This one isn't very funny or long, but it's necessary.
Dear Mary,
I know this is terrible of me. Leaving like this with nothing but a note left behind. I feel like scum for doing it, but I just can't stay. It's not you, I know that's what they all say but it's really not. You're the most wonderful woman I've ever met. And you deserve better.
I feel like I'm losing my mind. You know how I keep seeing him everywhere. Of course it can't be him. He'd get so bored as an actor. But still the possibility infests my mind like an infection. I just can't shake it.
Everyone's told me that you can never suspect a suicide. Just like everyone's told me it's not my fault. But... Nothing could make me believe that Sherlock was suicidal. He never cared what people thought. A man who feels comfortable taunting a psychotic killer despite having a knife at his throat is not a man who takes a dive because someone wrote something nasty. Above all, he wasn't a fake. I don't care what any newspaper or expert says. I don't care how insane it makes me sound, it would've been pointless for him to fake a case. He lived for those cases. I've seen him fall into depressions because there were no cases worth solving.
I don't know where or how, but I think he's still out there. And if he is, I need to find him. I just can't live like this anymore. I've tried my best to live a happy, normal life but it's driving me insane.
I'm sorry. You deserve better than some idiot obessed with chasing ghosts.
There's a diamond ring under the false bottom of my sock drawer. I hope however much you can sell it for will be worth whatever distress I've caused you. Please have a good life.
Goodbye,
John H. Watson