"John.."

"Hey Sherlock, you ok?" You better be ok mate..

"Turn around and walk back the way you came"

"No I'm coming in.." Sherlock...what's going on?

"No. Just do as I ask!...Please."

"Where?" Where are you Sherlock?..What's going on?

"Stop there"

"Sherlock?"

"Ok, look up. I'm on the rooftop"

"Oh god." Shit.

"I..I can't come down, so we'll just have to do it like this"

"W..What's going on?"

"..An apology. It's all true"

"What?"

"Everything they said about me...I invented Moriarty"

John's blood ran cold. Something dropped in his chest. " Why are you saying this?" I know you're lying Sherlock..

"I'm a fake."

He could hear the emotion in his friends voice. Panic ran through him. "Sherlock.."

"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs Hudson and Molly..in fact tell anyone who will listen to you, that I created Moriarty, for my own purposes."

John wavered, trying to decide if he should move or not. He had to get to Sherlock. "Ok, shut up. Shut up. The first time we met, the first time we met, you knew all about my sister. Right?" See? Proof! Just stop this! Please...

"Nobody could be that clever"

"You could" You always could. No not could, you are that clever, Sherlock.

A pain-filled laugh, oh Sherlock...no..please don't do what I think you're planing to do. Please, god no.

"I researched you. When we met, I discovered everything I could to impress you. It's a trick. Just a magic trick"

"No. Alright stop it now!" He made his way towards the hospital. Thats enough Sherlock.. Im coming up.

"No! Stay exactly where you are. Don't move"

"Alright.." Oh god, he could see Sherlock reaching out to him, shit. Sherlock, please don't do this. Just stop this right now.

"Keep you eyes fixed on me. Please will you do this for me?" He could hear him crying. Sherlock was crying. John's heart was breaking. This couldn't be real. This could not be happening.

"Do what?"

"This phone call...um...it's my note. Thats what people do, don't they? Leave a note"

No. No. He shook his head. "Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye John"

"No...don't"

Sherlock through the phone to the side, his last lifeline to the living discarded on the rooftop.

"SHERLOCK!"

"Sher.."

And he fell. Horror, dread. He ran. He was knocked down. Images of his broken friend flash before his eyes.

"Jesus no...god no"

Blood, so much blood. His eyes were open, staring into nothingness. Never again to be filled with life, passion, never again able to see the stars. He was gone. Sherlock was gone.

No.

"SHERLOCK!"


He sat up suddenly, panting, sweat pouring from his brow. He shivered, wrapping the sweat covered sheet around him and moving his legs over the side of the bed. Just a dream. Another nightmare. His therapist said it would take time for them to fade away. He'd been through a terrible ordeal. It wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

And part of John didn't want for it to stop. For a small second, just a small one, Sherlock was alive and speaking to him and then everything came crashing down. Literally. And then everything that came after...just made things so much worse.


He'd stumbled and the paramedics and helped him into Bart's to be checked over. Said he was in shock and had a concusiion. All John could think about was that somewhere in the morgue, Sherlock was lying on a cold slab. Molly...shit, she'd see him. Oh god. The doctor in front of him shined a light in his eyes, trying to get his attention.

"What?"

"I said you're free to go. Do you have anywhere to stay tonight? Anyone who can look after you?"

John's face screwed up. Who did he have? ..Jesus, he was going to have to tell Mrs Hudson..and Mycroft. He nodded. The doctor patted his arm, giving him a grim smile and directed him to reception. "We...may need you to come and identify the body...it can wait till tomorrow if you like. You're still in shock." John just nodded, dismissing the doctor with a wave of his hand and left to fill out some forms.


The walk up to his front door felt surreal. What did he tell her? How could he tell her? He damn well wasn't going to follow through with Sherlock's request. His last request. He ran a hand over his mouth and turned the doorknob. The burly, tattooed man was gone, the ladder still there. Mrs Hudson cooed from their...his flat. John limped up the steps. Limped. It was back. Sherlock had caused it to leave and now that he was gone, it had returned in full force.

"There you are dear. Did you get what you forgot?" She smiled brightly, handing him a cup of tea and looking behind him. "Sherlock not with you?"

"What?"

"You left in a hurry dear, I thought you must have forgotten something. Don't tell me he's still sorting out things at the Yard. I've made a nice dinner for you two, to make things better." She seemed so happy, John didn't want to have to be the one to tell her. But there was no one else. Not anymore. He was the only one who still believed in him. Who knew the truth.

"Mrs Hudson..."

"John are you ok?" She had caught sight of his pale, tear stained face, the small bandage on his brow. She sat down next to him on the couch, watching his hands shake. "Whats the matter dear.. has something happened?"

"Sher-...Sherlock"

She frowned. "Did he do something to upset you? Really, the boy needs to work on his manners, doesn't he?" John looked to the ceiling, blinking back tears. He took a deep breath. "He's...he..oh god" His head fell into his hands. He felt an hand on his shoulder. Another breath. The doctor turned to look at Mrs Hudson.

"He's dead"