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(Y/N) felt so numb. Almost as if she was floating. Almost as if she wasn’t in an abandoned car by the Thames. Remembering simple things was becoming more and more difficult. She knew she didn’t have long, but she had to say goodbye. She had to see clear, incessantly searching eyes and hear his deep baritone. What she would give to play with his dark curls just once more.

How long had she been here like this? In a puddle of her own blood, lying uncomfortably in the back seat of a long forgotten car and listening to the sound of the water lapping the shore. She was so cold, but it didn’t bother (Y/N) anymore. If she recalled correctly, the henchmen who had brought her here said that they would give the consulting detective your location in a few hours.

By then it would be too late.

So now you were biding your time in the past, recalling little bits about meeting Sherlock and John. You had been interning at the NSY under DI Lestrade when you met the odd pair on a case. You had watched on as everyone on the team became frustrated with this tall man’s deductions, called him names and rolled their eyes. When he finished you clapped quietly and stifled a giggle. Intrigued with the idea of someone other than John idolizing him, this Sherlock Holmes invited you to join the team as their case photographer. Of course, you agreed. Who could turn down a chance to work with the great Mr. Holmes?

The trio had been together for a little more than a year now and you were the closest of friends. It wouldn't be odd to walk in to 221B Baker Street and see John typing away on his laptop, Sherlock playing the violin, and you hanging pictures on the bullet-ridden wall. You were extremely affectionate towards your boys as you called them, making sure Sherlock was fed and rested and that John looked presentable for his endless stream of first dates.

And the boys were affectionate to you in their own ways. John would bring you dinner when you and Sherlock were working on cases into the night and he always made sure you had a cup of tea. Sherlock would make you sleep when he was going into his mind palace to ensure you got a proper rest and when he was sure you were in a deep slumber, he would peek his luminous eyes open to watch your peaceful face and promised he would protect you.

You were too fragile for his world, but you couldn't stay away.

A sudden shout brought you back into the present. Everything sounded like you were underwater.

“Sherlock! The car, check the car!”

Two sets of footsteps approached your little fortress of solitude. Someone wrenched open the car door and light poured into the cabin, momentarily blinding you.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit. SHERLOCK!” John cried, quickly reaching into the backseat and grabbing your wrist to check your pulse. “(Y/N), can you hear me? Listen, you've got to stay with me, say something, just keep talking and DON’T close your eyes.”

“Is she—oh,” Sherlock’s face came into view just over John’s shoulder. He stared in silent confusion and horror at the sight before him. There was just so much blood. That couldn't have come from you, could it? No. It couldn't have.

“Sher?” you uttered in a breathy whisper. “Where have you two been? I was waiting for you.” You tried to smile but your vision was starting to swim, unable to focus on anything.

“Who did this to you?” he managed.

“Sherlock, John, I’m so sorry. I-I've had the most wonderful time of my life w-with you two,” you blinked furiously as your voice wavered. It was happening, and you knew it. Nothing could be done because death had come to take you away. “I love you both very much. John, be good and patient with Sherlock, a-at ease soldier.”

You sighed a small laugh as you turned to face the consulting detective. “Chin up, Sherly. Stay out of trouble or I may decide to haunt you.”

Using the last of your strength, you reached up and tangled your hand in his dark curls. “I love you, Mr. Holmes. I al-always will. You are not unlovable. N-never forget that.”

Your hand fell away and you sighed. You had said goodbye and now it was time. And then, your breathing stopped and it was over. Shouts and curses, could be heard over the sound of sirens and an approaching Lestrade and Donovan.

It was over.

~Skip to the loo, time skip~

It had been three weeks. A tall man wearing a charcoal trench coat stood by a small gravestone holding a small bunch of lilacs.

He placed them gently at the foot of the marker and stared at the soggy dirt. It had started to rain lightly, yet he hadn't moved an inch. Sherlock just continued to read the words on the marker, over and over.

“(Your Full Name), (Birthday) – (Death Day). Beautiful and Bright, Loved By Many & Not Soon Forgotten.”

Oh if only you knew how much he had cared for you. No. He would never forget.

He would never forget the woman who loved him, and who made him feel love.