Natalie

The Fall

Things were perfect. For three years. Then a man named Jim Moriarty stepped into the picture. Yup, that's right. Jim, Jim the IT guy. The one I helped get close to Molly. And in turn, my father.

After a long history of tearing down his reputation, Moriarty got closer and closer to him. (In a rather clever way, but I don't want to talk about that. I don't care anymore.) Until I was at work with Molly, it was lunch. I went out to get the food, I had came onto the street. And I heard it.

"SHERLOCK!" It was John, but why? I saw John and ran to him.

"John? John, what's-" I looked to see what he was staring at. And I regret it with every single piece of me. There, on the top of the hospital I just left, was Sherlock, leaning off the edge of the roof. And then falling. Falling, falling, and then. Then he landed. I just sunk to the ground. In the middle of the street, on my knees, and I began to sob. John ran past me toward him. Maybe he's okay. Maybe. I tried to lie to myself. No. No. NO. I saw him, the blood from his head, the look on John's face. He was gone. All because of one man. MORIARTY.

I found out the next day Moriarty had shoot himself before Dad fell. Pity. I wanted to. I trudged around the flat for three days. I wouldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I didn't talk. Then, one night after I had drifted off into the new nightmare, (It was Sherlock falling from the building over and over. Every detail. And then Jim was there. Telling me it was all my fault. My fault. Maybe it was. I helped him get to Molly, who led to Sherlock.) I got up and left the flat. I took His coat, which I stole from evidence, and wore it to the grave. Because it smelled like him. The smell of his deodorant and brilliance. I walked myself to the cemetery and right in to his tombstone. And I cried. I curled up against the cold stone with his name and cried. It started to snow but I didn't budge. I just say there. "I'm sorry." I whimpered. "I didn't mean to. It's my fault. He seemed so nice. And she really liked him. I didn't- I-I didn't mean to. Please just come back. Just come back. I miss you. Please Daddy. Pl-lease." I choked out between sobs. I just kept sobbing until I finally drifted off.

There it was. He leaned forward and I knew what was next. But it never happened. The scene faded. Just like when my nightmares about Molly did. Because Sherlock held me. I forced myself awake. I was in the same place, but it was different. The coat was buttoned, and my scarf tightened. Someone put my gloves on my hands and the hood was up. What in the world? I thought, looking around. No one was there. I was still all alone. I slumped against the stone again. Maybe it was the coat. That's why the nightmare stopped. I sighed and sniffled.

"Natalie?" A voice called out of the darkness and the snow.

"Molly? How did you? Why are you?" I Watched as she appeared and helped me up.

"Nevermind that, you're freezing! Come on." She pulled me away and to her flat. She made me some hot tea rather cross. "You could have froze! I know you miss him Natty, and it's not fair, but you can't just sit out there in a blizzard! Goodness gracious!" She took a sip of her own tea, still pacing the room. "I just can't believe that! Natty, you're clever! Please, promise me you won't do this again?" She looked to me but before I could even speak she sighed. "I know you can't. Because you will. You really are just like your father. Just. Just be careful Natty." She kissed my forehead and went to bed. I was still in my pjs so I just curled up on her couch and went to bed. The coat on the hook by the door. I didn't sleep long, I ended up just leaving Molly a note and heading home.

I did this often. I'd go to his grave (in his coat on the colder nights). I would cry and apologize an yell and get angry but every time I fell asleep there the nightmare would stop and for that bit before I woke up, it was okay. He was safe and it was all back to perfect. But eventually my mind forced itself awake again. And there I was, a dirty orphan again. Sitting by his tombstone. And I was the one that put him there. Falling into yet another pattern, I did this a few times a month for about a year and a half.

On my fifth-teenth birthday I went out to the grave. Sitting in front of the stone was a box, a present, just like the previous birthday and Christmas. I opened it to find a little necklace. It was a little silver heart that simply read 'Natalie' on the front. It was a locket, but empty. I put it on and curled against the stone, talking to someone who couldn't reply. "Thanks for the necklace, Dad. I know I've asked a billion times, but please. Please just come back. You can just be dead. You can't. You're the great Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective. You're impossibly clever. Please Daddy. Just stop being dead." I said, my voice cracking. The stone was unusually cold, just like the air. I shivered in the negative degree weather. It suddenly began to rain. Hard. Like a horrible downpour. I still didn't move.

I was just drifting to sleep when I was pulled into someone's arms and carried away. I struggled against them but they continued to carry me silently toward Baker Street. How did they know where I lived? I looked up and no, no it couldn't be. The wet black curls were an encouraging thought, my mind began to race. We reached the doorstep where he unlocked the door with a key from his pocket. He took the coat off, throwing it onto the stairs and walking into my room. He tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead. Then he turned around and went for the door. "No! You can't just leave again!" I called, throwing the covers off he had just placed. As the lighting flashed I saw the pained look on his familiar face. "N-no!" I hugged him tightly, the top of my head now level with his chin. "You can't leave. I won't let you. No." And then he did something no one would have expected.

He cried. He hugged me and began to sob. Mumbling apologies and reassuring me now I was safe. He cried into my shoulder because he had caused me pain and he was sorry. The Great Sherlock Holmes, the man who knew sentiment was a disadvantage, but even more then that, my father. We stood there, the both of us crying for about an hour. Then I began to nod off and he tucked me in again. But he didn't leave. No, he flopped into the chair in the corner and slept too.