Lost Without My Blogger

Looking back I don't regret,

The life I've led, and somehow yet,

How could I have let my best friend believe,

That I'm really gone, and watch him grieve,

If I had been a better man,

I'd have tipped him off before I ran,

To make him see that I'm still there,

And lay my heart and soul bare,

Could I have been somewhat better?

Perhaps I may have made more effort?

To be the friend he needed me to be,

But to pretend to care was never me,

As a child to wonder was something wrong,

I've never danced to life's great song,

And never felt my mother's love,

Or the warmth they say comes from God above,

Other people seem so strange to me,

I never saw what they all see,

As a child I played alone,

To cries and shouts of 'freak' and 'stone-

ey faced', 'emotionally inept'

They never saw how I wept,

And as the years went by I closed the door,

Until I couldn't feel anymore,

John, he taught me how to see,

How others do, but let me be,

He let me live as I'd intend,

A man I trust, and call my friend,

A man I must now leave behind,

It's for the best, although I find,

That I do not really want to go,

If only there was some way to show,

That I'm still here, I'm not really gone,

But I must turn away and I must go on,

Plagued by things I've never felt before,

My heart it hurts, my spirit's sore,

Could it be what others call regret?

Perhaps it would have been better if we'd never met?

But if not for John I'd never have known,

That my heart is human, not made of stone,

This, grief I think they call it, this horrendous ache,

Will keep me remembering for my own sake,

That I too once had a friend who cared,

Enough to love someone so emotionally impaired,

Without whom there would be no one to grieve,

No one to remember, no one left to believe,

That I tried to live my life as best I could,

I tried to strive for a greater good,

Without John the world would simply forget,

That I was alive, but John will not let

The world forget the name of Sherlock Holmes,

A man made of flesh, and blood, and bones,

Maybe Mycroft, Molly, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade

And a handful of others at Scotland Yard,

Might secretly remember me at the heights of my fame,

But not enough to fight for my good name,

But John, he was loyal, and he was always there,

He will always stand by me, and he will always care,

If only I'd spoken of how much he meant,

I miss him so much, but its time I relent,

For its true that without my best friend, the only one I have known,

I face the rest of this journey alone.