Forever in My Heart

The hollow sounds of frantic footsteps on cobblestones fills the narrow London alleyway. A sobbing child holds the hand of a man as they frantically run from an unseen terror. “Go, keep going!” a woman calls out, slightly behind them. They sprint around a corner, slowing only slightly as their footing slides on the moist cobblestone. The man looks back over his shoulder, a look of adoration crossing his thin pallor as his eyes fall on the woman. “Sherlock…” her voice falters and fades out under the sound of the footsteps. She smiles ever so slightly at him, her soft brown hair ragged and falling down her back. A sudden loud sound fills the small enclosure, the only sound is a woman’s cry and and the scream of a small boy. The woman steps back slightly, sliding down to her knee’s and eventually her back. Sherlock screams, falling to his knees “Irene!” Her eyelids flutter, her soft red lips parted. The little boy screams and buries his face in his father chest, his hand still in clamped in his father’s. Sherlock looks up frantically, but no more are they being chased. Not a sound fills the alley, except for the wails of the boy. Irene’s labored breathing matching the cries of the boy. Sherlock release’s the child’s hand and places it upon the woman’s cheek tenderly. “Sherlock. I love you.” She murmurs softly, a violent splash of blood streaming its way across the bosom of her dress. “Irene. Stay with me. We can get you help. I know a doctor…” Irene smiles slightly, but it appears as a grimace. “No, Sherlock. You promised being with you was dangerous. I would have rather died in your arms then live a hundred years without you.” Sherlock presses his lips to the dying woman’s and pulls away, brushing the hair out of her face. “You never fail to look beautiful” he whispered. The man puts one arm around the boy, his son, and place his other hand in the woman’s. “I love you,” he says, knowing it would be the last time his lips uttered those words. “I figured,” the woman whispered, her belabored breathing fading, and eventually ceasing all together. The boy whimpers in his father’s arms, and Sherlock closes his eyes. “John,” he looks at the boy. “I have lost my lover, and you have lost your mother. But we both have lost the best woman ever to walk the wretched paths of London.” For the very last time, Sherlock presses his lips against the woman’s.