Pairings: Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Warnings: Sad Sherlock
whoops sorry I keep writing sad ones xx
Sherlock sat in his chair, frozen.
His arms laid limply at his sides, and his eyes were dull.
Mrs. Hudson knew better than to bother him when he got like this.
If you were here, you'd know exactly how to cheer him up.
The thought striked him like a whip.
You knew him better than anybody, even John Watson.
With all of the dangers you were put through on a daily basis, Sherlock never would've thought it'd be sickness that took you. It ran in your family; your mom and grandfather had died from cancer. Sherlock couldn't protect you from your own blood.
Sherlock missed you. So much it hurt. He could remember the first day he ever met you, like it was just yesterday. His eyes fogged over with memories.
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Sherlock had been sent grocery shopping, and was having a row with the chipping machine. You were shopping there as well, and seeing his trouble, you offered your help.
He denied at first, but eventually gave in.
You were surprisingly kind, even when he got sassy and deduced you. That drew him in, and then he was a goner.
You had the prettiest smile, with dimples that he got lost in.
You exchanged numbers, or rather, you slipped your number into his pocket when he wasn't paying attention, and he couldn't resist calling you.
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Sherlock smiled sadly. He'd never forget coming home that day and finding the slip on paper in his coat. That day changed his life; for the better.
He didn't know how he was supposed to ever clean your stuff away. He probably never would. He knew, in the bedroom in your side of the closet, there was a special piece of clothing.
A white dress.
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Sherlock proposed 2 months before you were diagnosed. You hadn't planned on having the wedding for another year, but suddenly you didn't have a year.
So all of your friends worked together and pulled all the strings they could, and you had a small wedding within the month.
Mary helped you pick out a beautiful dress, simple and elegant.
Close friends and family were the only people who attended, and it was perfect.
John helped you down the isle, and was extremely patient, even when you had to stop and catch your breath midway through.
Sherlock loved you so much that day.
Even with your translucent skin and shaky stature, you were the perfect bride. You both laughed and cried and enjoyed that special day with your close ones.
A honey moon wasn't an option, but the doctors let you stay out of the hospital for a few days. They were spent with Sherlock and John, cozy in 221B.
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Sherlock didn't ever want to move the dress.
Even more than that, he didn't want to move the memories of you. Everything that belonged to you in the flat was a memory.
The books you shoved into his bookshelves, about the stars and the fictional worlds you were always caught up in.
The sticky notes you posted everywhere, because you had such a rubbish memory.
And your violin.
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When you figured out that Sherlock played the violin, you made him promise to teach you. It took a while. But you were finally able to play with a matched ability to his.
For your 3 year anniversary, he surprised you with a violin of your own. For days on end the two of you would play in harmony, and Mrs. Hudson would sit in her flat silently, listening to the beauty of it.
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Now it sat perfectly still, collecting dust, just as you had left it. You couldn't play in the end, but you begged Sherlock to play for you.
He was desperate to
He was desperate to try and help you in any way. So he obliged.
It was only appropriate that the last thing you heard was his violin.
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You laid in 221B, perfectly still on the couch.
You were at the very end now. All the doctors could do was help you stay comfortable. So they let you move from the hospital back into 221B.
Sherlock refused to leave your side, and you certainly didn't mind it.
His fingers were red with all the violin playing he'd been doing, but he'd do whatever it took to make you happy.
Your days were filled with laying in bed with Sherlock and listening to him play for you.
That morning, you knew as soon as you woke up. Your chest was heavy, and you could tell the day had come. You woke Sherlock up and told him, and you let him cry into your shoulder for an hour.
After that you insisted he get up and make you some pancakes. You both knew you weren't hungry, but he needed something to do.
After forcing yourself to eat a pancake for Sherlock's sake, you made him call Mrs. Hudson, John, Mary, Molly, and Lestrade.
You wanted to be surrounded by family on your last day.
They all came over, forced smiles on their faces. It was awkward at first, before you lectured them all on treating you as if you were made of glass. Everyone snapped back to normal, or at least as normal as they could get, and they huddled around you on the couch.
Mrs. Hudson made tea, and everyone took turns telling old stories.
You made it until late afternoon, just before sunset. Your chest no longer felt heavy; you felt light as a feather.
Everyone sat together in the flat, staring at you in sadness. Sherlock was sitting by your side, as he has been all day. Every few minutes he'd lean over and kiss you and tell you how much he loved you.
You grasped his hand tightly and gestured to his violin.
"Would you like me to play?"
You nodded, eyes drooping. You both knew it was time.
He grabbed his violin and sat back down beside you.
He gave you a last kiss, and one last love confession whispered into your ear.
And then he began playing your favorite song. He'd written it especially for you, and it was the first song you danced to at your wedding.
You smiled at all the people surrounding you, all your family.
"I love you all." You whispered.
Then you looked up at Sherlock's watery ocean eyes.
"I love you the most. Never forget. Sherlock, I love you."
Your eyes closed and your heart ceased to beat.
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Sherlock played your wedding song every now again, when he could stand to pick up his violin.
He could get better. He could start working cases again, start sleeping and eating like he once did.
He could try his best.
But Sherlock Holmes would never be the same. He'd never be able to clean your stuff away or sleep on your side of the bed. He'd lock up his heart again, and this time no one would be able to open it ever again.
He could get better, but he could never forget.