Sherlock,
Today was the day. The day you were buried; stuck in the cold, heartless ground and left there with a shiny black head stone to top it all off. Mrs. Hudson came along and we both cried for you. She may have gotten slightly angry with you; shooting the walls, making a mess, body parts in the fridge… As annoyed and angry we would both get about it it's one of the things I miss most about you and about the way things used to be. You could be a bloody prick sometimes, but hell, you were my… my best friend. Sherlock Holmes, you were my best friend; a man I knew I could trust with my life. I stood at your grave today and held in my tears, trying to show some dignity and respect for you. You wouldn't approve of a crying Watson; you would find it rather childish more than that. I owe you so much, Sherlock. You handed me a torch in a time of darkness, gave me food in a time of hunger and pulled me out from the sea in which I was drowning in. You were there when no one else was. I was so alone and I owe you so much. I asked you for one miracle at your grave today, Sherlock. Just one more miracle for me; don't. be. dead. Just don't. Just stop all this, stop it. I wish on all the shooting stars, all the blown out birthday candles. I pray in every language, religion and every way for you to still be alive. I will stay on my knees for however long it takes, keep my hands pressed together for as long as needed, whisper prayers under my breath until my mouth hurts and my voice is gone for this one wish, this one miracle, to come true. Just come back to me, come back home, please. I beseech you, I beg. I haven't even prayed for my safe return home from war as much as I pray for this. You know, when I got back home from war I wished for something, anything to come into my life and make it a little better. It didn't have to be anything grand, it didn't have to be anything spectacular or brilliant; it could just be something that will give me that push to keep living. I got a lot more than I wished for; I got you. And somehow something realized it was too much for me and took you away from me. You have told me you aren't a hero, but you couldn't have been more wrong. You were more of a hero than those people I saw on the battle field. Us, heroes? Ha! We shot to kill at all costs and in return we got shot at too. But you, you helped people; you solved murders, gave justice to people who needed it. You saved people from so much more than another killer or another murder. You saved them from themselves; their pain, their hurt, their desperateness to find out what happened. Just like you saved me.
Step by step I can slowly try to say what I've been meaning to say to you since we met. You are the greatest man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I was so lucky to have been able to be your friend. Being loved by someone who seemed to have hated everyone else; funny enough this brings a twitch of a smile to my face. You're the only person who can bring any positive emotion to me.
I'm moving out of the flat. It's too painful to stay there right now. I can't cry myself to sleep anymore. I don't have the energy anymore, but sometimes I want to cry myself to sleep. I've actually slept well after crying myself to sleep, isn't that sad? One day I'll be able to fall asleep without shedding a single tear, but that day is still far and nowhere close in sight. I don't want to leave the flat behind but the main is still so immense; it has no grown into a numbing throb that pulses through my body. I'm so numb all the time and it feels so good; not feeling instead of feeling the painful current control my body. I lie down and feel the numbness wash over me and let it engulf my body, my thoughts and control my dry soul. I lie down and stare at the ceiling, letting numbness control me and then I lay there for hours, not thinking, not speaking, not moving and just letting any feelings go. Am I going insane? Maybe… My shrink is prescribing me some light medication that should get rid of these "signs of depression". She's saying I lost weight; a lot of weight. I hadn't noticed anything until she said so. Now I see why all my jeans are so big for me and my sweaters hang on my like a bed sheet rather than a normal piece of clothing. I don't care, maybe if I don't eat life will not want me anymore.
I'm not suicidal because I know you would find it silly. I'm still alive because I have you to hold on to. I'll always hold onto you.