It was just the feeling of wanting to be loved; the feeling of wanting to be wanted. I had never had this feeling before, but here I was, lying in my bathtub wanting to be wanted. It was unnatural, especially for me. I wasn't the type of man who strived to be wanted or loved. I wasn't the type of man who had women or men look at me and I wasn't the type who necessarily wanted women or men to look at me for any reason. But there was that one guy, that one guy who ruined it all. He took my heart out of my body and decided to hold onto it and keep it. He had said it himself, "Look what I have done to you! I've stolen your heart, as you have stolen mine. And I have no intent of getting it back or giving yours back." And so it was. But here we were, I in my bathtub and him off somewhere in no man's land. I hadn't seen him in a few months. They were the longest months of my life. I hadn't heard from him, I hadn't felt him, I didn't even know if he was still alive.

I was the type of guy who worried about everything, even without realizing it. I cared about those who didn't care about me and I cared for the people who needed to be cared for the most. I loved everyone and all I wanted to do was make sure everyone knew they were loved. As Kurt Vonnegut said in his book, The Sirens of Titan, "A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved." So I did. From my dearest friends to the homeless man living on the corner, I just had to tell them they were loved. I had to show them someone cared. I had to show them hope in a hopeless world. This world, this very pathetic, lonely world. This world longed for the attention the most, but was given it the least.

I'm not going to lie, though. Life does get challenging at times. Sometimes it seems it gets more hectic and chaotic than others, but it's a steady flow of balance too. No matter what I do, I try to keep myself in the balance. It would seem as if I am over emotional, right-brained, and a deep thinker. That means a few different things that I didn't catch on to until I was older. It showed me that when things were not in the balance, I became touchy and I cried a lot. If I didn't shed a river of tears, I laughed or became angry, I hid in my room for days or I was never home. Depending on what side of the spectrum I was on significantly affected my mood and ability to do anything, that's why when I was out of equilibrium, it took me months to get back to normal, whatever normal was.

Caring, loving, being a deep thinker, right-brained, and over-emotional was who I was. I wasn't going to try to change that, but it got me into trouble so many times. It has caused me so many heartaches and heartbreaks; it caused a lot of happiness, even in unhappy situations; it caused me to feel when I thought I couldn't; it taught me compassion, passion, kindness, affection, and sympathy. Most importantly, it taught me how to accept people for who they are no matter their past or present, because they will always have a clean future. It taught me how accept people for every flaw, fear and failure. It taught me how to help people and it showed me to do my best with what I had, even if I didn't have enough or a lot.

That's how I ended up here, in my bathtub. I mean, one does not simply just go and sit in his bathtub for fun. I had a reason. I was unbalanced. I had been ever since I met him, ever since he changed me and who I was. Ever since he decided to come into my life, create havoc, and destroy everything I had ever created. The walls that I had built, the standards I kept, and the goals I wanted to meet… they were all shattered and changed when I met him. He gave me courage and strength. He loved me for me. He made me feel things I had never felt before, and now he was gone. More like he was simply not present. He wasn't dead, I think. He wasn't with another woman or man, I hope. At this moment, I simply existed because I didn't know how to live. I fought with myself to get out of bed in the morning. I fought with myself to eat at least once a day. I fought with myself to go out into the world and try. I fought with myself to try to get things back to normal and change back and pretend things never happened. But how could I?

I remember the last time we talked. We were sitting on the bed, pillows in our lap, holding each other's hands. I was crying and so was he. He had come home that night, heavy hearted and full of sorrow. He looked distraught and preoccupied. I was cooking dinner on the stove, and was preparing for the worst. I tried to ask him what was wrong, but he simply shook his head and took off his coat. He laid it on the armrest of the dining room chair and came back into the kitchen. He grabbed two glasses and a bottle of wine. He handed me my glass while he downed his. He poured himself another glass; drank that one twice as fast. He set his glass down and the bottle of wine and came up behind me and held my waist. I hadn't noticed he had been crying until a tear fell on my neck. One right after the other. It was a constant flow of sadness onto my person, and I didn't know how to react. He asked me to turn off the burner and come sit down. Not wanting to upset him anymore, I complied. He took my hand and we slowly walked to the bedroom. He sat at the edge and placed his hands on his knees and his head in his hands. I hear a quiet sob come from him. He wasn't one to cry, so this greatly surprised me. I sat next to him and placed my head on his shoulder and my hand on his arm. I was attempting to comfort him, but it was no use, he was too troubled. He slowly sat up straight and took my hands in his, and that's how we got to the pillows. He looked me in the eyes with the saddest expression and the heaviest eyes.

"John…" He said quietly, as if afraid to speak at all. Like if he spoke to loudly he would disturb the balance of things and create mass destruction. He sighed heavily, attempting to start again, only to have tears steadily stream down his face. "John, listen. I've just gotten some news. I've gotten some news about Moriarty." He stopped and looked down.

"What about him, Sherlock? What's happened?" I could feel myself start to shake a little. Any mention of his name was a bad sign. Sherlock never got worked up about anything, let alone Moriarty. "Sherlock, just talk to me." I brushed a strand of hair away from his face. I took his face in my hands and steadied him. "Look at me. It's okay." I whispered. That's when he collapsed.

"But it's not John! I can't tell you. But I need to! John! Things are about to change. Not simple changes like the brand of milk I never by. Big changes. He going to kill you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. He's going to kill the people closest to me if I don't die." He was shouting. Not just shouting but full on yelling. Arms flailing, tears flowing, everything about him was super tense. He was angry and upset and he didn't like that. This was obviously affecting him a lot more than I assumed it was.

"Sherlock, sit down please. Just breathe." I said softly. And so he did. "What do you mean? I'm still trying to process this all. How did you even come to this conclusion? Is there something I'm missing?" I was clearly puzzled. I always miss things. It's not that I mean to, I'm just not as observant as Sherlock.

"No, John. You haven't been missing anything because I haven't been telling you the whole truth. And I observed it." And here we were with the observing. I wasn't going to fight about the observing tonight. No, but it still irritated me. "He's been slowly hinting at it for weeks now. And with the girl the other day; I knew he was up to something. I couldn't figure out what until it made sense. He's trying to destroy me. Every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain, no? And it was all too good to be true. So here he is. He said it himself. He would burn my heart. But he has to kill the people I love to get to my heart. I've got it all figured out though. I do. Or at least I hope I do. I always do. I just can't tell you. You've got to promise me you won't be mad in the end. Can you promise me that? Please John. I'm begging you." He had gone from loud to quiet to barely audible. He had stopped crying, but apparently I had started. He wiped a tear from my face. A few actually before I even realized it.

"Sherlock, I won't be mad. I could never be mad at you." And then we laid back. He just held each other for what seemed like an eternity, and I liked it. Little did I know that this was going to be my last night with him. My last night of comfort and sanity. My last night of semi-normality. What had turned into my perfect fairytale was apparently crumbling and I had only noticed when it was too late. He we were, walls crashing to the ground, hearts slowly breaking. I couldn't even fathom what he was things, but as I look back I realize how hard it must have been for him. He knew at that moment that this was his last with me, at least for a while. He knew what was going to happen. He knew how things were going to change. He knew it was going to ruin me, but he couldn't do anything about it. He was trying to save me, not hurt me.

The next day was the day; the day that changed it all. How could I know? I thought I had more time with him. I thought maybe one more day. Hopefully two, but alas, no. This was it. When he called me and stopped me and told me to turn around, I hadn't realized it was the end. When he said it was his note, my heart began to sink. This was it. I was losing my best friend and my lover. I was losing everything in that moment. And that's how we got here.