My best friend, Sherlock Holmes did not kill himself.

He died a hero, saving his friends from a bullet to the head. Yesterday we found evidence on his phone. He recorded a message and his last conversation from James Moriarty. If Sherlock did not jump, then myself, Mrs Hudson and Inspector Lestrade would be killed. He died to save us. He sacrificed his life, so that we would live.

He was not a fraud or a fake and now we have the final proof. I am so, bloody proud of my best friend but now the grief is back in full force. I have to grieve for him all over again. He didn't kill himself. He died to save us. His friends. Moriarty killed him.

I will never forget what he did for me, I will live for both of us, Sherlock.

Thank you my friend.

It didn't take long for the recorded message to make the papers, John suspected a certain government official had a hand in that. All the evidence proved once and for all, that Sherlock Holmes was an innocent man. If only it had come to light before he died. Six months was how long it took. Six bloody months later, Sherlock Holmes' name was cleared. It was in all the papers, some ignoring their earlier words, some apologising, other's claimed they believed in him all along.

The movement exploded. There were messages everywhere. A few days after the initial revealing of the evidence to the press, it died down. But every so often a new message would pop up.

John had taken a week off work. He meant what he said. He had to grieve all over again. So here he was, sitting agains Sherlock's grave once again.

"They did it, Sherlock.. they finally did it. They proved you were innocent. I wish it hadn't taken this long. You deserved better. You really did." He ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the photo of Sherlock in the deerstalker, that he held in his hands. A small smile spread across his face. "You really hated that hat didn;t you. I dunno, it kinda suited you a bit. Odd, different, thats you. It really is a Sherlock Holmes hat now." John held the photo tightly, staring at the clearly annoyed man in the photo. He was smiling but he had that death glare in his eyes.

"I know.. Sherlock. You didn't commit suicide. You sacrificed yourself, to save us. To save me. I'm...I'm thankful but I just wish you hadn't needed to do it. Maybe if I had stayed, maybe if I had come back sooner... I still can't get over the fact that I was so horrible to you before you died. When you were only like that to keep me safe. Im guessing you said those things before you died because your were trying to spare me the pain of your death, but I also guess you weren't sure if anyone would ever hear your messages. You probably guessed your brother would try and clear your name but until then, you didn't want mine dragged into the mud. You were thinking of me..right before you died. Before you saved my life."

"I am so proud of you. But I am so angry now. At myself, at Moriarty. What happened to him, by the way? The police say they had found the blood and the gun but never a body? I guess, in all the confusion, one of his men took it away, to give it a fucking dignified burial."

"Lestrade can't get over the fact that you not only considered him a friend but that you died to save him too. Mrs Hudson was distraught over the news. Wouldn;t speak to me for three days. She blames herself. We all do. Nothing new there. But I know it made her happy to know you didn't commit suicide...Anderson and Sally haven't returned to work yet. Guess they feel really bad. So does Lestrade but in the end he still believed in you. I would expect maybe those two idiots might turn up here at some point if they haven't already. " John rubbed his eyes.

"God, you never tell me anything do you? You could have let me stay. I know you made me leave to save me, but I am the soldier, I could have bloody done something. At least I'm happy in the knowledge that I didn't miss anything, that you weren't suicidal. Cause that really broke me, you know that right? Of course you do, you know everything. I will still continue to miss you, mourn you, cry for you, laugh for you. I don't think I'll ever stop. It's really silly. How much I miss you. Even now, six months on. God, thats half a year. You've been dead for half a year. Do you know that, I wonder, where ever you are..do you know how long you've been gone? Maybe you do. Maybe you don't I dunno."

"The support I and you, have been receiving from the blog and the public has been incredible. I told you about the movement didnt I? Fucking incredible. And the followers of my blog have been just as amazing. I posted one of our old cases. Do you remember the league of gingers?" John gave a sad smile. "I remember dyeing your hair, god you hated that. The look on your face...priceless. I posted some photos of you too, to try and lighten to mood, all it did for me was break my heart again. Everything still reminds me how much I hate the fact you're gone. At least I still have Mary. Without her, I don't know where I'd be."

John sighed and stood up, stretching his leg and picking up his cane. "I was thinking...and I probably won't do it, of writing up all our cases, the ones on the blog, the ones still in my head, and making them into a book. Does that sound like a stupid idea? They'd be longer of course, I wrote down notes after each one, plus my memory is pretty good. I dunno, Mary likes it. You would think it stupid. Not everyone reads my blog and I think a lot of people would like to read your adventures. Mycroft has even given me his permission, so long as I change a few names. Who knows, Sherlock, maybe one day everyone will know your name. Least I can do, for saving my life my friend. I'm keeping your phone.. hope thats ok, Mycroft got the screen fixed for me. I'll come back soon, Sherlock." He tapped the grave and walked off.

To John Watson,

Thank you again for replying. I am quite well now. Again I apologise for the lateness of my reply. I can get caught up in my explorations, sometimes I am unable to post for a week! As you can plainly see. I am now in Spain. Another beautiful country.

I have been reading your blog. Your friend did not commit suicide? This is great news, in a way. He must have cared about you very much to sacrifice himself for you and his friends. You are lucky to have had someone in your life who had such devotion to his own friends. I hope the way he died is in some way a consolation to you.

I am also pleased to see that the papers have cleared his name. After six months it is indeed about time. I wonder what he would think of all this? But I do not know. You do. I still miss my friend, every day it looks more and more less likely that I will never see him again. We seem to be drifting further and further apart. Sometimes I sit and wonder that if I ever saw him again.. would he know me? Would I have changed, would he have changed? Would we recognise each other. I even wonder if he would still want to be my friend.

I wonder if I could have done something, to prevent us parting. I feel I did everything I could and yet he is still gone. I can never tell him, but I miss him every day. I am not one for expressing my feelings well, but I do hope, somewhere, wherever he is, he understands.

I wonder if you feel the same, John Watson, about your detective. Forgive me, for straying into the emotional, where the pain for you is still so raw. I sound, fine, but in reality I sometimes feel if I myself am the one who is lost. Not he. I hope I will see him again someday, but I hope that he will always consider me his friend, even after everything that happened, that he would still forgive me.

Your norwegian friend,

Normund Sigerson.