Dear Sherlock,
There have been loads of letters coming through the door this past week from all of your 'fangirls'. They're all very sweet and supportive, telling me to be strong and to keep faith. I haven't been able to reply to any yet, but I think I'd like to.
It's been so long now, and though all this support is welcome and lovely to have, I'm just feeling so lonely. I sit in the flat, in my chair, and all I want is for you to come in and sit down opposite me. That chair of yours symbolises everything that I feel. Empty, desolate, abandoned and without you. I confess that sometimes I have to stop myself from breaking down and crying in the evenings. It's pathetic, really, but I am so terribly, terribly alone that I am overwhelmed by the feelings of misery that you left me with. I can't stand it anymore. This constant quiet and tidiness, without even a whiff of cigarette smoke to bring back flooding memories of your every breath. Losing you was losing the biggest part of myself, so now I'm a half-empty shell without a Sherlock. I need you. I am so lost. And now I feel like I will never be able to love again.
It's my birthday this week. July 7th. I never told you when it was and I never thought you'd noticed. Were birthdays even important to you? We didn't celebrate it last year, anyway. So yes. My birthday. Another year older.
But I don't want to have a birthday without you there. Even if the only gift you gave me was the chance to see your face, even if you didn't know or care. I don't think I can bear to pass this marker in my life without you there with me.
I love you, Sherlock Holmes. Forever.
Your John.