A/N: Well you guys requested more Sherlock and Irene fanfictions, so here's another. My other story has over 750 view and is close to 800! I want to thank all of you who have read, favorites, and reviewd. I am going to shut up and go on with the story now.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or I would bring Irene Adler back onto the show.
She walks down the halls of the hospital, passing worried nurses and sick patients. It makes her stomach uneasy and makes it twist up into tight knots. She reaches room number forty two, hesitating before stepping in. Laying in the bed is a weak, frail figure that had once been a strong man. His blue eyes snap open, staring at her, observing her, reading her. For the first time in a very long time, Irene Adler was scared. It wasn't because of the piercing gaze that was was watching her that made practically everyone squirm who was under it. No, this was much deeper than that. Deep enough that it reached her soul.
It was the fact that he was dying.
Sherlock Holmes was dyimg, his life slowly slipping away by each passing moment. He had been shot and now he was bleeding internally. The doctors couldn't stop it, so they just left him to die in the hospital. His heart meter was slowing down and would sometimes skip a be at, making Irene flinch. She stands next to his bed, gently grabbing his hand in her's. He doesn't pull away or reject the gesture, knowing this will be the last time he will see her.
Tears threaten Irene's eyes, but she holds them back for Sherlock. She had tonne strong for the dying detective, even though it was difficult for her. Who knew this is what would bring the dominatrix to her knees. Certainly not her.
"Where's John?" She asks, noticing the doctor is no where near.
"With Harriet and Mary." He answers simply and dryly, trying to keep his emotionless veil on. That was Sherlock, stubborn until the very end. "Irene, why are you here?" She's dumbstruck by this question, having been sure the answer pretty clear.
"Isn't it obvious, Sherlock?" To see you." The detective rolls his eyes, causing her to frown.
"That's not what I was looking for exactly." Oh, he was looking for sentiment, to feel something before he... passed. Irene tries to come up with the right answer to satisfy Sherlock. Hope? Wait, hope for what exactly? Comfort? Not exactly. Maybe love was the right word., but did she love him? Well that was the best way to describe how she felt towards him. When ever they touched her stomach fluttered, her pulse increase, and she was just happier with him. The only issue was did he feel the same way or not?
"Sherlock, I think the answer is love."
"Love?" His eyebrow knit together, thinking about the word. What it meant, how it happened, who it happened too, and what it felt like. Irene touches his face, then runs a hand through his perfect curls.
"Yes, Sherlock, love. That's why I'm here, because I love you. Do you love me?" The possible answer to this question makes her nervous, but at the same time she wanted too know. Was this going to have a positive outcome or was she making a huge mistake?
"I think so, yes." He answers, giving a small and tired smile. She smiles back at him. She leans down and kisses on the lips, this being the first and last time she will be able to do so. Their lips move together, tasting each other. It feels nice and the both of them don't want it to end. All good things come to an end though. She rocks him on the cheek one last time, wanting him to know how special he really was. He touches her face gently with his shaking fingers.
"Sherlock, I am going to miss you and so will John." She confirms, giving a gentle smile.
"I know, take care of him for me, Irene." His hand falls from her cheek and the monitor line goes flat. Doctors and nurses rush in, one pulling Irene out of the room. She smiles at the thought of her name being the absolute last word he had said. Goodbye, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. She feels a tear finally fall down her face. His tear.
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