Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Yep. I'm cruel. I know it.

Now, will Annabelle pull through, or will she be helpless against the poisons flowing through her?

Sit back and find out.

Love always,

Avoline

He was still by her side, praying for a miracle. It had been a week since Annabelle had been poisoned, and her condition had not changed. Mycroft had tried to convince him to leave, but Sherlock had snapped, damn near beating his older brother to a pulp. Even John was hesitant about trying to talk to the dark-haired man. Everyone was worried, but no one dared say a word.

"Wake up," he whispered, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "Please, Annabelle, wake up. I need you." Tears stung his eyes, and he blinked them back. "You've become my everything. I can't function anymore, not without you by my side. Please, I'm begging you, come back to me." He closed his eyes and nuzzled her cheek, a few tears escaping down his face. "I don't know if I can survive loosing you."

"They're doing all they can, Sherlock," John soothed, rounding the bed to sit opposite of his friend. "You being here might be the only thing keeping her alive." The genius's stormy gaze met the doctor's sympathetic one.

"So if I walked away for even a minute, she could die," he forced out. The shorter of the duo nodded.

"I'm not encouraging you to walk away or let her go," John explained. "I'm saying you should stay. She can hear you, whether you believe it or not. She can hear every word, and she's probably holding on and drawing strength from having you near." They both looked at the woman's face. "She needs you, too. She needs to feel you near her. Don't loose hope just yet." The taller man sniffed slightly.

"Hope is all I have," he answered. "Otherwise, I've got nothing." His heart clenched in his chest. "If I loose her, I'm finished. I never knew I needed someone until she came along, and now I'm about to loose her." He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "I don't think I could imagine anything worse than this."

"I don't think it gets any worse than this," the blond echoed. "Watching someone you care about possibly die. And I know I'm not being very helpful."

"You know this feeling better than anyone," Sherlock pointed out. "How did you get through it?" A small, sad laugh escaped the shorter man.

"Very carefully," he replied. "It wasn't easy, but I made my peace with it." He stared at the woman lying between them. "I'm hoping you won't have to do the same." Sherlock nodded, the weight of everything almost tangible to him.

All he could do was hope for a miracle.

"If you don't eat, I'll force it down your throat."

Mycroft stood a safe distance away, trying to convince his younger brother to eat something. But Sherlock refused to leave the woman's side. The elder Holmes couldn't blame his younger sibling, but he knew Sherlock would starve himself if he wasn't forced to eat. He didn't want to watch his brother starve to death, not after watching the man overdose on drugs time and time again.

"Do me a favor and disappear for a while," the skinnier man snapped.

"No, I won't," he answered. "You need to eat, or you won't be any good for her if she does wake up."

"You say that like she may never wake up," Sherlock whispered. Mycroft sighed and took a bold step towards his sibling.

"Be realistic, little brother," he stated plainly. "She might not. With the cocktail of drugs in her system, it's a miracle she didn't die immediately. She's barely hanging on as it is, and you sitting here, waiting on her to wake up is ridiculous. This is, by far, the most selfish thing you have ever done, and that's nothing to be proud of."

"At least I have someone to worry over and be selfish for," he shot back harshly. "I'm not sitting in a massive manor all alone with no one to care for and no one caring for me."

Mycroft did not let the hurt show, but he could feel the sting of his brother's words. And he was happy for his brother. The young man had found someone he cared about that made him happy, and Mycroft was pleased to see that Sherlock had made room for love in his life. But now, that woman was lying on a bed, being kept alive by machines, and to his logical mind, it was time to let her go. Keeping her alive was cruel, and the younger Holmes knew this.

"Would she want this though, brother," he replied gently. "Would she want you to be sitting here, wasting away, neglecting yourself like you have? I highly doubt she would, and you are smart enough to know that nothing about this is right. You might have to let her go." The darker man shook his head.

"I won't," he sneered. "Not again. Not after last time."

"Last time, you were too young to understand," Mycroft countered, gentler still. He could almost see the child still hiding in the brilliant man before him. "But now, you're old enough to see that there's nothing that can be done. I'm saying this as your brother: for your own good, let her go, Sherlock." The consulting detective began to tremble, and the words that left his mouth had the older brother slightly confused.

"I can't at this point."