The Days After

Blogging & Thinking

"Blogging. Thats all I do now to keep me sane. To keep my mind busy, so I dont get bored and start to think about ....him. Thinking about how smart he is. Thinking about how he could read everything about everyone in seconds. Thinking about how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things. Thinking about his messy but then again neat, mop of curly dark chocolate brown hair. Thinking about how it brings out his beautiful gray, green, blueish eyes that always makes you want to just stare for hours on end. Thinking about his deep, rich voice that makes you want to melt right then and there. Thinking about how all of these makes him look so mysterious, especially with his dark coat and suit, and irresistibly attractive. But if anybody cares, Im not actually gay.

Just thinking about him makes me happy. But then sad because I know I can never see or hear him again. All the great times we had together. All the fantastic chases through the busy streets of London. All the deductions and insults of Anderson. My, that was fun. If only Anderson was there, so Sherlock could insult him one last time before he....uh....well, you know.

He always said I was his blogger. That he would be lost without his blogger. Be lost without me. But the funny thing is, Im lost without my consulting detective. Im lost without him. Not the other way around.

Im laying in his bed, smelling in his ever fading smell, cradling his sweet violin, while typing on his computer. Heh. He always used my computer. So why not use his? The password was difficult to figure out, but I managed to figure it out after a day of being locked out for too many failed attempts. I had seemed to acquire a few minor deduction skills from him during the 18 months we had known each other for. His password: "John". Why would his password be my name? I have no clue. Sentiment? No. Sherlock didn't feel emotions. Didn't have them. He told me that he had put himself as distant as possible from his emotions. To seperate himself from them. Why? Because all lives end. All hearts are broken. And caring is not an advantage.

And he's right. Caring is not an advantage. At all. I mean, at first it's great. You first don't know them, but then begin to realize that they become much more than just a flat mate. You get your only best friend who is amazing. Over time you start to realize that you can trust them with anything. You realize that they complete you. You then are at the happiest point in your life when boom all hell breaks loose. You loose your best and only friend. Forever. And in that moment, you realize for the first time that you thought of that friend as much more. You realize that you love him. And that part that he added to your life that completed you, is now ripped away from you. And your life is now messed up. Ripped. Teared. Shredded. And there is nothing you can do but weep. Weep, cry, scream, shout, not talk for days on end, sit at home doing nothing, think about him, and be depressed. That's what happens when you have sentiment. It makes you happy at first until the one thing you cared about is snatched away from you, and you are sucked into a deep never ending hole of sorrow. Thats what its like. So, yes. Sherlock was right. All lives end (his life). All hearts are broken (my heart). Caring is not an advantage (at all).

So here I sit. Tears now running down my face. Not caring. Not caring, at all. But I do care, don't I? Im crying, so clearly I do care. I know I do. I must stop. I must stop for him. To make him proud. After all, he did tell me once that weeping is not going to help bring them back. Its not going to help anything. At all. So Im done crying! Im done weeping! IM DONE!!!!!!"