Here's just a little one-shot I did for fun. It's inspired by the song Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons, it's one of my favourites by them. :)

Dear John,

This is my note, that's what people do. Leave a note. Please don't think less of me after you read this.

I know you didn't read my file, but I gave it to you so you could know me. Understand me. I wanted you to know who and what I was. Now I shall give it to you in my own words, ones that I have chosen carefully, ones that come from the woman you know.

I'm going to tell you the story of a perky young girl, who only had friends of her own imagination. Her name was Aurora. She was lonely, very lonely.

Her parents were gone most of the time and her brother was private. It made life very hard for her.

She used her imagination for too many things, she dreamed of adventures and wondrous tales.

You see John, she got herself into a bit of trouble when she got older. It's quite the tale!

She got mixed up with a man named...

My brain raced with the words I'd written just moments before, my hand was still stiff from the three page letter I'd left for him. My heart pounded in my ears, my breaths caught in my throat, choking me up. I let out a heavy sigh, I knew what I had to do and I was ready to do it.

I climbed out of the car, slowly approaching the dock, my heels softly clicking on the pavement. The cold wind nibbled on my ear, turning it numb and making me shiver. I'd always hated the cold, but John loved it. I got closer to the dock, maybe 8 yards, it made me anxious.

I saw a hunched-over man - about 60 years old - standing by the railing, I walked closer and saw him tense as he realized I was approaching. His pointed nose breathed steam in the cold air, his once dark hair was frosted with grey and white, matching his surroundings in that sense. I tugged on the sleeve of my coat, because I'd forgotten my gloves.

He didn't turn or even move, he knew I wouldn't try anything and I knew that he had a sniper trained on every roof. I inhaled sharply as I stopped next to him and leaned against the rail, propping my elbows on the frosty metal.

"Mrs... Watson, is it?" the man said, his thick brogue low. I closed my eyes briefly as memories flooded through my thoughts, memories of that voice, barking orders at me, giving comforting words, commands. Years of hearing that voice rushed at me, years I'd tried to forget.

I covered my mouth and nose with my hands, breathing warm air over my ice cold nose. I felt a frozen pang run through my chest and make me shudder. "Yes," I replied, dropping my hands.

A frighteningly dark chuckle erupted from his throat, reminding me of a lion, roaring at its foes. My lips squeezed shut and I forced my hands to stay where they were and not go for my gun.

"I have missed you," he said, reaching out to touch my arm. I drew back. The last thing I wanted was this man to touch me. His hand dropped back to his side. "You used to be great, you know. Unbeatable. You had a perfect record, till now."

I sniffed, the cold making my nose run. "I know. But now I have someone who makes me great," I felt a stroke of hatred for him fill me. I had never felt so angry at another human being as I did him, he'd ruined my life. He'd taken everything that I held dear, turned it upside down and crushed it.

His light eyes stared at me in the dark, I could feel his gaze like pins and needles, attacking me. I shifted uncomfortably and let my eyes drift up to meet his, painfully slowly. Staring into his eyes was like staring into a black hole; empty, void of emotion, and deadly.

"You can come back, Mary. You know you can," he said in a quiet voice, making me freeze. He used that voice when you didn't have a choice. "As long as you cooperate."

I knew that meant that I went back, or he'd kill those that I love. I took a deep breath and turned back to the water, staring at the rolls of dark blue, dirty and polluted by the people of London.

His hand touched my shoulder and my body tensed up. I can't describe my disgust at having him touch me, it was not in a perverted or forceful manner, it was in a 'caring' manner. And that disgusted me more than ever.

I hated even just the sight of him, it made me want to claw his face off and leave his body in a dank hole to be found by his loved ones. Where I didn't have to worry about him bothering me or anyone else ever again.

I shook my head, I wasn't that person anymore, I wasn't a killer. Or maybe I was. I certainly could be. But I didn't want to be, not because of me, because of John.

My lips pursed in frustration and I watched as he pulled out a cigar, lit it and then placed it in his mouth. His face was worn, but not aged. He hadn't seemed to age a day since I met him.

He could see that I wasn't going to cooperate and his hand dropped to his side, my eyes followed it, trained like a young pup eager to play. But once I saw what he pulled from his jacket I was far from eager. I should have known this was coming, it was obvious. His only way out, always the coward.

