Self published author and lover of literature

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."

When you finally came round from the anesthetic, you had a headache that not even the strongest drug could combat, and it was only made worse by the constant beating of your heart monitor.

"Ugh! Can we please turn that off?" You groaned as you sat up in bed and put your arm over your eyes to block out the harsh white hospital lighting.

"That's your heart, y/n/n, we can't just turn it off," John laughed as he sat at your bedside, ignoring the knock at the door that was most likely coming from your curly haired detective.

You smiled despite the pain, "we can always try," you half joked as you nodded to the power cord that was plugged into the wall.

But John simply shook his head and smiled at you amused, "I don't think I'm brave enough to face another lecture from Sherlock or the British government."

"Sherlock lectured you? Ugh ow okay, not doing that again!" You questioned and held in another groan as you tried and failed to adjust your position.

"Let me help," John urged as he placed his arms under yours and helped you sit up, making sure you was comfortable before he sat himself back down, "I thought I'd never hear the end of it, especially when they struggled to bring you back. And whilst I'd like to tell you that what you did was reckless, I think we both now we'd do it again in a heartbeat if it means saving Sherlock."

"I'm sorry John, I didn't mean to scare you," you admitted and looked towards the one way window, seeing nothing.

"It wasn't your fault," John said as he stood, tucked you in, and prepared to gather his belongings, "I best send him in to see you, he's been bothering the recovery room staff for the best part of half an hour."

"Thank you, John, for everything." You smiled softly and gave his hand a squeeze before letting him go, "dinner, tonight, you, me, Hudders , Mary and Sherl?"

"I'll think about it," he agreed as he left the room with the knowledge you probably wouldn't be leaving for at least another two days.

Just beyond the private ward walls you could hear John trying to talk Sherlock out of giving you a lecture, reminding him that it was both yours and his idea that leaf to this, but going by the way the door was pushed open with slightly more force than was strickley necessary: Sherlock hadn't listened.

"Those drugs could have killed you! In fact they did kill you for 3 minutes and 17 s we conds. The doctors barely managed to bring you back!" Sherlock lectured as he paced back and forth at the end of your hospital bed, tugging on his curls.

"Well, obviously they didn't kill me permanently, did they, I'm still here!" You fired back with a sigh, "I'm fine Sherlock, honestly."

"Fine? Fine, Y/n, I almost lost you today. Don't you understand? I...I can't loose you!" He cried, his voice wavered with unshed tears and his hands shook as he placed them over the railing at the end of the bed - laying all of his cards on the table, putting his heart out on the line.

"You were never going to loose me Sherlock, I was fighting - I still am fighting for you," you pleaded as you tried to get out of the bed, but alas, your boath was blocked by several wires and tubes that you weren't entirely sure as to where they were connected too. And yet as you went to toy with your ring, you found your hand bare and your heart monitor beeped rapidly as your anxiety rose until tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, "Sherlock...I - I know-" you swallowed a sob as you continued to fight your way off of the bed until you found Sherlock's trembling hand, "I know you're mad at me; but you...you wouldn't...please,"

"I wouldn't what?" He questioned as he finally looked up at you with tear stained cheeks and red eyes.

"You wouldn't end - you wouldn't end our engagement; just because I scared you...would you?" You sobbed as you met his eyes unable to stop the cold tears from falling.

"What? Of course I wouldn't, what kind of a man do you take me for?" He questioned as he finally took a step towards you and held his hand out, awaiting yours.

"Then where is it? My ring, it's not on my hand," you whispered not trusting your voice not to break as your hand fitted into his perfectly.

And you could see the cogs turning in his brain as his tears fell, "oh no, no, no, my darling, you misunderstood," he spoke softly through his tears and brushed a stray tear from your cheek before digging in his coat pocket for your ring. "They had to remove it for surgery," he said as he slid it back onto your finger.

A humourless laugh left your lips as you softly tapped his chest, "You could have lead with that, you cock."

"I deserve that," he agreed and wrapped his arms around you, buryin his face into the crook of your neck and you didn't think twice about returning the gesture as you wrapped your arms as tight as you could around him, almost too scared to let go, "don't ever scare me like that again, Mrs. Holmes."

"Right back at you," you chuckled through your tears, "your coats getting wet."

"It's okay, love, I have plenty at home. I'm just glad you're alive."

"As am I," you smiled as you pulled back to look at him and all you wanted to do was kiss away the pain. And by jove did you as you leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Surprising the detective in the process, but his heart soared when he realised he had you back in his arms, safe and sound. He couldn't help but laugh when your heart monitor raced when you felt him kiss you back, "It's good to know I can still get your heart racing,"

"Shut up!" You laughed and pulled away needing to lay down.

"You started it!"

"I did not!"

"You insinuated the kiss," he flirted and urged you to move over so he could squeeze in next to you.

"Touché. Now, would it be too soon to ask about the case?" You questioned as you groaned in pain when Sherlock accidentally tugged on your iv line when he tried to hug you and mutter an apology.

"Not at all, that's why I brought the case file."

"I knew there was a reason I said yes," you teased and sat the case file open on both of your laps. If any passers by walked past, not knowing any better, they would have thought the pair of you were newly weds holdin a new born baby. And just as that thought entered your brain, you were certain you heard John take a photo, "we're never going to hear the end of this,are we?"

