Self published author and lover of literature

"Why did the killer have to carve into skulls? If it was human skin it would be simple, but oh no, he has to be bloody difficult," Sherlock groaned as he tried and failed to replicate the carving on an orange.

"What's the date today?" You asked as you looked up from your laptop, pausing as you traced the pattern.

"This first of October, why?" He mumbled, his gaze flickering over to you as he wiped the orange juice off of his engagement ring.

"Because, my love, I have an idea. Prep your apron!" You beamed and kept from your seat, rushing into the bathroom to wash up and change so that you could set your plan in motion.

"What are you planning?" He asked but made no move to move as he focused back on the orange, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"Hang on." You muttered as you got changed into your favourite orange knitted jumper and short plaid shirt. When you came out of the bedroom, you couldn't stop yourself from smiling at Sherlock's blush dusted cheeks. It was the first time you'd seen him smile, a wide genuine smile, in over a week and you fell in love all over again. "You're adorable," you said softly and ran your hands through his curls and pressed a kiss onto his forehead.

"And you are my world, darling " he smiled back and placed a kiss onto your engagement ring, "I can't believe I get to keep you forever in just a few short months."

"Me neither, and I can't wait to see you waiting for me at the other end if the aisle," you said and sat yourself down in his lap, his arms instantly wrapped around your waist, "now about this case…"

"I know, I promise I'll rest properly soon," he sighed and pressed his head into your chest, "it's just so aggravating."

"I know love, I know. But that wasn't what I was going to say. Besides, as both know we're just as bad as each other when it comes to resting. No, what I was going to say, is that you know how it is spooky pumpkin season?"

"Yes…?"

"Well, people say that pumpkins have the same texture and resistance to a knife as human skin- so what if we replicate the pattern on those. It's a little more scientifically accurate than an orange."

"Y/n, you're a fucking genius!" He declared and pressed a kiss onto your lips. It was light and tender, but it was enough to set your soul a light as you kissed him back.

A sly smile lingered on your lips as you pulled away for air, "well I am fucking a genius," and as the words left your lips, the pair of you erruotef into a fit of giggles. Being suave was never one of your talents.

"Okay, go before I make you stay here forever," Sherlock chuckled as he playfully pushed you off of his lap.

"I'll hold you to that!" You called back and nipped out of the flat with a call of: "I love you!"

"I love you too!" He called back, a small smile in his lips as he fell harder for you.

It was half an hour later when you finally returned to the flat carrying two of the biggest pumpkins you could find. You were red faced and a little out of breath as you managed to get them into the flat and onto the kitchen table, but you were happy and eager to solve the case as warm autumn sunlight danced through the window.

Last night's experiments were put on the counter and posters relating to the case were blue tacked to the cooker side of the kitchen, the side usually reserved for your cozy nights in. And you couldn't stop yourself from smiling as Sherlock emerged from the bedroom, his hair extra fluffy and downed in the infamous blue and grey striped shirt he was wearing when you first met. It was a little more snug over his muscles,but it melted your heart all the same as you drank him in. A small giggle erupted from your lips as your eyes landed on the apron John had gifted Sherlock for his birthday and it read: 'kiss the consulting detective'.

"What's all this?" You asked, heart warmed and bewildered as the scent of your favourite cinnamon and apple candle lingered in the air.

"Well my dear, I know this case has been hard for both of us, and I haven't exactly been the best fiancé as of late …" he sighed as he came behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind, "and I know how important Halloween is to you, so please, as well as us solving the case let this be our mini date and later, I'll take you to dinner."

"Sherlock," you smiled, your eyes welling up with happy tears, '"You're far too good for me."

"There's no such thing as too good," he smiled back and took your jaw in his hands, gently turning your head towards him as he pressed a long tentative kiss into your lips, that you couldn't help but melt into, "not when it comes to you."

"I swear, I fall deeper and deeper for you every single day, now where's that apron?" You grinned and reached under the table, grabbing your matching apron that read: "ask me about serial killers. I dare you." And tied it around your waist as you and Sherlock prepared the stencils and knives for the carving.

The morning sun rose higher in the sky and perfectly illuminated the kitchen in a warm amber glow as you and Sherlock laughed at every stupid pin and concept the two of you could come up with. With every slice you made, Sherlock held the pumpkin still, and somehow despite all your measures, you still ended up with pumpkin innards on your face.

"How do you get yourself in such a state?" Sherlock chuckled and brought his knuckles up to your face, wiping away the pumpkin.

"You're a fine one to talk, how did you get it on your chest?" You fired back teasingly and turned in his arms, facing him as you wiped the pumpkin guts away and kissed his chest.

