It's Fine, Honestly.

This is the story of how I died.

Well, no, that's not right, is it?

It's actually the story of how Sherlock Holmes died.

But, no, not really either.

I'm sorry, I'm really bad at this.

I'll just… I'll just start at the beginning.

The day I met Sherlock Holmes, I was… well, actually, the bloke downright irritated me. He was rude, impatient, and never had any semblance of manners.

But then… when he spoke, when he… deducted – not me, not yet – somebody I worked with, I was amazed. Just amazed.

After that, I kept working and we kept crossing paths. He needed to see bodies for his cases, and I, well, I just did my job. We just happened to be in the right place at the right time… Fate, I think, if that does exist.

Oh, Sherlock would call me an idiot for saying that. Hehe.

Right, anyways, after some time, Sherlock said I was the only 'competent pathologist' there, and he insisted he work with me alone. Now, that's not true, the real reason is he never got on with any of the other pathologists there. Which was fine, I didn't mind, honestly.

I was a bit smitten with him at that point, though it's embarrassing to admit. He never seemed to notice my affections – or maybe he did, I don't know –but, it never seemed like he… did.

I'm sorry! Like I said, I'm bad at this. A-Anyways…

Time went on. John Watson moved into Sherlock's flat, and together they solved crime! Oh, that makes them sound like a couple of superheroes, doesn't it? Well, in a way, I suppose they were. They were doing amazing things. Things I could never dream of doing…

S-so, this guy, Jim – I mean, Moriarty – challenged Sherlock and ultimately lost. But, Sherlock had to die, too. Otherwise, Moriarty would've killed all of Sherlock's friends – not that they're not mine too, but um – but Sherlock had to jump from the roof, or the snipers would've done their…thing.

But before this, Sherlock startled me by appearing in the lab. He… He told me that I counted, and that he trusted me. I helped fake his death. I gave him the medicine to slow his heart so he could survive the fall. I patched him up when he came to the morgue. I signed the documents that certified his death.

I… I lied to everyone. But, they had to believe that he was dead, or it would've never worked – or at least, that's what Sherlock told me, and I trust him.

I really do.

After he… died, he stayed with his homeless network, hiding in the shadows as he fixed…everything. So he could come home. I offered him my flat, but he said it would be obvious if someone was staying with me, so that… that was fine. He'd pop in sometimes, just to let me know he was safe – at least, I like to think that; he has a funny way about doing things, sometimes – or I'd bandage him up if he got into a fight, but I think… I think he just liked to be around something, or someone, familiar. Because John… He couldn't know, and Sherlock, well, he didn't have another choice. I was the only one who knew about him still being alive, besides his homeless friends. But, like I said, that was fine. Honestly.

But someone must've noticed him in my flat or something – even though he only came around once in a great while – because I was targeted. Sherlock stayed with me a lot, then. To make sure I was safe – No, he never actually said that, but like I said, he's always had a funny way about doing things – and he also tracked down the last of…whatever he needed to track before he could come back home.

One day, he jumped up from his spot on the couch, and said he knew who was responsible! Or, something like that. Then, he ran out the door and I didn't hear from him for a while. I was so engrossed in my work, so it was fine. Barely noticed he left, honestly.

A few weeks passed, and I came home one afternoon to a strange man standing in my bedroom. He was the man Sherlock had been looking for – Sebestian Moran, was his name. Sherlock said one time that all he needed to do was change the second vowel in his name to an 'o' and it'd be a fitting explanation of his character. Hehe.

Right, so, I walked in and found him standing there, waiting for me. He was planning to… well, I honestly don't want to know what he was planning on doing – kill me, probably – but Sherlock just burst in through my window and tackled the man!

He dropped the gun – which I should've grabbed, but I was so stunned - and he and Sherlock wrestled for a bit. I turned to run into the kitchen to call the police, but Moran had gotten hold of the gun, and I – I didn't see him, otherwise I would've done.. something, I don't know- but, he shot me.

You know, I've always wondered for my patients – what it's like to be shot, to die.

I guess now I know.

I died that day, on the floor of my bedroom flat.

I could hear Sherlock shout for me – I think that was the most I've ever actually heard him use my name, actually.

My senses were fading, but I could still vaguely hear Sherlock – I tried to focus on that. But then, nothing.

And that's what death is like… Nothing.

It only felt like minutes had passed –like I had been asleep – and suddenly, I was lying in bed, white walls around me, a heart rate monitor beeping to my left, and to my right was Sherlock staring down at me. And dare I say, he actually looked concerned. About me. I guess it was that moment when I realized, I guess I really do count, in my own way.

It's a bit sad it took my death to figure that out.

The moment Sherlock saw I was awake, he grabbed my hand and squeezed it. Like I said, he's funny about things, so I think… I think that was his way of apologizing. For getting me involved, in any kind of way. Though honestly, it's fine – I'm just… I'm just glad it's over now.

It took me a couple months before I was released from the hospital – and then I resumed my work at St. Bart's. It seemed like everything was just falling back into how it usually was – which was fine, I didn't expect much to change, honestly. Sherlock and John did cases – though John had gotten himself married, so not as often did he tag along, I guess – and I helped him in whatever way I could.

Then, one day, probably about a year later, Sherlock came into the lab and said he had an experiment he needed to conduct, and that my participation was absolutely necessary for the results.

I told him I was a bit busy with paperwork, but he wasn't having any of that. He insisted that I help him, that it was of utmost importance.

I finally agreed and said I'd help him – I was a bit curious what was so important, anyways, though I figured it was probably a case.

But then, he… Hehe, I'm sorry, it's a bit embarrassing. But, he… well, he kissed me.

And the rest… well, that's between me and Mr. Holmes, isn't it?

A/N - Hello everyone. :) This is my first attempt at a Sherlock fic, and I absolutely adore the Sherlolly pairing. I was contemplating doing another chapter - but telling it from Sherlock's perspective. That'd be interesting.

Thanks for reading. I appreciate your feedback.

-Zara Lavine