Irene walked down an empty road.
She didn't know anymore where she was, never mind where to go. She looked up to the sky. "Great. Now it starts raining as well," she muttered to herself. After a moment of being deep in thoughts she decided to sit down on a park bench. She leaned back and closed her eyes, waiting for the raindrops to reach her skin. She didn't care anymore.
All she ever had was lost. Everything left were the scars on her wrists. She had attempted suicide a week ago and was sent to a hospital to recover. "As if," she scoffed to herself. "Nobody can fix the broken pieces of my heart." A tear ran down her cheek and melted into a raindrop. She pulled a newspaper article out of her pocket and looked at it. 'FAKE GENIUS COMMITS SUICIDE'. It felt only yesterday that she first read these words but the article was about two years old. She touched Sherlock's picture on the wet paper and sobbed lightly. "Why? Why you?" Irene couldn't cope with the fact that the only man she had ever loved was dead. A few days after his funeral she had visited the grave. That was the first and last time she'd been to the graveyard. Since then she had been going through at least seven suicide attempts. "Just let me die!", she screamed to the sky. Nobody would hear her. But that was okay. Nobody ever listened to her. Finally she was free again. One week in that silly hospital was enough. She looked down with empty eyes. She didn't care about the consequences that would await her when the doctors found out she escaped. Again. She just had enough of them. People who told her what to do. Overprotective 'friends'. She smiled coldly. These 'friends' of hers who couldn't even remember her until she had her first suicide attempt.
Irene slid the newspaper article back into her pocket. That little piece of paper was everything personal left to her. And her camera phone. Which was useless now that Sherlock had left this earth. She pulled it out and looked at it. She never changed the password. "How right he was." Irene mumbled to herself. "Love is a dangerous disadvantage. You should never let it rule your head. Silly Irene." She wiped away her tears and curled up on the park bench, closing her eyes. Soon she fell asleep.
She didn't see the tall, dark figure standing behind her. The man smiled down at the former dominatrix and pulled off his coat. Gently he lay it down on her to protect her from the rain and left.
After a few hours Irene woke up and inhaled the familiar scent of Sherlock, humming happily. Then she widened her eyes and sat up, looking at the coat on top of her body with her mouth wide open. She felt something in one pocket of the coat and slid her hand into it. Immediately she pulled her hand back again and whimpered in pain. A little drop of blood formed on her finger and she carefully pulled a red rose out of the pocket. She gasped in surprise.
Then she noticed the little note that was tied to the stem of the rose.
Tears formed in her eyes when she read the words in the familiar handwriting.
'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner. -SH'