I stepped back, my teeth grinding into my lip. How dare he? How dare he march in here, expecting me to be enthusiastic about joining him and then whip out a gun when I disappointed him? He was probably hoping I'd say no, just so he could shoot me, why else would he bring it?

His expression was one of long awaited glee, a face usually seen right before death. It was almost like a beacon, telling you you were about to die. I shuddered.

...And then she met you and she changed completely. We both agreed I was the best thing that ever happened to you, but you truly are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You, John Watson, are and always will be; the best thing in my life.

Which is likely over by now, I never did have a long life expectancy, ever since I was a child.

But you made everything better. Every single dark corner of my life seemed to be replaced with all of your light, your beauty, your goodness. It filled me and made me feel complete...

The trigger of the gun clicked, making my nerves spike. I turned and fixed him with a cold stare upon realizing that the chamber was empty.

A rumbling chuckle fell from his mouth and landed at my feet, enraging me. I would kill him, I promised myself. I would.

But I couldn't.

Despite the fury that was boiling in my stomach and chest, eating at my patience, I knew that not only was I rusty, I just didn't have it anymore. The idea of killing him, of having the hot blood spurt and cover my hands and face, made my stomach churn.

Years ago I would have done it, I would have been eager to, hungry for a killing. But now, I just couldn't. I willed myself to picture his body lying dead, but it only disgusted me. Like everything else about him.

"Did you really think," the rumble reached my ears, making my ears twitch. There was an edge to that voice, a raspy airy edge. He...he was having trouble breathing. "That I'd shoot you in the back? After all these years?" his gleeful expression had completely vanished, to be replaced with a tired look.

My own ragged breathing was intensified as I replied defiantly. "Yes," knowing it'd hurt him more than physically harming him. His pride was always more important.

"I don't want you dead, Mary," he growled, a touch of temper showing through.

"But I want you dead," I stated, taking a step forward, moving for my gun.

It all happened too quickly, I didn't have time to react.

There was a gunshot, blood, white noise. A dead silence hung in the air, digging its fingers in and planning to stay.

Where did the bullet go?

My hands had gone numb and I didn't know why. Was it the cold?

I couldn't hear my breathing anymore. I knew that I took a step forwards, but I don't think I went anywhere.

He stood there. Staring at me, his pupils widened like a shark at the sight of blood. But where was the blood coming from?

I tried to take another step but fell. I landed in the snow with an empty crunch. The numb was spreading, it started in my abdomen and crept up my chest, seeping over my limbs and twisting in my head.

The only thing I felt was the cold, no pain. The smell was familiar. So much blood that it clung to your sinuses, it clouded all other smells and made you want to vomit. I used to love the thrill of that scent.

Knees landed in front of me, hands grabbed me and tried to lift. That's when the pain hit. I gasped and let out a strained shout, my fingers curling into a tightly clenched fist.

"Hold on," came the whisper. It was him, he shot me in his panic to stay alive. A name. There was a name. "Just hold on," there was a terrified edge to the voice as he held me.

I wanted to pull away, I wanted to scream and shout at him, but I couldn't. Breathe in, breathe out. That's all I could focus on at one time, if I wanted to live anyways.

...John, my dear. The light of my life. I want you to know that I'd do anything for you, if you asked I'd have done it. Well, you didn't have to ask, but here I am proving my love for you.

If Sherlock asks, just tell him that his case has been taken care of. The Knight of Death, or whatever it is the medias are calling him, is no longer a problem. All two hundred people are avenged and their families can rest easy. And if Sherlock needs any more answers, just show him the end of this letter and he'll understand. He's good like that.

I'm sorry John, I'm sorry this is happening. I'm sorry for what I've done to you. And most importantly, I'm sorry that you won't be a father, not with me anyways.

She would have been beautiful. I would've liked the name Martha for her, after Mrs. Hudson. She deserves that much, after looking after you boys for so long.

I wouldn't have done this while pregnant if I could have helped it, but you were more important than I was. I'm a terrible person you see, I'm so selfish. What kind of a mother would do this? I'm voluntarily dying and my child will die along with me.

But this has been driving me insane and I just want it to stop. You could say I've gone a bit mad.

There's a chance I'll survive, and the baby too. I'm counting on that chance, but I'm also trying to be realistic. I don't expect to live.

But I want you to find love again, after I'm gone, I want you to live and love and be as beautiful as you always have...

I coughed, blood dribbling out of my mouth. The pale eyes that looked down at me were lit with tears, one leaking down his cheek.

