Fandom One-shots

The Reichenback Fall

CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM SEASON TWO AND THREE OF SHERLOCK!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THAT FAR!!
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Sherlock wiped his mouth, a sense of unfamiliar fear gripping him as he looked over the small ledge that separated him and death. He didn't want to hurt John or Molly. He didn't want to hurt Ms. Hudson, either . . . he could honestly say he loved her, something Sherlock was unfamiliar with; love.

    Ms. Hudson had housed and fed Sherlock for a long while now, and he was ever so grateful for it, but that wasn't why he loved her. Ms. Hudson has taken care of Sherlock like a son, like a mother to her boy. Sherlock's mother had never been there like that for him. And he didn't need Ms. Hudson now, but he wanted her. Wanted her to love him like a son. He would die before he told anyone that, though. A twisted smile curved his lips as he realized the irony in his thoughts.

    Sherlock watched as John's cab pulled up and he paid the cabby with quick uncoordinated and clumsy fingers. Sherlock's legs shook and his breathing grew quick and ragged as he realized this would be his last time ever talking to John. Ever seeing John.

    He waited as John picked up his phone and got out of the cab at the same time.

"Hello?" He answered, his voice unusually measured.

"John." Sherlock breathed, doing his best not to break down . . . something uncommon for him. He had never cried before, at least not in public, but this being his last call ever . . . made everything harder . . . more surreal . . . more final.

    "Hey," John answered quickly, his facade cracking as relief laced his voice. "Sherlock, you okay?" John's quick footfalls began to carry him in Sherlock's direction, a cause of panic for the detective. John would try and catch him if he was close enough, and that would hurt John. He didn't want to hurt John anymore.

"Turn around and walk back the way you came." Sherlock demanded, fear rising in his chest.

    "No!" John argued vehemently. "I'm coming in!" Tears welled in Sherlock's eyes as he barely let John finish.

"Just . . . do as I ask!" He nearly shouted into the phone. He gulped. "Please." He added, his voice breaking. John spun around, panic rising on his face.

"Where?" John walked back, waiting for Sherlock to give him more instructions.

"Stop there." Sherlock voiced forcefully.

John looked around. "Sherlock?!"

Taking a deep breath Sherlock said, "Okay, look up, I'm on the rooftop." John turned and looked up his eyes growing wide as he began to catch on.

"Oh, God." He whispered.

I . . . I . . . I can't come down," Sherlock whispered, cursing his wavering voice, "So we'll just have to do it like this." John's mouth opened and closed as he searched for words.

"What — What's going on?"

"An apology." Sherlock answered simply. He licked his lips. "It's . . . all true." John's eyebrows knitted together.

"What?" Sherlock sighed, glad he was too far away for John to see the tears falling down his cheeks.

"Everything they said about me." He closed his eyes. "I invented Moriarty." He looked back at the dead man who's blood was flowing across the pavement, gun still locked in his cooling fist. An evil smirk still dancing on his cold lips.