Author's Note: This is a one-shot and my first Sherlock story. Please enjoy!

Soon Enough

Why didn't they tell him?

"We didn't want you to risk you cover being blown."

It was his fault.

"There was nothing you could have done."

Who did this? How could this happen?

"It was an accident. It was instant. No pain."

He didn't understand.

"I'm sorry Sherlock."

He stood in front of the mirror slowly dressing himself. The presence of John and Mary in the living room gave him little to no comfort. He knew that they were trying to comfort - to help him - but he didn't want nor need their help. There was nothing they could do. There was nothing even he, the great Sherlock Holmes, could do.

His fingers struggled to button the forest green shirt.

"A shirt?" Sherlock had a brow raised as he examined the shirt that he was given. It wasn't his birthday or any holiday. He didn't understand why he had gotten a gift.

"I saw it at a store window when I was out buying some paint." She shrugged, her dark chocolate waves falling over her shoulders. "I thought that you would look good in it, so I bought it."

He never understood how her brilliant mind could have some simple thoughts. She was looking at him with those intense blue eyes and rosy lips curled upwards in a smile and Sherlock couldn't help but feel satisfied by her answer. She had thought of him.

"Thank you." He replied smoothly, never letting their eye contact go.

She only looked at him expectantly. "Well? Aren't you going to try it on?"

Sherlock slipped on a black dress jacket that matched with his black trousers. He closed his eyes briefly, memories of her flooding his mind palace and he wasn't sure if he wanted to delete her to keep her locked in the corners of his mind. The black silk dressing gown that lay on the chair in his room was hers. Her scent still lingered on the side of the bed she slept on. The unfinished cup of Lady Grey tea in the painted mug still sat on the table in the living room. Her paint brushes were still left dirtied in the sink. He wondered if she had planned on coming back to finish the cup of tea.

He watched her intently.

She had been sitting on the stool in front of her canvas for the past three days. Barely speaking, barely eating, and barely paying him any attention. Sherlock did not enjoy being ignored. He had the violin underneath his chin and purposely play an assortment of bad notes but got no reaction from her. Sherlock huffed and placed the violin down on the table before strutting over to her and picking her up bridal style.

"Sherlock!" She screeched, dropping the paintbrush from her hand and immediately wrapping her arms around his neck afraid he would drop her. "What are you doing?" She huffed.

"Getting your attention."

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Stop being a diva."

"What day is it?"

"Wednesday."

"Wrong. It's Saturday." Sherlock responded coldly his eyes equally as cold as he set her down in the parlor, grabbing both their coats and handing her coat to her. She had the decency to look sheepish before looking at him with an annoyed expression.

"So? You get like this too when you're on one of your cases." She pointed out pulling the collar of her coat down and wrapping a scarf around her neck. "Where are we going?"

"True. But I'm bored!" Sherlock opened the door but she only stood at her spot looking at him expectantly. He rolled his eyes at her stubbornness and mumbled, "And I've missed your company." He offered his hand out for her to take. She wore a triumphant grin as she took his hand and intertwined their fingers. Sherlock finished, "We're going to Angelo's for some dinner."

"Sherlock?" John's concerned voice finally broke the silence.

The consulting detective turned to face John, seeing his former flat mate's face contorted to a worried expression. Sherlock wondered if his silence made John concerned or if it was the fact that they had been standing in silence for almost ten minutes when he entered the living room.

"Alright mate?" John asked seriously and Sherlock had to force himself not to laugh at his friend's stupidity. Instead, Sherlock took to starting at John and John seemed to understand, nodding his head silently.

"There is a car already waiting for us outside." Mary said gently from her spot next to John, her eyes looking back and forth from John to Sherlock. Sherlock let his eyes scanned John's fiancé before commenting.

"Mycroft."

Mary nodded her head slowly.

"Let's go." Sherlock said coolly and bounded down the stairs, knowing that John and Mary were right behind him. He didn't usually take his brother's help but Mycroft owed him and Sherlock was not going to easily forgive his brother.

"John. Brother. What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked from his spot on his leather chair his phone in his hands. The bruise on his face was still fresh from where John had punched him last night. He paid little attention to the guests in his flat, his focus on the phone in his hands. He had texted her yesterday with the message and had yet to receive a reply. Sherlock had taken to scrolling up and down on his phone, reading the messages he had sent her and trying to gauge her and her lack of response.

I'm alive. Where are you?

-SH

I'm sorry. Please.

-SH

Did you know John is engaged?

-SH

How has Mycroft's diet been?

-SH

I am sorry. I want to see you.

