Caught in transport

The city was spread out around them, filling the surroundings as far as the horizons. The sounds of life filled his ears, the bustling streets and the toots of horns. An aeroplane flew above their head forming a streak in the sky, far above their heads. He was aware of what was happening below, life and death, grief and joy, a place of hope and hopelessness all concealed inside one building. And on top was the solution, the solution to the final problem.

Sherlock stared at the shorter yet frankly intimidating man. His very being seemed to emanate power and he seemed to be the very manifestation of insanity. The other man stared back in excitement, he was not bored, this game was interesting, shame his playmate had to die really. "Do it Sherlock," hissed Moriarty in encouragement. "It would be a real shame if your friends had to die, it really would. Although, I do think that doctor fellow would make a pretty adorable corpse." The detective let out an animalistic growl and took a threatening step towards the Irishman.

"Whoa there," said Moriarty, trying and failing to withhold the giggles. "Hurt me if you want but someone will get shot in the leg. I can't promise who though, I let my boys work that out among themselves." There was a moment with no sound, no movement. It was as if that rooftop was frozen in time as the rest of the world rushed by. Suddenly a look of pure terror crossed Sherlock's face, it was soon covered by his usual mask but Moriarty caught it causing a sinister grin to spread across his face.

Sherlock knew he had to do it; he couldn't let John, Mrs Hudson or Lestrade die, and most certainly not all three. The resignation must have been obvious in his body language. "You Sherlock Holmes are a fool, you most certainly do have a heart I am afraid and that is the gravest, and last, mistake you will ever make. The detective hardly even heard him; his heart was filled with trepidation and all his mind could seem to think was that John would never understand the sacrifice. It is quite possible John would hate him for doing it and he would never understand, he never did think enough to put all the pieces together. But that was rather Moriarty's point; destroy everything that made Sherlock, Sherlock including any credibility and friendships he had managed to gain.

The self-proclaimed sociopath glanced back at the grinning psychopath. "Can I have a moment, please," Sherlock almost begged but to the listener he sounded as cold as ever. There was a glimmer of surprise on Moriarty's part before he nodded in confirmation. "Of course." With that he turned his back and walked towards the other side of the roof. Slowly Sherlock made his way to the edge of the building and stood on the wall. A taxi careened around the corner and Sherlock smiled, John, his John, always trying to fix things, always coming to his rescue. Not this time. With one gloved hand he removed the slender phone from his coat pocket. John was speed dial number one.

The taxi came to a sudden halt and a sandy haired man leapt out the back, phone pressed firmly to his ear. "Sherlock!" he shouted down the phone. "What the hell is going on? You better have a damn good explanation."

"Stay there!" shouted Sherlock but John ignored him.

"Sherlock-"

"I said stay there John." His voice was thick with emotions he hadn't realised he possessed. He did not want to die. John heard something in his friend's voice which indicated he was deadly serious, John stopped exactly where he was.

"Please, I deserve to know, what is going on, I can help."

"No, no you can't John. I can't explain, just listen, it's important you listen."

"Where are you Sherlock?" asked John, his voice positively dripping with worry.

"I'm up here, look up." John obeyed and felt his knees go weak. "Don't move!" screamed Sherlock as John stepped towards the building. The detective leaned his body dangerously forward stopping the doctor in his tracks.

"Ok mate, its ok, I'll stay here. Please, come down and we'll fix it, we'll fix whatever has gone wrong. We always do."

"No," Sherlock said sadly. "I-I can't come down s-so I'm just going to have to do this from up here."

"Do what? Please, just tell me what's going on."

"This is my note."

"Your note, wait, what do you mean that this is your note?" At this point Mycroft and a gang of men in black jackets appeared behind John. The elder Holmes bore a black ear piece; he had heard the whole conversation.

"That's what people do isn't it? Leave notes? Well, this is as close as I can get."

"Please Sherlock, don't, you don't need to. We can fix…"

"No!" screamed Sherlock once again. John shivered; he knew his friend was crying, he could hear the tears fall. "Please John, you need to listen to me, this is important, call it my final request." This time John shuddered but he was willing to listen.

"I'll listen but please, just, just don't call it that."

