, it was frauds that hurt the most. There were so many of them.
You weren't a fraud Sherlock, I knew you. How could people say such thing? They don't know you the didn't see you do your thing or the look on your face when the clues finally clicked. I was there, I know something like that couldn't possibly be faked. I tried to write a bio. entry about you, about everything amazing that you have done, about what a extraordinary person you are, but the words would not come. I'm not me without you. I bet you are disappointed in me. You believe in self sufficiency and self preservation but without you I have none of the above. I can hardly even eat now that you're gone. God, I'm being you! I want you to come home to me, I'm not the person I want to be without you by my side.
Dearest Sherlock,
Today marks two weeks since I watched you fall. I know that's onto really monumental or anything but today I feel so, sad. It's been two weeks since I saw your face. Sure I have pictures, but pictures aren't brilliant Sherlock. They many be you but they aren't. Why must you be one. You are my rock Sherlock Holmes, my everything. I am nothing without you. I'm a sidekick without a hero, a river without an ocean. Fourteen days without you is eternity. Can person live fourteen days without a heart? As a doctor I know that such a thing is impossible. But yet here I am, fourteen days without you and I'm still somehow living.
Is this how it must be until you return to me. Am I destined to feel hollow and empty for the rest of eternity? Have I done something wrong. Is that why you haven't returned. Are you angry with me Sherlock? Was there a clue you left that I didn't get? Could I have saved you?
Because I wouldn't blame you, I'm angry with me too.
Dearest Sherlock,
Lestrade is insisting that I see a therapist. I don't know how he can say such a thing. Its only been fifteen days since you left, but it feels like its been years. He thinks therapy will help me get over you. Maybe I don't want to, maybe I never want to leave this flat, when I'm here I am surrounded by you. Lestrade also thinks it is bad for me to stay here. He said it would only make moving on harder.
Lestrade doesn't know anything right? That's what you say, though you say that about everyone. It's true though. Compared to you we are all children, our minds fetal, drunk on emotion and notions that will never come. No one understands you, do they? They don't like what goes on in that brilliant mind of yours. If you would come back I'd like to try. I'd attempt to understand what it is like to be the only one in the world. I'd make you tea and we'd talk. Not our regular semi mindless blather but really talk. Well talk about so many thing when you come back Sherlock, you'll have tired of me by night fall. I just want to understand you. I want to know as much as my mind can handle about you. Sherlock Holmes. When you were still here I just hardly scraped the surface. I look forward to that, being with you for the years to come. I'll spend the rest of my life with you. On my grave it will read….
Jane Watson
thoughtful friend,
and blogger of the
great detective
I am surprisingly okay with that.
Dearest Sherlock,
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I missy you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
How many times must I say it before you come back to me.
Dearest Sherlock,
I apologies for my absence the last week and a half. The last ten days have blurred together in a realm of nothingness. I haven't been able to bring myself to do anything. This journal has been sitting around but I just haven't opened it. You probably didn't miss me much, probably liked having some time to yourself. I know you always did before. Though to be honest that's not why I haven't been writing. Twenty six days without you is killing me, Sherlock. I haven't cried in days. People would think that's a good thing. That I'm finally starting to move on, but they are wrong, oh its crazy how wrong that they are. I don't know why I'm not crying, all I know is the emptiness of my realization.
I love you Sherlock,
and I don't mean like a friend, I mean exactly what I say, I love you. I can't believe I never noticed it before. Why would I have stuck with you all this time. Why would I have dealt with heads in my refrigerator, and fingers in my the microwave. Why I was okay with being in constant danger. You, this answer is so painfully simple, but yet this realization comes too late for I never got to tell you. I never told you how I love the way your grey eyes light up when you smile. I never told you how breath taking you look when you first wake in the morning, that tousled hair and bright eyes. I was hardly ever awake before you but I cherished the rare times that I was. I never told you what an extraordinary person you were. Not because of the detection, or the crime solving but because of you. Just you. You on your own, with no crime or anything, was great, and I never told you. I wish I had, more than anything. You deserve to be praised and loved, I wish I could have given that to you. Words left unsaid are the worst kind. There constantly floating in front of me, asking, pleading, wondering why they never got to reach your ears. And I have no answer for them, just excuses. They are so sad, so very sad, but also so angry. They are angry at me for never saying them and I fear the day soon they will rip me apart. I wish I had told you, maybe then you wouldn't have fell. Maybe you would have stayed with me. Then this void in my very soul would never have been created. It's funny how everything ends up being my fault.
Dearest Sherlock,
Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Donovan made me go to a therapist. They not only set up the appointment and but also dragged me there.
I hate it, but then again I expected that much. Remember when you and I first met, I hated that therapist too. They try to get into your head like they have the right to be there. Like she could ever understand what you and I had. We were amazing! How could anyone ever understand.
She talked as if she knew how I was feeling, as if you were never coming back. She is the same as them, all of them. They all believe you're dead. They all mourn you like your never coming back.
But I know different. I know that you, Sherlock Holmes, can't be dead. If you were the very universe would have fallen apart. Atoms would no longer have structure.
You would not have left me alone forever?
