It's Such a Time To Be...

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John,

If you are reading this then- at the risk of sounding cliché- I am dead. I'm sorry about that; for the hassle it'll cause you. I hope one day you can find it within you to forgive me for leaving you-

John folded the letter back up numbly; not able to read more, it hurt too much to be reminded of the genius.

The letter had come a week after Sh-the detective's death. At first he had thought it was a harsh joke from one of Sherlock's enemies or doubters. If so it was truly cruel. But eventually the draw became too much and he broke. He tore open the letter dying to read it- no needing to read it and then hadn't been able to cope with how Sherlock the whole thing was, how it sounded.

He made sure the letter was folded neatly and then put it down and going to find an empty box to put it in. He then went and tucked the box under his bed hoping to never open it again; he was already close enough to breaking down; he didn't need an extra push.

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He pointedly did not think about the box again. Did not wonder what else was written in that letter.

The truth was he couldn't without wanting to go into the genius's room and curl up on his bed inhaling deeply.

How could you need someone this much and not have told them all of it when they were still alive?

Still alive- God, Sherlock was dead. His best friend was dead but he still needed the other man so much.

He wondered if Sherlock needed him too. But that was ridiculous; the genius didn't need anything except The Game, anything that came with it was just a bonus. Like him and Greg.

He didn't count Moriarty as a bonus because he wasn't. Unlike him, Sherlock had seen Moriarty as a fundamental part of The Game; something- did Moriarty really deserve to be a 'someone'? Was he even human? No! That was ridiculous he reminded himself; Sherlock was human and Moriarty was basically Sherlock on the other side of the coin, the counter balance. He refused to think of Sherlock as anything but human- something so fundamental to The Game itself it could never be removed.

The counter balance.

The other half of Sherlock's coin.

He himself, was nothing in comparison. He, himself, didn't matter to the genius detective. Why would he?

But truly how could he not tell him? Tell him he was needed this much? Make sure he knew.

Maybe then he wouldn't have jumped?

Was it his fault Sherlock was dead?

Could he have stopped him?

What if-

No. No, 'what if's would never do any good. What happened happened and would always haunt him but he could not change it. He could not bring Sherlock back by thinking about what happened that day. What he could have done.

He had to carry on with his life.

Even if it wasn't truly worth it without the genius.

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John,

If you are reading this then- at the risk of sounding cliché- I am dead. I'm sorry about that; he hassle it'll cause you. I hope one day you can find it within you to forgive me for leaving you, I know it must be hard for you- believe me it was hard to sit down and write this too; knowing it was goodbye, knowing I'd never see you again. Never hear your laugh or see your smile, to see your progress and notice your intellect. So hard John, all this was hard and painful and I will miss you forever though I have given up any right to- but I hope you can forgive me.

I want to warn you that there is a system set up to send one letter every month. This one should have come exactly a week after my death, all going to plan, and they shall continue from there. I feel it best to warn you of this; I understand it may be hard for you to read these but I hope you do. I even hope to God you do, though I still don't believe in him, besides, John, can you imagine me in heaven or hell- wherever I end up- I'd cause havoc. And that's an understatement.

I understand that neither of us is particularly religious but you must understand John, I must believe I'll see you again. I must; it is as essential as air and The Game once were to me.

I miss you John, already, and you just walked out the door of the hospital. I know I'll never see you again. That hurts the most John, not even Moriarty being right can compare to how much that hurts. I hope you can understand that John, for hope is all I have left.

Goodbye John. Though I'm sure I've already said Goodbye but if I did not get the chance then I am truly sorry and know that it was even harder to jump.

Yours forever,

Yours always,

Sherlock Holmes.

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So yet another story started and to write for. We literally can't stop thinking of them; we've got about another four ideas waiting to be written or that we've started, so sorry if we update a bit sporadically as we are most likely just updating other stories. If you haven't already we'd really appreciate you checking out our other stories or our tumblr:

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Thank you all for reading.

Reviews are appreciated.

From M and C.