How They Met Alice (BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter 85

Sorry it's short.

(Third-person POV: )

In a nearby building, a rifle sight was aimed directly at John’s head. Alice was standing so that if the assassin shot it would go through John and into her, so neither of them would be left alive.

As John continued to stand in profile to the sniper, a perfect target, the assassin lifted his gun back inside the window and began to disassemble the weapon. Packing it into his bag, he stood up and walked away, heading to the roof.

He reached the top, smiling crookedly to himself at the thought that Sherlock Holmes was finally dead. He went onto the roof and looked around for Jim, setting his bag down.

“Hey boss, ya ready to go?” He asked nonchalantly, looking around. As soon as his eyes caught sight of a trail of blood, he followed it up till he saw Jim lying dead. The victorious smile was still plastered on his face as his dead eyes stared at nothing.

His jaw dropped and he ran up to Jim, sliding down to his knees in front of him and getting the knees of his jeans soaked in his boss’ and friends’ blood. He looked at him, his hands hovering over him as if to perform CPR but knowing it would do no good. He scanned over him, searching for any signs of life and telling himself over and over in his head that it wasn’t true; it couldn’t be.

It was for only a couple seconds more he stayed in this state before he shouted out angrily at the dead body. He cursed and stood, pacing in front of Jim and running a hand through his hair. He continued cursing and stopped pacing, closing his eyes for a moment in exasperation.

“Boss- Jim, no…” He muttered, opening his eyes again and looking down at Jim. He sat down, not caring that he was sitting on the trail of blood and getting the seat of his pants covered in it. He put his head down low and put a hand in his hair, the other just hanging lazily as he squeezed his eyes shut.

DIOGENES CLUB

Mycroft was holding a copy of ‘The Sun’. Its headline screamed, ‘SUICIDE OF FAKE GENIUS’ and the straplines stated, ‘SUPER-SLEUTH IS DEAD’ and ‘Fraudulent detective takes his own life’.

Folding the paper and putting it down on the table beside him, he stared blankly into the distance and then folded his hands in front of his face in the prayer position.

221B

John sat in his armchair, dressed but with his feet bare and tucked together in front of him. One hand was propping up his head and he gazed into the distance, lost and in obvious pain.

Alice sat in Sherlock’s chair, her knees up to her chest and her forehead resting on them. She was wearing Sherlock’s red housecoat over the red shirt Sherlock had gotten her. She closed her eyes as she gripped the tail of the housecoat like her life depended on it.

ELLA’S OFFICE

As the rain continued to pour down, John gazed blankly at his therapist.

“There’s stuff that you wanted to say...” Ella began. John opened his mouth briefly and then closed it. “...but didn’t say it,” She finished.