Organised Chaos - Sherlock x Reader

XXXII • 32

I had not counted on this. I had precisely calculated several different scenarios after arriving on the roof. But never this. None of them ended with Moriarty's suicide. I hadn't believed him capable.
Yet, I'd just watched him shoot himself in the head to ensure my death. It was absurd.
My mind raced, trying to come up with an alternate plan, but there was only one thing to do.
I looked down from where I stood on the edge of the roof.

At this point, John had arrived in a taxi. He rushed out and toward the hospital entrance, only to be slowed by his phone ringing. He answered it, desperately hoping it was Sherlock. The text hadn't seemed like another one of his unimportant summonings.

"John."
Oh God, it was so good to hear his voice. "Sherlock!"
"Turn around and walk back the way you came."
"No, I'm coming in!"
"Just do as I ask. Please." My voice was commanding but desperate. There was a note of sorrow in the last word. It wasn't faked. I felt genuinely sorry that I had to do this to my friends. But I had to do this for my friends. The problem was, they didn't know that.
It was the first time John had ever heard this tone from me, I was sure. Something about it made him stop and turn around.
"OK, stop there. Now look up. I'm on the roof."
"Good God, Sherlock!"
"Please, just listen to me. Is (F/N) there?"
"No, I don't know where she is."
I took a deep breath. I couldn't put it off. I'd have to do this without you.
"It's all true. Everything you heard about the drugs. It's all true. I'm using again, I'm falling apart, I'm no longer worth anything."
"Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock. (F/N) told me. You were bloody tested, you can't have been using."
I sighed. "It's been longer than that. I made sure not to use anything for the last couple of days because I knew you'd have me tested. I'm not stupid, but I'm still high."

You had seen him up there. Your quick mind had pieced it all together. Now you were running. Running up the stairs, flight after flight.

"No, Sherlock. I don't believe you. I'm a bloody doctor, I've seen you high. You've not been high."
Convincing him was turning out harder than I'd anticipated.
"John, I don't know why you don't believe me. What did you think I was doing in the lab for the last two hours? But I just wanted to tell you the truth before-"
"Before what, Sherlock?" He raised his voice slightly, his anxiety growing. "This is my note." I smiled sadly. "That's what I'm supposed to do, right?"
"Sherlock, please." I could hear the pleading in his voice, as my intentions dawned on him.

You had never been in such a rush. You stumbled up the stairs, ignoring your heart nearly pounding out of your chest. Run. Run. Run.

"I'm sorry John. Please, tell (F/N) too. You are the greatest friends I could ever ask for. I love you both with my entire being. I'm sorry if I've not shown that very well. Know this though, I will miss you dearly. Goodbye John."
With that, I tossed the phone aside, and stepped closer to the edge, then took another deep breath.

You scrambled up the last flight of stairs and burst through the door to the roof, panting.
"I will miss you dearly. Goodbye John."
Just in time to see him step off.

"SHERLOCK!" You screamed, sorrow, pain, anger and agony lacing your voice.

I heard you.

Those few seconds- they felt like eternity. St. Bart's was over 60 feet high, but no one could cheat gravity. So much happened in those few seconds.

Your POV:

You rushed forward without really thinking. You weren't sure if you wanted to see, but it was reflex.
He lay on the ground below, limbs splayed, a spatter of blood surrounding his head.
You stifled a sob, or tried to. Looking away, the first thing you saw was Jim. Dead, shot through the head with his own bullet.
Your face twisted in anger.
The psychopath is always the most charming.
You were angry at Jim for.. for being Jim. You were angry at yourself for believing he was harmless. You should have trusted Sherlock. He had never been wrong before. Now he would never be right again.
You looked down to see a small crowd gathered around his body. And John. John shoving his way through.
John.
You sunk to the ground in tears, everything about the situation crashing down around you, triggered entirely by John, trying to get through. Trying to see his best friend one last time. He was a doctor; he knew Sherlock couldn't have survived, yet his being a doctor would be the very excuse he would use to get through.
You sat there for a few minutes, crying. But John would need you.
You looked down once more. He was gone, the crowd already dissipating. The only thing left that marked his ever being there were the smears of blood on the pavement.
You started down the stairs. They seemed much shorter coming down.
Of course they did.
You made it to the ground floor in time to see John come into the lobby, presumably looking for you.
You didn't say anything, simply embraced him. You didn't hold back your tears, and neither did he.