Work Text:
"I'm Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Bakers street."
With those words, my whole world started falling apart, yet also seemingly falling into place.
The days turned to weeks, the weeks turned to months.
I'd found I'd fallen for my flat mate, and he was not the type that one should fall for.
Mrs. Hudson swore up and down that Sherlock and I were a couple, and she watched me grieve for him as if we were so much more than close.
You see, things with Sherlock weren't like things in a normal relationship, he's an overgrown child with a genius brain and intellect, yet lacking any impulse control.
Friends aren't something he had, but something he wanted deep down at one point it seemed.
People called him freak, machine, inhuman...
They would tell him to piss off, stop acting smart...
Now he's gone, and this time he's not coming back.
He died in my arms, one drug to much, he suffered a heart attack.
He was so calm, as he died in my arms.
"Where is that bloody ambulance?!" I remember the hollow feeling as I saw the life fading in his last moments.
"Shh." He tried to comfort me in his final breaths. "The game... is never over." He whispered his last words, a rose lined curse.
He died in my arms that night, and ever since there is no light.
I was his blogger, he was my lovely detective. Not a freak, machine, or anything inhuman.
He was my human, and now I'm sitting alone, in the flat that was once our home.
Rosie has grown and moved away, Sherlock was the only thing reminding me to make it through the day.
Mrs. Hudson has still outlived our Sherlock Holmes, and it would seem she's going to outlive his blogger and friend as well.
I had hoped that one day Sherlock and I would become something more, but now he's gone it seems life means nothing anymore.
Battle is tough, and I'm afraid I'm no longer enough.
I think back to the day I lost him the first time, I wept and cried for the man who was once mine.
He came back, and I hated him for that.
I hurt him, I blamed him for everything... I blamed him when someone killed my wife.
I wish I could turn back time, and I wish I could speak with him one more time.
Some words are better left unsaid... but sometimes words are better given to one so they may understand.
God, I loved that man...
I suppose you're wondering why I'm writing about this in the blog...
There was a day when Sherlock broke down and gave me a call.
It was his note.
This one is mine.
I'm coming to you Sherlock.
This is my final addition to the blog, and I want to let you know... The game is always on.
-John H. Watson.