"I'm sorry John," Sherlock didn't even bother to pretend he wasn't crying. He just wanted to go down and see John but he couldn't. For the first time since he was a child he wanted, no needed, a hug. He'd even settle for one from his brother who he could see standing next to John, staring up at him with a look of pure fear. "I lied; Richard Brook is an actor I paid. I just pretended; I wanted to impress you."

"No… no, why are you saying that Sherlock?"

"I'm sorry John, I am so, so sorry."

"Right, listen; you remember the day we first met? I gave you my phone and you knew everything about me, do you remember that? It wasn't a lie."

"I used the internet John; it was nothing more than a great lie."

"No, I know you Sherlock, you're a great man."

"One more thing John, I want you to tell Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Molly, the whole of Scotland Yard, anyone who will listen, that I am a fake."

"No Sherlock, I don't believe you." By this stage John could feel the tears pouring down his own face.

"You must, I'm sorry."

"No."

"Goodbye John, thank you for everything."

With that Sherlock flung his phone to the side, without bothering to hang up. He took a deep breath; spread his arms and fell, the delighted squeals of Jim Moriarty in the background.

Sherlock's life did not flash before his eyes; the moments of falling could not possibly be described in such poetic or idyllic terms. It was horrific; the screams of his best friend filled his mind. His cries of emotional anguish and horror permeate his very being. The ground rushes up to meet him and he feels nothing, there is nothing for him anymore except the cold grey pavement. Sorry John flashed into his mind before his bones crumpled beneath his mass and he knew no more.

In Mycroft Holmes' mind John Watson had always been an overly emotional man; he in fact considered it a deadly weakness. At this moment in time, however, he wished he could let his emotions get away with him. But he could not. He was the British government, the British government did not scream or yell or become hysterical at the sight of a man jumping off the top of a building. Instead he had to hold back a distraught man as tears of sadness silently slid down his face.

When the body had been taken away John suddenly swung round and attempted to punch the elder Holmes in the face. "Why did you do that?" he screamed. "I need to see him; I need to see him for myself!" The tears were still pouring down Mycroft's face but neither of the men seemed to notice them.

"I wanted him out of public view; I didn't want him to become a spectacle. We'll go and see him now." John nodded; he suddenly seemed to have lost all of his energy and followed Mycroft. The doctor didn't even pretend he was not upset but the other man produced a handkerchief from his suit and wiped his eyes. To the average person it did not look as if there was anything wrong with the man.

"Excuse me," shouted Mycroft over the hustle and bustle or reception to a nurse behind the desk. "Could you please take me and my, um, colleague, to see the body of Mr Sherlock Holmes?"

"S'cuse me?" she asked utterly bewildered, something which greatly annoyed both John and Mycroft.

"We need to see the body of the man who just jumped off the roof."

"I don't know no nothin' 'bout that, you aint allowed to see no bodies in the morgue."

"I assure you we are." He produced an ID and the nurse scurried off to find a superior, a few minutes later John, who had managed to regain a little control, and Mycroft, who still looked as calm and collected as ever, were rushed off into an empty waiting room. A few minutes later an average height, dark haired man entered the room, evidently a doctor who had been told to come and see them. "I hear you're looking for the body of the man who jumped?" he asked in a much more refined voice than the nurse at reception. Both John and Mycroft nodded in confirmation.

"Afraid I can't do that, he had a pulse when he came in, it was weak but it was there. He's up in the operation theatre right now."

Mycroft's men knew they were too late when they heard the sound of a man screeching in delight as they were running up the stairs. Their boss had warned them about Moriarty, they knew he was insane. The door burst open as they ran through to face one man who had a glint in his eye. He was grinning, even as he let them handcuff him. "What are you grinning about?" growled one of the agents as he roughly pulled Moriarty down the stairs. "I beat the great Sherlock Holmes and it was eeeeeeasy," the psychopath replied in a sing-song voice.

I hope you enjoyed this. What I just wrote was basically an introduction; I will get to the main plot in either the next chapter or the one after that, it depends how much I end up writing I supposed. I'm not sure how regularly I will update but I will keep updating. Also, I love all my readers but all those who review get a special place in my heart. ;)