The door shuddered with a hard knock, and Irene rushed to it.
"Would you like dinner?" Said a very familiar voice from outside.
When she opened the door Sherlock came in, almost falling down, so she had to hold him.
"Hurt. Knife. Shoulder. Knee" spit out Sherlock with a shaky voice.
With no time to loose, she took him to the bathroom, undressed him and put him in the bathtub. Quickly gathered the stitching tool and kneel next to the bathtub. After cleaning the wounds, she began stitching.

"Why do you always show up on my doorstep in need of stitches?" Ask at Sherlock, who had been very quiet.
"Old habit, i guess" He was very pale by now, so Irene hastened with the stitches.
A 4 inches cut in the left shoulder, two over the right side ribs, and a 5 inches in the thigh, just over the left knee. The last one was the worst, and the one that was losing more blood.
She was almost done when she felt him relax too much, he had fainted.

He slowly recovered his senses, his head ached and felt all his body sore. He was in a bed. He could hear something, the wind blowing a curtain and the leafs from the trees, no, was something else, really faint, but there it was. Sobs maybe? He opened his eyes slowly and saw, blurry, at Irene sitting beside him, tears in her eyes.
"Stop," he said, his breathing ragged. "Please." She approached him and bent very close to his face but said nothing. Sherlock stretched his hand and dried a tear from her cheek.
"Why?" He asked frowning.
Irene let out a sigh, heavy with relief, took his hand and lay next to him.
"For a moment" She said, making a pause "I couldn't feel your pulse"
He entwined their fingers and bent his head to kiss her on her forehead.

It would be years later, inside his mind palace, that his recreation of Moriarty would know that, if he dies, The Woman will cry.