There was a note attatched to it. It read:
To whoever finds this,
I saw Sherlock Holmes last night. I thought it was really him, but he was gone when I woke up. Clearly, I've lost it. I can't handle being without him any longer. I-
Sherlock stopped reading and shoved the door open.
John was laying on the bed, still as a rock. In his hand was the gun he had always kept hidden in his desk; in his head, a single bullet hole. He was looking up at the ceiling like he had done every other morning, only this time, he couldn't see it.
"John... No...