-SH

She wasn't at her house, in the outskirts of the city. She hadn't frequented his flat either, from the state of the dust that had compiled in his bedroom. He hadn't found it necessary yet to contact her family, seeing that she could still be mad at him. Sherlock also believed that Mycroft has been keeping tabs on her for him, knowing how important she was to Sherlock and to Mycroft; even if his brother didn't want to admit that the girl had wormed her way.

"Sherlock?" John waved a hand in front of Sherlock's face trying to get his friend's attention and Sherlock seem to come out of his thoughts. Mycroft sat in the chair across from Sherlock while John took to standing.

"What were you saying?" Sherlock asked, placing the phone down on the arm rest.

John only sighed and looked at Mycroft. Sherlock narrowed his eyes trying to deduce the situation. Mycroft only nodded his head at John and John took in a deep breath. John's eyes met with Sherlock's.

"Sherlock, what I'm about to say, you have to understand that none of it was your fault and there was nothing you could have done."

Sherlock clenched and unclenched his jaw, not liking being left out of the loop. He almost growled, "What is it that you are going on about? Just say it!"

John sighed with resignation and sadness – sadness Sherlock had only ever seen when John visited his grave. "It's Eleanor. She's dead."

There was no Jim Moriarty to blame, no criminal organization to take down, no revenge to be had, and no deductions to be made. It was an accident. A taxi driver who had a heart attack in the middle of a busy roundabout, causing a massive pile up: five dead, including the driver, leaving a ten wounded. John told him that she had been in the car with the taxi driver when his heart stopped. A car had rammed itself on the side she was sitting on. She felt no pain. She died on impact.

Sherlock stood in front of her grave clutching a bouquet of light pink peonies in his hand – they were her favorite. He closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. He tilted his head, looking at John and Mary who stood with their hands conjoined besides him. The sight pained him.

John and Mary shared a brief look. Mary had gone first before John spoke up, "Take your time Sherlock. We'll be by the car."

He waited, listening to the fading footsteps of his friend before he knelt in front of the tomb. His green eyes immediately landed on the words engraved onto the tombstone. Gently, he placed the bouquet in front of it. He closed his eyes and wished for all his might that this was some joke – that she was faking her death too. He wanted a miracle to happen but he knew one wouldn't. Opening his eyes and with a deep breath, he lifted his fingers and traced the engraving of her name:

Eleanor Goldschmidt.

It was an accident, they told him. There was nothing he could have done, they said.

It doesn't make it any better; he believes it makes it worse.

It was instant, they told him. She didn't feel any pain, they said.

It didn't make losing her any easier.

She had died thinking he was dead.

He had been bored. She just wanted him to stop annoying her.

She had suggested they take a brief walk in the park and pick a good bench to sit on so he could deduce the people that walked by to her while she sketched. It seemed fair enough.

In the middle of one of his deductions, he had taken her left hand in his. He had absently begun running his thumb across the back of her hand, occasionally letting his thumb hover of the diamond ring on her ring finger. The diamond glinted from the sun and he had taken to looking from their surroundings, to looking at what she was sketching in her notebook, to the ring on her finger.

"Eleanor." He spoke up and the woman next to him just hummed, a few second passed and she set the pencil on top of her notebook before looking at him.

"Yes, Sherlock?" She responded with slight amusement lacing her words. Her lips were curled in a smirk and she looked at him with interest.

"Are you sure you want this?" Sherlock asked his thumb tracing the ring on her finger.

Eleanor just rolled her eyes but her face held a kind smile. "Of course I do." She paused before her features softened and she stated. "You have doubts."

"My work is dangerous – "

"I've got you and the British Government," She mused, referring to Mycroft.

"I'm married to my work – "

"So am I." Eleanor continued before Sherlock could get another word in. "But we're about to marry each other as well, aren't we?"

Sherlock found his lips twitching upwards into a smile. She had never made him choose between his cases or her. He might be married to his work but it didn't mean he could be married to her too. Even if she would never ask him to choose, Sherlock would always choose her.

He leaned forward slowly and pressed his lips against her forehead. "You're right Mrs. Holmes."

Eleanor just laughed and leaned into him a little more, the sketchbook in her lap now forgotten. "Not quite, Sherlock."

"Soon enough."

Author's Note: Sorry if the story doesn't feel complete, I just kinda was done with it. In a sense that I had nothing more that I wanted to add to the story. I had a few things but it didn't mesh the way I wanted it to. Anyways, the idea of this sort of just popped into my head. Originally, the first draft I wrote is completely different from this so I might post the original up. I might also post a few chapters of EleanorxSherlock depending on how big of a hit this is! Reviews are much appreciated and I love feedback to see what I can improve on!