Day 1

Sherlock —

It hurts. How can I be in this much pain and still manage to feel so numb inside? You're gone. I still have trouble saying the words out loud. I just can't believe that you're dead and that you won't ever be coming back, not even to play the violin at an insanely early hour of the morning or to stash body parts in the fridge. Come back, please. I wouldn't complain anymore, I swear. Just come back.

You were my best friend, Sherlock. Did that not mean anything to you? Was it so easy, then, to separate yourself from me? God, the pain – it's like a lance straight through my heart. You were the most important person in my life; I would have done anything and everything for you. You meant the world to me. How is it, then, that you can be gone?

My hand is shaking as I'm writing this. I can't seem to stop trembling, not since... since... since that day. So much blood. I can still see it when I close my eyes; I can still see you, spread out on the pavement like one of Molly's corpses. As glad as I am that I could be there for you at the end, why did you have to make me watch? What went wrong, that made you think death was the only option left? If you'd have come to me, I'm sure we would have worked something out. We always do, don't we?

It hurts, Sherlock, and I don't know when the pain is going to stop – if it ever will. I miss you.

Your friend,

John