Falling

Prolouge

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?" I hear Sherlock asking me through the phone. My eyes are fixed on his thin frame standing there on the edge of St. Bart's, fragile, as if a little wind blow would be enough to trip him over the edge.

"Do what?" I ask with confusion in my voice. What the bloody hell does all of this mean? I try to make sense of this situation but I just can't. WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DOES ALL OF THIS MEAN??

With a shaky voice, almost as if he is crying, Sherlock answers me, resulting in even more confusion on my side. "This phone call... it's er... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note..."

His words begin to sink in, I begin to understand but I really don't want to. He can't possibly mean... or can he? I shake my head, no. The phone isn't pressed to my ear any longer.

My whole body frozen my eyes fixed on him, like a hawk looking at it's prey. His silhouette on the building looks so unreal, so not like him. Rather like an angel ready to spread his wings and fly.

With a shaky hand I raise my phone again, taking all of my strength to speak. My voice still comes out as a shaken, broken whisper, sounding far from my normal voice, kinda strange, as if it was someone else talking:"Leave a note when?"

And then he says those two words, the last words I will ever hear him say:"Goodbye, John." Like a broken record these word play over and over in my head as if trying to mock me. Goodbye, John... goodbye, John... goodbye, John...

"No... Don't... no. SHERLOCK!"

Suddenly everything goes in slow motion. My vision blurry from the tears forming in my eyes. I see him fall, I run for him as fast as I can, adrenaline pumping through my body. Suddenly I feel a burning sensation hit my side... stupid biker. I hit the ground just as sherlock did before, the only real difference is the height in which it happened.

As I open my eyes again, my vision even more blurry than before, I do my best to stand up again, totally losing my orientation. Much slower than before I walk in the direction of my friend, having big difficulties with it.

As I reach his body everything around me blurs out, everything but him... I am taken aback by the blood... so much blood. Flashbacks running through my mind, Flashbacks of war and pain.

His porcelain white skin, which always looked untouched was now soaked in blood. Everything was red. The pavement under his head has turned into a red sea. It makes me sick... it is just too much red.

But the most horrible thing to see are his eyes. His god damn eyes. Those eyes which always had this intelligent little sparkle in them. Those eyes which always looked a little bit amused, which always tried to read you like an open book. Those eyes which had emotions hidden behind them, even if Sherlock never would have admited it.

I saw it. I saw the deeply hidden sadness, and sometimes on rare occasions I saw them mirroring real happiness... whenever that happened it was as if a firework was lit in his eyes. His eyes were like the eight world wonder with this indescribable colour. They were blue with little specks of green, changing their colour like a chameleon. They were quite fascinating and it looked as if the universal secrets were all trapped inside them, better to say,they looked like little universes themselves.

But now they are open widely, mirroring only shock. What was he thinking in his last seconds, what did his eyes see? Did they see the pavement as it got nearer and nearer? Or was he in his mind palace thinking of nice little thinks like murders. I guess it's one of those secrets that will never be solved..

I try to take is pulse, any sign for a heartbeat but there is none . He is dead. My best friend, Sherlock Holmes is dead. And it seems as if all my happiness has died with him, and oh how I wish it would have been me on the top of St. Bart's, but it wasn't. And for the first time, dead feels like a good option.

Goodbye, John... goodbye, John... goodbye, John