Sherlock POV
"LACE!" I scream as Mary cradles her gently in her arms.
"Sherlock." She weakly smiles at me, tears caressing the skin on her face.
"No. This cannot be happening..." My voice wobbling at a irregular tune. Why! WHY! WHY did I fall in love...
Cupping her face I smile a bit, tears threatening to spill down my face.
"All the good times, aye? You and me against the world, shining aye? Just like you said we would. Remember that song you first ever want in the shower? Yes that one. We could live and run like that. You could run away and I'll try to find you again. Like always aye? You and me...together..." I stop. My sobs filling the room, ripping through the silence.
Not even realizing John had exited the room he walks in with a few knives, tweezers and empty injection bottles.
"Hold her still." He commands, ripping her pale shirt, now covered in red.
"What are you doing?" I croak out.
"Shut up sherlock and keep her still!"
He screams at Sherlock, slicing 3 inches eather side of the bullet wound, peeling the frail skin back by using the tweezers, pinning it back by a safty pin and getting Mary to hold it.
I look away feeling the bile rise up my throat and I quickly look away.
Two months later..
She's gone. She's not coming back. I keep hoping for it to be a really bad dream. Even if she was a dream to begin with it would be easier. But it isn't, it wasn't. I like to believe sentiment is a chemical defect. I say like to believe because I don't believe that. Now I'm standing over her grave. Snow is falling around me and I bend down, placing a single black rose into her gravestone. It was indeed... a perfect day, for her to float away....