Dearest Sherlock,
They say that knowledge is power. They say that with knowledge we can set yourself free. I know, however, exactly the opposite. Some knowledge will destroy you.
Ignorance is bliss.
You're really dead aren't you? You're not coming home to me, you have really left me alone. I woke with that realization. I wish I hadn't. You were my everything and now I have no hope. You're not coming back to me.
The tears did though. They came for me and I just sobbed to myself in the confines of the flat. You're everywhere in here, you know that. I saw your violin, I'm looking at it ring now. It will never make a symphony again. You were so beautiful Sherlock, in every way possible. Your musical talent being only one of many. You're dead and I'm alone. That fact weighs down heavily on my heart, I don't think I will ever go away. Today is the second worst day of my life. Your fall ranking a strong first. Before today I held the hope that you would walk through that door. You would scoff at me and say 'stop being emotional Jane, its horrifying'.
But no more. You're no longer with me. Sherlock, you died on me. I always thought I was going to be the one to leave our crazy duo. I thought I'd find someone, settle down, perhaps even have kids someday. I thought we'd always be friends, that we'd always have each other no matter what happens. I didn't realize I'd already found the man I was always looking until you were gone. I cry for the future we could have had, the things we will never do. The unlived days. Imagine what we would have done, the things we would have seen, the mysteries we would have solved.
I cry for the people we would have been, the kind of love we may have shared. These are the things I cry for now. Not the need for you to come home that will never be filled. Thought that is still present in my sorrows. The unlived not takes proments. I have been so selfish, crying only about my self really. When in truth you deserve the lot of it. You are thon that has ceased to exist, the one who no longer breaths, and though that was of your own doing, I don't blame you for the rubel that you left behind.
It is I that must shoulder the burden, not you memory.
I shouldn't of let you go up there
I shouldn't have left you alone
I should have noticed the turmoil behind your eyes
I shouldn't have let you fall.
Dearest Sherlock,
I left the flat today for the first time of my own accord. I though I will admit to the unwillingness of it. I didnt want to leave, I fear that if I leave when I return everything will be gone. The flat is like a living memory of you. If I've had just the right mixture of grogginess and starvation I can believe for the faintest of seconds that you are still with me. They are of course the best seconds of my day, though always end with the breaking of my heart and many tears.
Can eyes run dry of tears? Permanently? I bet you have conducted an experiment on that haven't you? If they can do you mind telling me when? I'm sure mine are well on their way. I cry more than London's rain, I'm sure of it. The press bombarded me today when they got word I had come out. I don't even know how they found out so fast, I was only going to the market to buy some milk.
By the time I rounded the corner there they were. Crowding around me like wasps swarming a victim. There were so many cameras Sherlock! they all screamed questions about you. So many questions all swirling together. All I could really make out was you. A long chorus of voices all singing; 'Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock" They chanted and it nearly brought me to my knees. But I know not to give them a show. You taught me that Sherlock. I don't know where or when but I know that you did.
I'm beginning to lose sense of reality. I suppose you do that to me as well. I don't even know who I am anymore. Without you I'm simply the shell of the woman I used to be. Life hasn't shined like it used to sense the day you died, and I don't think it ever will.
Dearest Sherlock,
Today marks thirty one days since you left me alone. I left the flat today. You know that time of really early morning that you liked so much. that time around four in the morning, that time where the streets are deserted, and even the night owls are asleep? That's what time it is. I remember I would hear you sometimes, going out on to the streets at this time of night. I think you loved the silence of it all. The way distant sounds would echo through the streets. But this isn't about that. This is about you, and me. Its about Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, goodness ever Anderson. All of those who you left behind.
This is about unlived days.
You would think that after such a public figure jumped of this building they would get some better security, but they don't. I walked on up to the roof of Barts just like you did 31 days ago.
31 days since you left me alone
31 days since I saw your face.
31 days since I saw your lanky form.
since I breathed in you brilliants,
Since I've slept a full night.
31 days since I've lived
31 days without you has felt like years. I can't do this anymore Sherlock. I don't want to live without you. I'd don't want to live my days knowing your unlived one are floating in the background.
I tried letting go. I tried to forget. I tried pretending you're coming home when you're not.
I'm tired Sherlock. I'm tired of living without you. Until today, until this moment, this thought never before occurred to me. I didn't think about doing this . I didn't plan it out or even wright a not. Well maybe I have.
This is my note, that's what people do isn't it?
My legs dangle off of the edge. It would be so easy, was that what you were thinking Sherlock? I feel bad, doing this to my family, to my friends, I just hope they understand that this wasn't to hurt them. It's because I can't take this anymore. There is no point. Without you in my life I am simply one part of a pair. I am half of the whole, incomplete. I have said it so many time but this time I will say it with complete assurance.
I am nothing, and no one, without you.
Sherlock, I told you that I would do anything at the prospect at seeing you on last time. I have never believed anything in particular about what happened to you after you died. All I know is that I could see you again, and if there is a chance, I must take it.
See you soon, Sherlock Holmes.
Yup, so there that. What did you think, I really, really like to hear you thoughts in comments, thanks for reading! By the way, there will be an epilogue to this, beware we may be going on a feels trip.