The Only One

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

Note: So I've seen stories where virtually everyone under the sun is the only one to realize the truth. I started wondering what if they all were. Unfortunately, this means I have to temporarily stop pretending Sherlock is hallucinating his last-minute Irene rescue…

Molly Hooper was the only one who knew the truth Sherlock's 'death'. She was honored to be trusted with the secret but she also knew that it wasn't affection that had caused Sherlock to tell her. No, he needed someone that knew how to fake a death and while she had never actually done that before and really had no ideas on where to begin – but she had Googled it! – Sherlock knew. Sherlock always knew and he also knew that Molly was very good at following directions.

And why not? It wasn't like she hadn't followed all of his over the years from the super-important 'tell me when this happens' to the kind of demeaning 'you want me to get coffee? Brilliant. Here's my order.' It had been flattering the first time she had realized that he trusted her to record information accurately when a man's alibi depended on it. A little annoying since she had her own work to do and she suspected he often just couldn't be bothered to stay but flattering, too.

And as someone who worked in the morgue her expert opinion was trusted implicitly. If she said that that was Sherlock's body and he was dead then that was Sherlock's body and he was dead. She didn't quite want to know where he got the facsimile but it almost fooled her for a second and she even knew the truth!

But she knew that most of all she was trusted because her ex-boyfriend (it was both deeply humiliating and disturbing but also kind of thrilling to think that she had dated a super villain, even if he was just using her to taunt Sherlock) didn't think that she counted. He'd never even broken up with her, come to think of it, but it had just been sort of understood once John had hesitantly broken the news. It was for the best, probably. She'd also recently found his stash of gay porn. Or maybe that was his way of ending things?

Moriarty would be watching Sherlock's brother and John and Lestrade and anyone else that Sherlock could go to to try to get out of the impossible jam that Moriarty had placed him in: his life or his friends'. But he wasn't watching Molly and it might have been insulting if it hadn't been the one thing that enabled her to save him.

She just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that she could tell them. But no, it wasn't yet time.

Gregory Lestrade was the only one who knew the truth about Sherlock's 'death'.

He had known – somehow just known – that even as his team had sent him to his superiors to voice their fears about Sherlock and even as he was unable to supply answers to the questions they were shouting to the world, Sherlock Holmes was not a fake.

He had known that man longer than any on his team had (the rate of transfer was a bit annoying but not everyone had even his Sherlock tolerance, let alone John's) and he had been the one to actually get him off of drugs. It sounded arrogant but it was true. Not that it had even taken much doing on his part. For all that he was sure that Mycroft Holmes had tried to get his brother clean – he'd heard something about a kidnapping but didn't want to know – all he had had to do was threaten to refuse to give him any more cases if he was using.

Sherlock only used to escape boredom (and probably to annoy his brother) and with the cases there was no more boredom, at least for as long as they lasted. And it was close but in the end he did love proving to the world how brilliant he was and solving puzzles more than he enjoyed getting high.

Maybe a fully sober Sherlock could have put together this masquerade of Richard Brooks or whatever (and it would certainly relieve his boredom) but he had first met Sherlock when the boy was drugged out of his mind and could barely see straight and he had still been told his entire life story…including the fact that his wife was cheating. He hadn't known that and it was a hell of a way to discover but it meant that there would never be any doubt, even when his job demanded that he act in opposition to his interests.

So no, he had no idea how Sherlock had managed to fake his own death but he didn't need to. If Sherlock were capable of inventing 'Jim Moriarty' and fooling the world then a little matter of pretending to be dead would be easy for him.

He just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that he could tell them. But no, it wasn't yet time.

Sally Donovan was the only one who knew the truth about Sherlock's 'death'.

She was glad that she did, too, because this way she didn't have to feel guilty. Well…particularly guilty. There was something about driving a man – even a man like Sherlock – to pretend to commit suicide to avoid all the backlash of being a fraud that didn't exactly make her feel warm and fuzzy but it was better than driving a man to suicide. And it would have been her doing, too.

Sure, Moriarty would have been the one to set up the glaring evidence that made it look like Sherlock was behind it all (how had he even managed that? Did he have Sherlock masks he'd made his goons wear or something? Shown Sherlock's picture and pretended to be working for him?) but she had been the one to really make it official and to seek his arrest. Without her impetus, what could the press do? It was all just wild speculation until her move to arrest him had added legitimacy to the rumors.

After all, if Sherlock could have faked Moriarty then why couldn't Moriarty fake Sherlock faking him? It all made her head spin but if one was possible than why not the other? One had to be the truth or maybe a mixture of the two of them. It shamed her to say that the other possibility hadn't occurred to her because it was just too perfect and she really had been afraid that one day it wouldn't be enough.