"If you do that again, I think I might just melt," he said, his cheeks flushing crimson as he smiled bashfully down at you.

"Maybe that was my intention," you whispered and stood in your tiptoes, your fingers gently caressing his jaw as you kissed him softly. A wide smile spread on your lips as you heard him sigh lovingly as he pulled you flush against his chest. As your hands brushed against his chest, your eyebrows furrowed, "Sherl, are you allergic to pumpkin? Or rather their innards?"

"Not as far as I'm aware." He mumbled and went to peck your lips, frowning as you pulled away.

"I think you might want to check your reflection," you said as you held up the shiny saucepan and showed Sherlock the angry rash that was making its way across his chest.

"Ah, well there goes that idea."

"Not necessarily," you said as you put the pan down and collected the innards, "I think we've almost got the pattern down. Why don't you go for a shower and I'll finish the design?"

"You're not going to join me?" He pouted and gave you his infamous puppy dog eyes.

"Hmm, okay." You agreed and washed your hands, "you know those eyes won't always work on me."

"Hmm, debatable," he grinned and swept you off of your feet, carrying you bridal style to the bathroom, "Happy spooky season, my love."

"Happy spooky season, darling."

It had been three months since the gala, and you were having the week from hell. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong, as corpse after bloody corpse was thrown your way. And it just so happened that the last corpse of the day was a suicide victim who had jumped off of a roof only two days before arriving in your morgue, and you wanted to do nothing else but run home to Sherlock and remind him of just how much he is loved.

But alas, it appeared that your boss needed you to attend a conference that was discussing 'how to better break the news to loved ones' on his behalf. Any other time you would be thrilled to attend, but as you looked at the clock it dawned on you that today was the anniversary of his return - the day Sherlock Holmes was tortured and forced to come back to London, pretending nothing ever happened.

And just as that thought entered your mind, your phone buzzed with a message from your curly haired detective:

'When are you coming home? Miss you - SH '

The signage of his name had your stomach in knots, ever since you two started dating, 9 years ago and even when you were simply just friends, Sherlock had stopped signing his name; gladly having given into the idea that you had saved his number.

'I'm on my way now. Stay safe. I miss you too, did you want me to get chips for tea?'

'Not hungry. I don't want to be alone - SH'

And with that you pocketed your phone and dipped out of the conference as quickly as you could. You kept your head down as you grabbed your things and headed to the underground to jump from train to train as you realised you'd be fighting the rush hour traffic, and with the heavy autumn rain - the roads would become a catastrophic mess that would put even more physical distance between you and Sherlock - and thus a taxi was out of the question.

***

As soon as you stepped into the flat you knew something was wrong, it was far too quiet and the smell of freshly smoked cigarettes lingered in the air, and the science equipment that once took pride of place on the dinning table, was no longer.

"Sherl? Sherlock?!" You called out but alas, you got no response as you wandered further into the flat. Your heart leapt to your throat as you pushed open the door and feared the worst.

"Am I a freak?" Were the only words that slipped through Sherlock's trembling lips. His cheeks were covered in tear tracks and his lashes were wet as he fought to breathe. He hurt from the inside out, fresh needles laid on the bed and a half drunk bottle of age old wine was hidden beside his bedside draw. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield come to life.

Your words caught in your throat as you were caught of gaurd by his question, "What?! Of course not, why would you think that?" You asked and dropped your bags to the floor and pushed the needles aside to sit next to him, uncaring about the risk of being accidentally drugged - Sherlock was your priority, now and forever. Your hand found his and for only a fraction of a second did he try to smile for you.

His breath caught in his throat as he tried to speak, but try as he might the words were like bile and they never came. All the walls that he had built around himself came crashing down around him and the image that he put to the outside world, ceased to exist, and instead he became the fearful child who was always shoved to the side. He sobbed into his hands, he'd done everything in his power to protect John, to protect London, to protect you but nothing would ever be enough. Especially not after the fall.

It broke your heart to see him so inconsolable and without a second of hesitation you used every bit of strength to pull him into the warmest embrace you could muster. Tears pricked at your eyes but you blinked them back, you had to be strong for Sherlock. He tensed at first, not wanting or rather not allowing himself to give into affection as he wished he had the ability to turn off his emotions, but when he realised you weren't going to let go, he turned and hid his face in your chest and allowed himself to crumble and cry. He held you so tight that it almost hurt but in the moment, in that minute you didn't care. You just held him and stroked his hair, and through his screams you heard him whisper, "Maybe Moriarty was right. I should have killed myself."

