Irene dropped the letter and her eyes watered.
"No," she whispered. "No."
That wasn't possible. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. She slid down on the floor and started sobbing.
This is where Sherlock found her the next morning. She was still sitting there, staring at the wall across her, repeatedly shaking her head.
"Why? Why you?" She asked quietly, as if the walls around could give her a legit response.
"Irene?" He asked softly and looked down at her. He paled when he noticed she was holding the letter in her hand. "So...you found it." He sat beside her and pulled the woman close. "I'm sorry. I don't think I have got that much time."
Irene shook her head and glared at him. "Shut the fuck up. You are going to live. I promise you that." Sherlock smiled sadly. He didn't believe in it, but he didn't want to destroy all of Irene's hopes.
"I'll wait for what the doctor says after my chemo." He stroked over Irene's hair.
A few days had passed. Sherlock and Irene were waiting for the results of the chemo.
Nothing about her appearance gave something away about the woman's former job. She was small and skinny, she almost looked anorexic. Stains of mascara decorated her features that used to be showing all pride she had, but now she was broken. Simply broken. She couldn't lose Sherlock again. This would kill her. Her eyes, her eyes were empty. She lay curled up on her lover's lap and looked up at him. She had sworn to herself never to lose him again and she would do anything to never lose him again. If she could sell her soul, she would immediately do that.
Suddenly the phone rang. Irene didn't even react, but Sherlock gently moved her off his lap and got up to pick up the phone call. "Holmes. ... Yes, it's me. ... Ah, doctor! We've been waiting for your call. ... The results? ..." Sherlock looked at Irene and swallowed, returning his attention the man on the phone.
"Do you want me to see you again, before...? ..."
