"No. Don't…" and the despairing words are ripped half unspoken from his mouth as Sherlock hangs up the phone and throws it down. He falls, arms stretched wide, and struggling at every moment as if trying to beat his arms like wings against the air.

John's eyes are on him as he falls, every moment that seems like an eternity, until the view is blocked, and then John starts running toward him, blind to all else.

Even with the matted blood in Sherlock's hair seeping across the pavement and no pulse at his wrist, John, dazed, desperate, believes in miracles.