Your blood was set alight and your heart raced at the thought of loosing him again, "Sherlock, look at me!" You insisted and forced your voice to be soft - anger and raised voices wouldn't be helpful now- as you pulled back and cupped his cheeks, brushing away he stray tears that lingered on his lashes, "You would never be better off dead. You are not a fraud and you are most certainly not a-"

"Say it," he bawled as he tried and failed to swallow another sob, his chest heaved with every breath he took and he couldn't will himself to look you in the eye as he found the strength to speak again, "please, just confirm what everyone is saying and I'll be out of your life, for good this time."

"No. Sherlock, I know the weight that word holds against you and yes, right now, you may not believe a word I'm saying. But look at me when I say this: I am not going anywhere and I most certainly do not want you out of my life. Do you understand?! You are amazing. You are intelligent beyond comprehension. You are not a fraud and you are most certainly not what they say you are, okay? Sherlock, you are loved by so so many, including myself." You rambled as you brushed away his tears with one hand and held your other hand over his heart.

"You're crying," Sherlock whispered as he met your eyes and used his knuckle to rid you of your tears.

"I don't care," you sniffled and stood from the bed, holding your hand out for him, "I can't...I won't loose you again."

"Where are we going?" He asked as he blindly followed your lead and wiped his eyes and nose on the sleeve of his shirt.

"For a bath," you simply explained and squeezed his hand in a 1-4-3 pattern that perfectly mirrored the morse fide he sent to your pager on a daily basis - and in return he smiled.

"Why are we having a bath?" He asked bemused and whilst the sadness lingered in the room, the stom cloud that lingered above his head was no long a bleak and corrupted black but rather a Solmen grey.

"Because a bath is the second best antidote to sadness and it will help, when you're coming down from your high." You explained as you opened the bathroom door and brushed the stray tears from your cheeks.

"You don't have to do this for me. I'm not important,"

"Not important? Sherlock, you've said some strange stuff in your time but that is simply not true," you said and let go of his hand so you could run a bath for the pair of you.

"Y/n, you are far to good and kind to me."

"That's impossible."

"Did you want to talk about it?" You asked as you lovingly drew soft circles onto Sherlock's arm, you could feel the new pin pricks beneath your fingers, but you said nothing. He knew the effects his drug use had in you, he didn't need a lecture and you weren't going to give him one.

"This isn't your first time rescuing someone from themselves, is it?" Sherlock observed as he found your fingered beneath the water and entwined them with his. His eyes lingered with sadness as he looked at you.

Solomenly you shook your head and sighed, "I- no, I've lost count of the amount of nights I've spent saving people from themselves. But I would rather spend countless sleepless nights at your bedside then wake up to the call saying that you've-" you stopped yourself short as your throat ran dry and your mind slowly shifted to be your own worst enemy.

And Sherlock knew in that moment, that you were not going anywhere - he knew what you two shared was eternal. He squeezed your hand and repeated the same 1-4-3 pattern from earlier. His gaze drifted to your eyes, he needed to know the truth as he asked his question: "Who looks after you on your danger nights?"

"No one-"

"But how do you-"

"Know how to save someone?" You offered as shock and suprise ran through Sherlock, and he simply nodded. "Because I have had to save myself 5 times over with no one to catch me. And I know just how important a human life is, and yours is more important than most."

"Not above yours, it's not." He said, his voice wavered as he looked deeply into your eyes, deducing that beyond the harsh exterior that you out out to the world, you were broken almost beyond repair, "promise me. Promise me, Y/n, that if you are ever verging on a danger night, you will come to me. I won't ever left you be alone."

"I promise," you said as you placed a soft kiss to his temple and reached for the sponge, "did you want me to do your back?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

You had seen Sherlock's scars before in passing or in the throws of passion, but this was different. This was raw and vunerable as you carefully brought the sponge over his scars and stopped as he flinched, "Does it hurt?"

"Not now, but I think the morphine is wearing off and the cold doesn't help," he grimaced as his hands started to shake from withdrawal.

"I'm almost done," you promised softly as you finished cleaning his back, "you know we don't have to talk about what happened, not until you're ready. We can talk about something else."

"Work?"

"Not work. They were all suicide victims and considering the date, I'd rather talk about something happier."

"Thank you,"

"For what?"

"For saving me, for showing me that I'm not alone," he said as he got out of the bath, not bothering to find a towel as he held his hand out to you, "come with me?"

"where?" You asked as you climbed out of the tub, took his hand and kept your eyes above his shoulders.

"To the kitchen."

"Sherlock, I love you, but I don't think cooking in our birthday suits is the best idea."

"We'll be fine, trust me?"

"I do,"

"Good, I think we both could do with distracting, yes?"

