Don't Be...Dead

So, this is my first Johnlock and my first attempt writing a story of this length. I hope you like it. It wasn't meant to be this long, but it sorta ran away from me. Anyway, enjoy.

This will start out as a recap of the end of The Reichenbach Fall and then continue on from there. This here is just the end of the ep so far, so it might be boring, but I promise it will get better. In a related note, thanks to http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/36505.html for the transcript.

Though I personally feel like it flows better with the recap, if you don't want to read it skip to Chapter 4 (Memories)

 ~Trisha

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The cab had barely stopped when I jumped out. My senses were in overdrive as my brain tried to register everything around. Faintly, I heard a buzzing sound. I fumbled in my pocket as I swiftly moved across the street, finally finding my phone and pressing it to my ear. "Hello?" I asked, distractedly.

"John." Relief flooded through me as I heard Sherlock's voice on the opposite end of the line. I had felt so sure he was going to confront Moriarty.

"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?"

"Turn around and walk back the way you came now," Sherlock's voice commanded me. I paused, confused.

"No, I’m coming in." My mind was whirring, trying to figure out what was going on.

"Just do as I ask. Please." I froze dead. Sherlock had just said please. But... Sherlock never said please. This had to be important, which meant it couldn't be good. I turned around.

"Where?" I asked, walking back towards the curb.

"Stop there," Sherlock commanded.

"Sherlock?" I asked, stopping, wondering what could possibly be going on.

"Okay, look up. I’m on the rooftop." On the roof? My mind repeated those words. Why would he be- My brain cut short as I turned and looked up. Sherlock was on the roof, yes. But he was standing at the very edge of the roof, poised to drop. Horror filled me.

"Oh God," I said, thinking of no other words that could express what I was thinking.

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

"What’s going on?" I asked, hoping that he would tell me something - anything other than what my mind was thinking.

"An apology. It’s all true."

"Wh-what?" I stuttered out, which pretty much summed up any thoughts I had. I stared up at the dark silhouette against the pale grey sky.

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

 I stared up at him, my mind scrambling for some comprehensible thought. He didn't... He couldn't have... Why would he... Moriarty slapped me to a bomb for crying out loud! He had tried to blow us to smithereens! And here Sherlock was, saying he invented him? Disbelief filled me. "Why are you saying this?"

"I’m a fake," I heard over the line as Sherlock's voice wavered.

"Sherlock ..." I started before breaking off.

"The newspapers were right all along," He said. I could hear in his voice the tears he was trying to hold back. "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."

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met ... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"

"Nobody could be that clever."

I thought back to the footprints, how he had found the kids from that alone. Then I went farther back, to Irene Adler. My mind went further still, into the first time we met, about the cabbie, about how he had known everything about me without a glance. "You could."

I heard a laugh sound from the phone, and hearing it instantly saddened me. "I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you." Sherlock sniffed quietly, and when he continued tears were obvious in his voice though I was sure he was trying to swallow them. "It’s a trick. Just a magic trick."

I closed my eyes, refusing to believe it, hoping if I wouldn't face it that it might go away. "No. All right, stop it now," I said, walking toward the hospital entrance with the intent of retrieving Sherlock.

"No, stay exactly where you are. Don’t move," Sherlock's voice came across urgently. I stopped, holding up my hands in resignation.

"All right." I could hear Sherlock's rough and ragged breaths on the other end. The silhouetted figure reached out, slowly extending a blurry arm in my direction. We were so close, and yet it felt as if whole continents separated us.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me." His voice became more urgent, more frantic as he continued, "Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?"

"This phone call – it’s, er ... it’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note?"

I shook my head, realizing what Sherlock was proposing. He couldn't do this. I-he-he just couldn't! "Leave a note when?" I asked, hoping for anything else but knowing it could be nothing but what I was thinking.

"Goodbye, John."

"No. Don’t." I couldn't think of anything to say to stop him, but I couldn't let him do this. He was special to me. I waited, but no response came. "Sherlock, don't do this," I pleaded. The line went dead and I looked up, only to see Sherlock spreading his arms apart. "No. SHERLOCK!" Everything seemed to go into slow motion as Sherlock leaned forward. "Sher-" His body plummeted, and my voice broke off as he hit the ground, his body hidden from my view.

Around me everything seemed to speed up. My senses tunneled and all I could focus on was Sherlock, getting to him. I tried to run, but every movement seemed as if I were wading through molasses. I was halfway across the street when I first glimpsed it. The shock of the body, lifeless, limbs sticking out at odd angles, surrounded by a pool of blood froze me in my tracks. Somewhere behind me, a strong force thrust me to the ground, my head hitting the pavement. An instant pain flooded through my head and the things around me darkened as my vision went dark, unconsciousness threatening to take over. Vaguely, I could see a crowd starting to form around Sherlock. Struggling, I forced myself painfully to stand and hobbled my way slowly over to the crowd. "Sherlock, Sherlock ...," I breathed, struggling to stay upright.

Up close everything was a million times worse. Around me I could hear voices whispering. What happened? Did he just jump? Is... Is that Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes? These voices faded into the background as I looked down at the body of my friend, blood puddling around him.

"I’m a doctor, let me come through. Let me come through, please." I said as I came up. Two women held me back, but I struggled against them, trying to get to Sherlock. "No, he’s my friend. He’s my friend. Please," I said, finally pushing through. Fumbling, my fingers reached for his wrist, praying for the small bu-bump that would tell me he was alive, that he had a chance, but I felt nothing. A faceless person pried my fingers away and pulled me away from the lifeless corpse. I struggled to get back to my friend, but the crowd held me back as a couple of paramedics turned Sherlock over, red streaks running down his pale face. The paramedics lifted him onto a stretcher. "Please, let me just ..." I trailed off as my vision got dark again. I wasn't sure if it was the impact and shock of seeing him deceased, or an effect of the head injury I had acquired earlier, or perhaps a combination of both. I slumped into the individual holding me back. "Nggh, Jesus, no," I mumbled, trying to stand again but sinking towards the ground. "God, no." I finally was able to stand, but the paramedics were rolling the empty shell of a body away. All I could do, all I could think to do, was to stare helplessly after it.