#ritchieverse

“Think of me, think of me fondly

When we've said goodbye

Remember me, once in a while

Please promise me you'll try

When you find that once again you long

To take your heart back and be free

If you ever find a moment

Spare a thought for me”

Sherlock stared at you from the crack in the wall. He knew that it could be deemed as creepy, but he didn’t care. Time was running out. The peace summit would be beginning soon, which meant that Sherlock would be confronting Moriarty. For perhaps the final time.

He couldn’t help but wonder that, if he were to die tonight, if you would ever miss him. Would you think of him fondly? Or would you resent him for knowing his possible fate and never cluing you in? Sherlock had always prided himself in pushing his own feelings aside. But with you, it was impossible.

Pulling himself away from the crack in the wall, Sherlock looked over himself in the mirror. If this was going to be his last moment with you, he needed to make sure that you remembered him well. He wanted to hold you close and dance with you tonight, willing to ignore his injured arm just for you.

Sherlock couldn’t help but continue to question. Would you remember him like this? Long hair and handsome? Or if he were to end up a corpse tonight, would that be what is forever etched in your mind?

Sighing, Sherlock straightened up and stepped out into the hallway. He took the few needed steps to your door and knocked.

“We never said our love was evergreen

Or as unchanging as the sea

But if you can still remember

Stop and think of me

Think of all the things

We've shared and seen

Don't think about the way

Things might have been”

No one could take Sherlock’s breath away like you could. The way you smiled at him, a smile saved only for Sherlock. And trust him, he knew. The way you always made sure he was out and made sure to bring to his attention how his actions could affect others. John was always amazed at how well Sherlock listened to you.

“You look beautiful, my dear,” Sherlock complimented. He took your hand and pressed a tender kiss to it.

You looked away, bashfully. “Sherlock…”

He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him while still holding onto your hand. “You know I would never lie to you.”

“How are you feeling about tonight?”

“I am ready for whatever Moriarty has planned.” His fingers brushed over the pulse point on your wrist, noting your nervous heartbeat. “How are you feeling?” With everyone else, Sherlock would tell them how they were feeling. But with you, he couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m scared, Sherlock,” you admitted quietly. “What if something happens tonight?”

He pulled you into him. “Nothing will happen to you tonight, my dear. I would never let it.”

“It’s not me that I’m worried about.”

Sherlock sighed. His hands barely ran over your arms as they made there way up to your face, cupping your face carefully. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t help it, Sherlock… You know how I feel about you. And, no matter what you feel or say, I will always worry for your safety.”

His thumbs lightly brushed over your cheeks as he held your face. “I do not think that I have been fair to you, darling. I have not been as open with you as you have with me.”

“I don’t need you to return my feelings. You now that.”

“But I do. I do return your feelings, darling. I love you, so much, my dear.”

You gasped. “What?”

He leaned in and brushed his lips over yours. “My dear… My heart is forever yours.” 

As the words left his mouth, Sherlock couldn’t help but think what might have been if he had said the truth earlier or if he wasn’t sure he was heading to his death tonight. He pulled you close as he pressed his lips fully against yours. Sherlock knew that it wasn’t fair to you, kissing you before the stand off tonight, but he had to at least taste you once in his life. 

“Think of me, think of me waking

Silent and resigned

Imagine me trying too hard

To put you from my mind

Recall those days

Look back on all those times

Think of the things we'll never do

There will never be a day

When I won't think of you”

You and John burst through the balcony doors just in time for Sherlock’s eyes to lock with yours and for him to pull Moriarty over the balcony ledge. 

“NO!” You screamed, scrambling towards the ledge. “SHERLOCK!”

John broke from his stupor in time to pull you away before you could fling yourself after Sherlock. He dragged you back inside, kicking and screaming and begging for Sherlock. All John could do was hold you tightly. He had no words of comfort, for he was lost himself.

~~~

You had remained mostly silent since Sherlock’s death. You spoke if you had to, but tried to avoid conversations as much as possible. Your mind was spiraling, fighting with itself. One moment, you were trying to remember everything that you could about your beloved Sherlock, and the next moment, you were doing everything you could to push him from your mind.

You remembered all the times he cared for you, in his own Sherlock way. The times he dragged you along to solve cases or the times he told you it was too dangerous to come and yet you followed anyway.

As the time passed, you came to the conclusion that there would never be a day in which you didn’t think of Sherlock.

“Can it be, can it be Christine?

Bravo!

Long ago, it seems so long ago

How young and innocent we were

She may not remember me

But I remember her”

Sherlock knew that it was dangerous to get too close to you. He was still not done in tearing about Moriarty’s loose ends. But he needed to see you. So he returned to London, in one of his terrible disguises, just to get a peek of you.

He hadn’t been prepared to see you yet. He had to do a double take as you walked across the street. It was you. There was no doubt. But it broke his heart to see how there was not the same light around you like there once was around you. Sherlock knew that was all his fault.

It had been over a year since Sherlock faked his death. As he stood, frozen a short distance away from you, wondering if he were to meet your eyes, would you remember him? Would you know it was him just with one look? And what would you do if you did? Would you cry? Faint? Would you slap him and scream? Sherlock hated that he couldn’t just go to you.

Watching you take a flower from a young boy, Sherlock came to his conclusion. He would leave you be. He would let you try to let you continue on with your life and heal. For everything has a season, even love. And maybe, just maybe, you’d think of him every once in a while.

“Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade

They have their season so do we

But please promise me that sometimes