"We do. But what does being naked have to do with being distracted? And please don't say sex, because as good as sex is wth you, neither of us are in any fit state to perform," you rambled on, only to be interrupted by Sherlock's soft lips.

He kissed you quick and smiled as he ran his hands through your hair, "darling, stop panicking. I am perfectly safe. We are both safe."

"But the-" you hesitated as you gestured to the still full bottles of morphine, "and you're -"

"Y/n/n, look at me. You keep me straight, you keep me sane and remind me every day just how much you love me. Allow me to do the same for you. Nakedness prevents deductions and thus, it gives way to vunerablity. Which means that we can speak freely about our wedding and IF we feel strong enough, we can discuss tonight. But not yet."

"Vunerablity is terrifying," you whispered as you allowed yourself to relax.

"I know love, I know. But it'll never change how I feel towards you,"

"Nor I, you."

"Good. Now what's in the fridge?"

"A head. You know if you had an eye and a head as could recreate Edgar Allan Poe's :' A Tell Tale Heart'"

"As fun as that sounds, you haven't eaten all day." He observed with a soft smile as he watched you try and figure out how he knew, "I know you, you were focused and forgot to eat. And when you left at 4:45 this morning it was to early for you to eat anything."

"I thought you said nakedness disrupts deductions," you said as you wrapped your arms around Sherlock's waist and placed your head against his back, exhausted and terrified by the idea that your happiness could be filled away from you at any moment.

" It's not a deduction, love, it's just a man paying attention to his fiancée," Sherlock corrected as he patted your arm and kindly gestured for you to move so he could bend to look in the cupboard, "now, what do we fancy?"

"Beans on toast?"

"We're out of beans."

"I could call John, he usually has a spare for Ros-"

"No. I don't want to see him." And your stomach turned as you watched Sherlock's heart crumble and the walls he was rebuilding come crashing down for the second time that night. And this time, this time you didn't stop yourself - you wrapped your arms around him so hard that he had to grab the table to stop you from falling over. You held him as close as possible, your words quiet but Sherlock heard your promise to kill John.

"Please don't go. It'll only prove him right and...I'm terrified of being alone. I don't trust myself not to give in again," he whispered against your skin as he held you so close that no distance existed between the two of you.

"Do we need to call Mycroft? Did you make a list?"

"It's not that bad..."

"Sherl," you warned, seeing right through his lie.

"Later. Right now, I just need you...please!"

"You have me now and forever."

Drugs had never been your poison. They never were and you swore they never would be. But with a case as time sensitive as this and with Sherlock being clean for the past 90 days you didn't want to risk sending him into a relapse. And so, whilst the rain pattered softly on the window, you decided to conduct an experiment on yourself that started by ruling out any possibility of the drug already being in your system.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you tried and failed for the fourth time to catch your vein with the needle. "If I can get blood out of a bloody corpse, why the hell can't I catch my vein!" You cursed aloud and pulled the needle from your arm. Just as you were about to try again the sound of Sherlock, John and Mycroft's voices filled the flat and you couldn't help but smile to yourself as you heard John berating Sherlock as if he was the angel on his shoulder.

"How on earth are you smiling? Sherlock, she could die." John hissed as he pushed the door to the flat open and head over to his usual seat.

"Relax John, it was her idea! She'd tell you the same thing. Right, y/n?" Sherlock fired back as he brushed past John and sat next to you in the kitchen.

"It's all in the name of science!" You called as you reached across the table for a tourniquet.

"See!" Was all that Sherlock could manage to say before he burst out laughing at John's bewildered and shocked expression, "We'll keep her safe, I promise."

"Exactly! And you can monitor my vitals if it puts your mind at ease," you offered as you allowed Sherlock to drain 5ml of your blood for you - the wine you had previously drunk, made it almost impossible to bring your veins to the surface.

"You two are absolutely insane, I swear," he said as he threw his hands up in the air in frustration but joined you at the kitchen table, regardless.

"Well it's just about to get better, because Mycroft Holmes needs to pee in a pot. Consider it payback for treating me like a child," you smiled mischeviously and held out a red specimen pot to the older Holmes brother who had a scowl that rivalled Satan.

But he took the pot and headed to the bathroom, only pausing to glare and stick his middle finger up at John and Sherlock who both choired, "have fun!" before bursting into a fit of giggles.

It was almost as if time stopped still as you sat - unmoving, unblinking - and stared at the timer just waiting for it to go off, and without thinking you groaned in frustration.

"Y/n/n, are you alright?" John asked as he placed a cup of Early Grey tea beside you, careful to avoid your chaotic mess of notes.

"I'm just worried," you finally admitted as you took a sip of your tea.

