A Game Of Hearts And Minds

CHAPTER XXIII - Bravery..

We had to tell Sherlock, Mycroft and I both knew. Mycroft promised me to be by my side when I told Sherlock. And while I was concerned about myself and Mycroft, I was the most worried about Sherlock. He had to live the next month, knowing that his significant other wouldn't be there to watch over him anymore in a few weeks. Knowing that there would be no more hugs, no more intercourse, no more kisses goodnight. No more of me. 

But this following month, I needed to be brave. I needed to be brave to tell him, be brave to catch him in my arms as he sobbed, be brave enough to stand by him and not pull him away. I needed to be brave.

The flickering light of the fireplace cast a warm glow across the room, but tonight, the atmosphere was heavy with tension instead of the calmth that had always roamed the living room of 221B. Sherlock sat in his armchair, engrossed in a thick stack of case files. I paced nervously, my steps hesitant and erratic, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. I exchanged a glance with Mycroft who stood by the door. I took in a sharp breath and blurted out. "Sherlock, we need to talk." My voice was quivering.

Sherlock looked up, his keen, heavenly blue eyes narrowing as he seemed to sense the gravity of the situation. "Talk? That's not usually your strong suit. So is listening." Sherlock growled. He was clearly still angry that I didn't listen to him at the ball, when he told me to stay away from Moriarity. I was at a loss of words. I turned to Mycroft, who took a deep breath as he realised that I wasn't ready to confront Sherlock. "Sherlock, it's about Lauraine."

Sherlock's gaze shifted onto me, concern now started etching his features instead of the irritation that had been there just seconds ago. "What happened?" he asked, concerned. His gaze switching between Mycroft and I. "It's...It's about my health." I forced out of my throat, while looking down. 

Sherlock set aside the case files, his attention now fully on me. "What wrong? Are you hurt?" Sherlock asked, worry lingered in his voice and it broke me.

"It's not an injury, Sherlock. It's something more complicated." I told him, teary-eyed. My gaze fell down to the floor, and I found myself unable to speak once more. Mycroft stepped forward, his expression was something that I could only discribe as a mix of sympathy and sorrow. Wow, never thought I would see that expression on him.

"When she was hit by that bullet when she still worked for MI6, it caused internal damage, and now the fragments from that bullet have scattered inside her, causing complications." He said, intently.

I looked up to see Sherlock's eyes widen in shock, his mind racing to process the information. I couldn't stand this much longer. "Complications? What kind of complications?" Sherlock asked. Visibly struggling. My voice broke as I spoke. "The fragments are scratching my tissues from the inside. It's affecting my ability to breathe. The doctor says I have about a month."

A heavy silence descended upon the room as Sherlock absorbed the devastating news. It was then and here, that I could see tears swell and collect in the bags of his eyes. He rose from his chair, his usually composed demeanor cracking and at that moment I could have sworn that I could hear his heart crumble into a thousand pieces.

"A month? But... we can find a solution. There must be something we can do." Sherlock whispered, desperately trying to hold back his tears.

"The doctor said it's too late for surgery. We can only manage the symptoms and make her as comfortable as possible." Mycroft answered gravely. I could see Sherlock's hands clench into fists as he struggled to accept the reality unfolding before us.  "No, there has to be a way. We can't just accept this."

"Sherlock, I need you to understand. We're facing this together." I said, more and more tears gathering and threatening to fall down to the carpet. Sherlock's gaze met mine, and in that moment, I saw the depth of his pain and resolve. The room was filled with a somber silence, broken only by the crackling of the fireplace. As Sherlock took in the harsh reality, Mycroft stood by, a silent pillar of support in all of our shared sorrow.