Those eyes had a name. I knew the name, I just couldn't find it. It was on my tongue, stinging and screaming, trying to get my attention.

"Lie still," he said quietly, cupping my head in his hands. He cleared his throat and looked at me again, his eyes brimming with tears. "I loved you, you know. You've always been the daughter I never had, always. I never wanted to hurt you, I just wanted you to come back."

A name, I knew the name.

"It wouldn't have had to end this way, if you'd just cooperated. You didn't have to argue, you could have just come. I wouldn't have hurt you again, I would have-"

"-I'm pregnant," I managed to gasp out. I wanted him to know, I wanted him to know the full measure of what he'd done. I wanted to make him hurt, feel the pain I'd felt.

His eyes widened, the name reflecting off of the inside of his pupils, obscured by his tears enough that I still couldn't read it. A breath of surprise barreled out of his mouth and he leaned back, still holding me. I could see the pain in his eyes as the truth settled in, like burying a steak knife in his chest.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he murmured, trying to make me more comfortable.

The name! I needed the name! If you knew someone's real name it gave them power over you, that's how he used me for so many years. There was something intimate about your real name, something that bent your mind in a different direction, something that compelled you.

What was the name?!

"Hold on, I'll call an ambulance, just hold on."

Was it an E? Or a G? Like an H, or something similar?

"Hold on."

F! The name, the name was...Finn.

I coughed more and breathed, "Finn."

His head snapped down to look at me, he'd never told me his name, I'd just figured it out once. I was good at things like that. "What did you say?" he demanded, most of the softness from earlier was gone.

"Blaine Finn," I grinned, I was sure that my blood stained teeth made me look maniacal, like the Joker.

He lowered my head back to the ground. He rose to his feet and walked away, he left me there, laying on the ground.

The numb had begun to fade now and the pain set in, scraping at my insides and tearing through my strength, eating at my stomach. Coughing only made it worse, but I needed to clear my throat enough to breathe. I needed to breathe.

I watched the steamy tendrils of my breath rise and fall, twirling and dancing in the cold air. It was almost hypnotizing.

"Mary," I turned my head to the side to see where the voice had come from. John.

He was laying on the ground next to me, holding my hand. "Hold on," he said.

I wanted to cry out, I wanted to hold him and apologize a thousand times over. Our baby was dying, I was dying. And the worst part is, he would be alone.

I couldn't get more than a "Hnngghh" out, but he understood somehow. He reached his hand over and lay it on my stomach, he put a finger to my lips.

"Shhh, don't speak, my love. Just breathe," his eyes were wet with tears, but his smile was warm. I stared at his lips, that smile, just as I remembered. My eyes shifted to right above his lips, it was clean shaven and smooth. I wanted to laugh.

There were many things I wanted to do, I wanted to laugh, I wanted to dance. Just one last time.

I tried to breathe like he told me, I tried to hold on, but only for him. I was bleeding out quickly and the only thing I could think was, It's all for him. The last thing I'll ever do is for him.

It was worth it, to see his smile again.

But then I blinked, and he was gone. It shouldn't have hurt so much, I knew he wasn't really there, it was just my mind trying to cope. Trying to hold on to the only stable thing I had - John.

...As this comes to an end, I want you to tell Sherlock something. Tell that dear detective that he's the only one that matters in her eyes. He'll understand.

You know, there was only one thing I was ever sure about and that was you, my love. You are my rock, the only sane thing tying me to reality. The one thing holding me in place and I love you more than you can imagine for it.

I miss your smile. I'm sitting here on our bed, you're at work and I already miss your smile. There's always been something about it, something special that makes you unique.

I suppose it comes with your big heart. That's a thing about you, you've always had a big heart.

That's what I get for marrying an army doctor, isn't it?

You lovely man, you lovely lovely man.

Now I shall conclude this note, I trust you to do the right thing when you read this, I trust you to be who you've always been.

Dr. Watson, my impossible man.

With all my love, all love imaginable and then some,

Your Mrs. Watson

A life in me died. It wasn't my own, it was my child. That was like being crushed by a boulder, like having your very heart ripped out and crumpled in front of you. I was deemed to protect this child, I was chosen to bring her into the world and raise her to be my own. But I'd failed.

I took my last breath and as my eyes glazed over, one thing raced through my mind.

I rather liked his mustache.