Disclaimer: I own nothing.
OMG I am so sorry that it took so long! Life got crazy, still is, so inspiration is trickling in slower than molasses!
So now we know the extend of their love for each other. But keep in mind, this is a tragedy. It could go either way at this point.
So, who's ready to see this happen?
Sit back and enjoy!
Love always,
Avoline
He sat in the cab across from the diner. He couldn't make her out now that she had mingled into the crowd, and that worried him. What if MaryAnn picked a different weapon of choice? Would he loose Annabelle, or would she prove to be as strong as he thought? He was so scared of loosing her, and was hoping she would be just fine.
After last night, he couldn't loose her. He had never felt so comfortable showing his arms to someone, and to know that she didn't shy away or turn him away because of the scars only strengthened his feelings for her. He could actually say he needed her. He wasn't sure if she needed him, but he could hope. He could hope so badly that she needed him too. She wanted to protect him. So why would she not need him too?
He shook his head slightly and focused on the task at hand. He had to wait for his signal. Once he saw it, his only job was to comfort his girlfriend. She would be shaken, angry, and very uncomfortable. But she would be safe. He wouldn't have to worry about loosing her anymore. And he could move towards the next part of their relationship.
He slid a hand into his pocket, fingering the ring that rested there. It hadn't been long, maybe a few weeks, but he knew he couldn't live without her. He was willing to risk having his heart broken, cause he couldn't be sure of her answer. But he prayed she'd say yes. If she didn't...
No. He wouldn't think like that. She loved him. She feared his rejection as much as he feared hers. She'd say yes, and she would make a beautiful bride. One he didn't deserve, but God knew he needed.
"There goes our mark," Lestrad muttered, yanking Sherlock from his thoughts. Seafoam eyes focused on the sable-headed woman entered the cafe.
MaryAnn...
He knew it would be nothing to drag her out. But in order for this to work, he had to let her pull off whatever she was going to try. She wouldn't succeed, of that he was sure. But he couldn't help but worry. Annabelle was his reason for getting out of bed in the mornings. She was the only one who truly understood him and appreciated him. He felt fucking normal around her. And he needed that.
"Not sure what makes her so special," Mycroft piped in. The younger Holmes shot his brother a glare.
"Something you won't even bother to explore," he answered. "Something I've found I need that actually improves my life." He sighed as he turned his gaze back to the restaurant. "Something I don't want to loose."
Something he couldn't loose. Something he could truly say he needed in his life.
"She'll be fine, little brother," the older man droned. "I've got the best medical team in London on hand." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"That's very comforting," he muttered dryly. "Thank you, Mycroft."
Movement caught his eye, and he focused on the cafe. There was a frantic crowd at a table in the front, and he recognized Annabelle's red hair. But something was wrong. She was foaming at the mouth, and the medics were frantically working on her. Fear bubbled within the dark-haired man. Had MaryAnn used a different method on his precious Annabelle?
The police moved in, but Sherlock's eyes stayed on the woman he loved. He prayed that she was simply acting, and that they were taking the theatrics to an insane level. His whole world narrowed to the woman lying on the floor of the cafe. If she wasn't acting, he would loose everything. His heart seemed to slow down, and his brain quit working for a minute. He was having trouble comprehending what he was watching.
He darted from the cab when they placed her on a stretcher.
Something was wrong. They weren't acting anymore. Her food wasn't laced with peanuts, he knew that much. He could only pray that she wasn't dying right before his eyes. An officer tried to stop him, and he faintly heard Lestrad tell them to stand back. He barely registered Mycroft calling his name as he reached the medics.
They were saying something to him, but the rest of reality had faded away. All he could focus on was Annabelle, his Annabelle, lying on the stretcher, looking almost dead. He was on the verge of panic, and couldn't calm himself down enough to hear anything that was being said.
All he could do was pray to a god he didn't believe in.
He held her hand while the monitor beeped beside him. They had stabilized her condition, but it still looked grim. They didn't expect her to survive, and he wasn't sure if he could handle loosing her. It felt like they had only just met, and already she was slipping away. Tears threatened to spill again, and he blinked them away. And he couldn't help but wonder how their plan had failed.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock," Mycroft's voice called, causing Sherlock to turn and glare at his brother. "I should have known MaryAnn would swap from subtle allergy poisoning to a cocktail of-"
"Shove it," the younger man snapped. "Just shove it. I don't want to hear it. I just want her awake." He shifted his stare back to the red-head. "I just want to hear her voice. I want to know that she'll be okay. I don't want to loose her."
For once, Mycroft Holmes didn't feel like picking a fight with his little brother.
