A/N: I know, I know.


No, I have not given up on the rest of you: In fact, I may have a Mizfic idea coming up soon, or maybe a SuperWhoLock...

I dunno.

Anyways, I'm not Moffat *glances at pitchforks* or Gatiss *stares at torches* so put those down!

To a Certain Consulting Detective:

You wouldn't come back to me, not like this.

Mrs. Hudson is talking of leaving Baker Street and Lestrade has been laid off. Molly clams up whenever you're mentioned and... Sherlock, Mycroft is worst. He's going on a diet. The other day I walked into his office and he was eating TOFU!

I know you were real, but I can't tell you how I know. I just know that I believe in Sherlock Holmes. And I believe that you were a genius.

Was. How much more powerful can a word be?

Why'd you leave me?!

Your rude jar sits empty, my swear jar fills every other day. You're not there so we can't take Mrs. Hudson out to dinner. She still makes you coffee in the mornings, but it sits cold. Black with two sugars, just like your soul.

You have- No, you had a heart. You're cleverer than all of us and you're dead, Sherlock!

Why can't I just take it?! I know you're dead, rotting beneath the ground beneath that headstone. Your fingers will never extend out to grip something again, you'll never yell at Anderson again...

He's dead, too, so you're having to put up with him again. Freaking Anderson ruining everything, even your death...

You'll never yell at those stupid detective shows you love to watch again, you'll never set the board on fire after losing a monopoly game to me again, and you'll never help Mycroft beat up that one detective who dared to make a "Yo Mama" joke around you guys again.

Why did you make me think that you were incapable of feeling love, Sherlock? You weren't! I can see that now. You may have been a human trying to be a god, Sherlock, but you were a human all the same. I was so alone until you happened and... Gosh, Sherlock, I'm crying over you.

Why'd you have to jump, Sherlock, why?! Why the- Oh, forget it.

Look at me. I'm going insane.

I thought I saw you in the street the other night, but I can't have. A dead man walking, how weird would that be?

I've never believed in an afterlife, but I did believe in ghosts. I never thought you'd come back to me, but it doesn't hurt a dying man to hope, does it? Yeah, I'm dying. Slowly and painfully rotting from the inside out because you left me, and it's not just depression.

The cancer is horrible, Sherlock, slowly sucking what little life I've got left without you away from me. And I can't do it no longer, not without you.

Since you aren't coming back to me, I'll go back to you.

See you, Sherlock.

~John Watson

Um... Anything I can do to keep you from murdering me?

Send me hate via anon on tumblr or something, I dunno. URL's on my bio, go on, be my guest!