"Not for a very long time," Sherlock smiled and re directed your attention to the case file, knowing he'd need to return it to Lestrade soon enough.

Hours upon hours flew past as you and Sherlock laid in bed reassuring each other that no matter what happened you'd always find your way back together. However it would seem your time together was going to be cut short as the nurse came round for the tenth time to remind you and Sherlock that visiting hours had ended well over three hours ago.

"Mr. Holmes, I've been as flexible as I can be but I must ask that you leave. Mrs. Y/L/N needs her rest." The nurse urged as she stood in the door way, holding the door open, a clear indication that she was desperate for your detective to leave.

"It's alright nurse, I will be leaving with Sherlock and Dr. Watson," you announced and waved to John through the one way glass. With Sherlock's help you managed to wiggle yourself off of the bed and detach from all of the wires and lines despite the nurses protest.

"Mrs. Y/l/n, respectfully you can't just leave, you're hardly stable,"

"Oh please, I'm a mortician. I live with Sherlock who might I remind you is a graduate chemist, so should I need any medication he could work out my dosage. My best friend is a military doctor and my almost brother in law is essentially the British government, how much safer can I be?" You offered almost sarcastically as you slipped your arms into the spare coat that Sherlock had managed to bring with him, and gathered your things.

"But--you--"

"Enough please. I invoke the right to discharge myself, would you go against your oath to stop me from discharging myself? No? I didn't think so. Good night," you sighed.

Your head still pounded from the drugs but you needed to find your way out of this damn hospital before it suffocated you.

Despite being a mortician, you hated being in the hospital as a patient. But thankfully John was ready and waiting outside with several takeaway menus in hand, and Sherlock followed close behind.

His baritone voice rumbled against your back as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, "Dinner?" He offered as he looked between you and John.

"God, I'm starving!" You agreed with a chuckle as your stomach rumbled and echoed in the empty hall, "I love you both, my baker Street boys,"

"Is that the drugs talking?" John jested and flashed you a sheepish smile as he saw Sherlock give him a look that screamed 'Shut up'.

But you simply shook your head, "I think I'll stay away from them for now, unless we have anything else that works on a headache?"

"Well, scientifically speaking an orgasm is said too elevate pain--"

"Sherlock Holmes!" You gasped, your face flushed as you looked up at him doing your best not to smile as mischief lingered in his eyes, "where was this on the night of our engagement?"

"Oh trust me, my mind palace has been very busy with thoughts of you since that day," he all but purred as he stood closer to you and even though he hadn't touched you, it felt as though it was on fire.

"Ahem! I'm still here by the way." John said awkwardly as he moved to walk slightly ahead, not wanting to picture you and Sherlock in the throws of passion.

"Sorry!" The pair of you chimed in sync and walked in silence until you got back to baker Street.

The day that Sherlock Holmes died, was the day that your world ceased to make sense.

Everything you had come to know, to believe, hell even to feel, felt foreign to you.

It was unlike you to give into emotions so willingly and yet as you sat in the clients chair of 222B, facing the fire, you couldn't stop the tears from cascading down your cheeks. You chest physically ached as you forced yourself to sob silently, not wanting to attract attention from Mrs. Hudson who you was sure was grieving in her own way.

As you tilted your head up to the ceiling - in a futile effort to get your tears to stop - you cursed Moriarty and Donovan and everyone else who had a hand in Sherlock's death.

Your heart pounded against your chest, you needed to feel something other than pure unrivaled anguish. But alas, it would appear that the universe wasn't quite ready for your rage just yet, as your phone began to ring and ring and ring until you could ignore it no longer.

"Hello?" You questioned, forcing your voice to be as neutral as possible, though it was still very much thick with the tears you were unwilling to shed.

"Y/n, it's Molly. From the morgue? How are you? Ah, that-thats a stupid question, don't answer that.." Molly rambled on and you could hear the sadness in her voice.

"It's okay, really... I'm... fine..." You lied.

"You know it's okay, not to be fine. You have to let yourself feel things. Not that I want to force you too, but-"

"Molly, please, stop. Just stop fretting and tell me what you need."

"Are you able to get down to Bart's? I need someone to identify Sherlock's body...and you were the first person on his list of emergency contacts."

"I was his first? Not John or Mycroft?"

"Not according to his record or phone for that matter. I know it's only been a few hours but I wanted you to be able to say goodbye."

"I...I don't think I'm ever going to be ready to say G-" your voice broke as a sob ripped itself from your throat, your heart shattered into a thousand pieces as you curled in on yourself, desperaty trying to hold yourself together to finish the phone call.

But Molly's voice fell on deaf ears as you screamed in silence.

"I am so sorry, Y/n, if I there's anything I can do, I'll do it." She said as she paced the morgue, trying and failing to find the right words to comfort you.

Through your sobs you managed to find the strength to speak, although barely audible, "Just make sure that Donovan is nowhere near that bloody morgue or she may be your next patient."

"Don't worry, I'll set up a private space for you and Sherlock. Take as long as you need, he'll be waiting here...I mean, I'll have his body ready for you too see."

"Thank you," was all that you could mutter as you hung up and gathered what was left of your strength and your coat before taking one last look around 221B and deciding that it was time to face the music.