Sherlock-
Lestrade came to visit today. If you were here, you'd probably have told him everything he's done in the last week, pestered him for cases, and pickpocketed him if he was irritating you more than usual.
I'm still angry at him for what he did, Sherlock. Abandoning you, arresting you at a critical moment-doubting you when you needed everyone to stand by you. But he does care about you. Funny thing, I think you cared about him too, in your own Sherlock way. You listened to him at least now and then. I can only imagine what your family was like, but I suppose Lestrade always seemed a bit like a father to you, at least to me. But maybe you'd sniff and accuse me of sentiment.
I've made a decision, Sherlock. I'm leaving the flat tomorrow. Everything here hurts too much, reminds me of you. It's like being constantly kicked in the stomach every time I look around. I'm not sleeping well just now. I might go back to the military hospital for a bit, just until I get my feet under me and find another flat.
I don't know why I'm writing this anymore. You're dead, and no one else is going to read it.
John