"About being drugged?" John said as he read your notes, over your shoulder.

"No I don't particularly care about that parsé, I'm just worried about not being smart enough to marry Sherlock," you sighed and ran your hands through your hair - resting your head in the table in the process.

"Oh y/n, " John sighed sympathetically and placed an awkwardly comforting hand on your shoulder, "Just because the drugs don't show up on the results doesn't mean that you're not smart enough to marry him. He wouldn't have asked you if he didn't love you."

"Thank you, John, I mean it" and yet as the words left your lips, your mind caught up with you, "wait, repeat that again."

"Sherlock wouldn't have asked you to marry you if he didn't love you? Y/n, what are you on -? "

"No. No. Before that about the drugs," you said as you skimmed over the victims notes.

"Just because the drugs aren't sowing up on the test doesn't mean-" he repeated word for word, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he watched you search for the vial of wine.

"Oh John, you are a fucking genius!" You beamed and pressed a kiss onto his cheek, "what were the symptoms of the victims before they died?"

"Nausea/vomiting. Severe incontinence. Muscle weakness. Muscle spasms..."

"Exactly! All of the symptoms that most people would write off for generic every day illnesses, or at worst confuse it with radiation poisoning or even food poisoning."

"Okay? I'm not quite following..."

"All this time I've been looking at the results, wanting to find something common like esctasy or ket, but oh no the killer is clever. Of course the drugs won't show up on a toxicology report - unless you're actively looking for it. It's virtually undetectable. Colourless. Odourless. Of course: Thallium!" You cried as you kept from your chair and grabbed the vial, "where's Sherlock?"

"I think he's asleep, what are you going on about? What's Thallium?" He asked as he watched you go down the hall towards yours and Sherlock's bedroom.

And in your excitement you didn't notice how much you swayed, nor the growing nausea in your stomach, and you certainly didn't notice the floor growing closer as you pushed the bedroom door open and landed with a loud thud.

The last words on your lips were: "Sherlock, Sherlock! Wake up, I've been drugged!"

As you landed in the floor with a thud, that you was almost certain would leave a bruise, John's heart leapt to his throat and Sherlock awoke with a fright before controlling himself. "Y/n, why are you on the floor? John, what did you do?" Sherlock asked as he wiped the sleep from his eyes and joined you on the floor.

"I didn't do anything, Sherlock. She's been drugged."

"Is she breathing?"

"How the hell would I know?" He said as he moved from the hallway to your bedroom.

"You're a doctor," Sherlock fired back as he pressed two fingers to your neck and found your pulse - still and investing. His mind went blank, his mind palace shut down as the the thought of you dying suddenly became very real and all bickering ceased as Sherlock looked at John and pleaded with him, practically begging John to teach him how to save your life.

"Find the middle of her ribs, it is usually dead centre. It helps if you follow from her nipple line inwards. You do know where they are, right?" John asked,in an effort to use humor as a way of guiding Sherlock out of panic and into reality.

"Of course I know where her nipples are, I've seen them enough times," he said, there was no bitterness to is words rather than a soft fondness almost as if your body had made its way into his mind palace. "What's next?"

"Place your hands, interlocked on the center of her ribs and push up and down in time to the rhythm of staying alive by the Bee Gees," he paused realising that Sherlock probably had no idea what that song actually was, and decided to explain it, "ah, ah,ah,ah, staying alive. Are you smiling?"

"Oh, the killers clever, but Y/n, she is brilliant beyond her time. She brought the case back onto my turf, oh it's Christmas!"

"Sherlock. Focus. If you don't we're going to loose her. You can focus on the case later." John commanded, using is military voice to ensure Sherlock stayed focused on the task at hand.

Your hands clutched at Sherlock's as you breathed your first breath, your eyes bleary from being brought round, "Did I just die?"

"Hello to you too," John smiled softly as he helped you to sit up against the bed next to Sherlock.

"My ribs hurt," you groaned as every breath hurt worst than the last.

"That may be my fault," Sherlock admitted as he looked at you sheepishly, despretly trying to bury any side of panic.

"You brought me back?" You smiled softly and pressed your head against his shoulder and relaxed as you felt his shoulders drop and his arm slide around your waist.

"John helped, he walked me through the process of CPR. Are you allright?"

"Thank you, both of you, I owe you my life," you said softly before covering your mouth as you coughed, "I think I need to go to the hospital, broken ribs plus Thallium poisoning doesn't bode well for the living. Do you know where Mycroft is? He's completely drugs free."

"One step ahead of you," Mycroft stated as the ambulance crew made their way into the flat.

It was going to be a long night, for sure.