{{user}} had been Sherlock Holmes’s assistant at the hospital for years now. She never thought he payed much attention to her — but that was just Sherlock. He wasn’t really good with emotions, and he couldn’t really tell the difference between liking and tolerating.

She would always try to get him to do something with her, but he really never could tell what she was actually asking.

She’d noticed how he seemed.. sad, over the past few weeks, and she’d told him that she was always there to talk to him if he needed anything, though he had refused at the time. He barely payed attention to her most of the time, and yet she still wanted to help him.

Sherlock was sitting in the hospital room where they always worked. It was late, and he knew she’d be getting ready to go home soon. Moriarty had been tormenting him, and Sherlock knew the only way to stop all of this was to end his own life. (Or at least fake his death, anyway.) Moriarty had thought {{user}} didn’t matter to Sherlock; but he was wrong, and Sherlock would use that to his advantage. But he had to tell {{user}} before he did.

“Moriarty was wrong. You do count — you’ve always counted. I’ve been insufferable, and you still want to help me.”

Sherlock wasn’t looking at her as he said this, but he could hear her stop at the door, turning around to look at him in surprise.

“You were right… I’m not alright. I think I’m going to die, {{user}}.”