All throughout the Moriarty trial she'd been thinking how much Sherlock seemed to enjoy himself and how lucky he was that this…this super villain had come along to stave off his boredom. Creating this enemy would stave off his boredom just as well. She'd believed and she'd made everyone else believe, too.

But she knew in her heart that nothing would induce Sherlock to commit suicide. Why would it? He was too fond of himself and keen on lording it over them all how brilliant he was to ever try. John claimed he did it to protect his friends? What friends? He was a sociopath, after all. He may enjoy having those around who were impressed with him so that he might dazzle them all but he didn't love it enough to die for it, no matter what John might think.

She just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that she could tell them. But no, it wasn't yet time.

Karl Anderson was the only one who knew the truth Sherlock's 'death'.

The body had been removed – terrible unprofessional but it was right outside the morgue – by the time that he had arrived. He had been too annoyed at the disturbance of the crime scene to really process much of anything at first and then he'd just been so stunned about Sherlock's death (Because suicide? Him? No, he was far more likely to drive everyone else to bloody suicide first) to think very clearly after that.

But then he'd gotten the details of the fall. There hadn't been much need to, or so it had seemed. There was a witness to it all and you can't really fake jumping off of a building. The morgue girl had identified the body, too, and John had confirmed it once he was done giving his statement. But Anderson, regardless of what Sherlock chose to believe, liked being thorough. Even when he knew what he would find – especially when he knew what he would find – he wanted to be absolutely sure to satisfy the small part of him that would always wonder.

And this crime scene…even without the stolen body it was a mess. John was the only witness who had stuck around and his credibility was shot to pieces. It wasn't just the fact that he was the best friend who would lie for Sherlock in a heartbeat. It was the fact that he had 'just happened' to get a concussion so that he couldn't see what was going on before he even got near the body. It was the fact that a large crowd of people had congregated around the body the second it fell, blocking a clear view and the fact that they had all disappeared later. He knew that some people didn't like getting involved with the police but all of them? There had been at least a dozen by John's reckoning. It was the fact that there was a mysterious ball rolling around the scene but that had seemed to have disappeared since then.

It was the fact that Sherlock was just enough of a sociopath to fake his own death when it was convenient and to not give any thought to the people he'd tricked into caring about him who were left behind to grieve a man who didn't deserve it.

He just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that he could tell them. But no, it wasn't yet time.

Mrs. Hudson was the only one who knew the truth Sherlock's 'death'.

It was so naughty of him to pretend to be dead when his friends were hurting. John was back with that psychiatrist again and sometimes she almost swore that he had his limp back. Still, that was Sherlock for you. Always doing what he thought was best even when other people didn't understand.

She had been a part of something like this once before, a long time ago, back when it looked like her husband might not be executed after all. They'd had to pretend that the she had gone missing in order to protect her from men her husband had hired since she was the star witness. It had been ever so cruel to let her family and friends worry but it had been necessary and they'd understood in the end.

The pain was always hard but it was worth it in the end to come back and it would be worth it once Sherlock was back. She was sure that he and John would make up and come back to live together and maybe even finally admit their feelings for one another and John could stop hurting those nice women he dated when he didn't pay attention to them.

It wasn't any particular cleverness or insight that had made her realize that Sherlock wasn't dead. She was just as taken in as everyone else was at first but then that day at his grave she had walked away to give John some privacy (just because Sherlock was dead didn't mean you stopped wanting to scold sometimes or, in John's case, yell at him).

And who should she see, bold as can be, watching John from across the graveyard but Sherlock? Apparently he was alive after all. If he saw her (and he always saw anything) then he didn't show it, just turned around and walked away. That let her know that there was a plan and that for some reason John wasn't to know.

It was hard but she knew that she could do it.

She just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that she could tell them. But no, it wasn't yet time.

John Watson was the only one who knew the truth Sherlock's 'death'.

He was Sherlock's best friend – only friend, granted, but still his best – and the only one who had never lost faith in him for a moment. What kind of friend would he be if he didn't realize that Sherlock had, for whatever reason, decided to fake his death and skip off to do God knew what? Well…probably dismantle Moriarty's criminal enterprise so that was okay. As long as he wasn't being too selfish about it. It would probably be easier to pull off if Moriarty's people thought he was dead.

He just wished that he could have been told but surely Sherlock didn't actually expect him to believe the 'suicide'? Sherlock had been trying to convince him ever since Moriarty had returned that he could be a fake and John just rolled his eyes. It was a little insulting, actually. He'd lived with the man for too long to possibly believe that Sherlock could be faking. And besides, if he'd Googled him he wouldn't have thought that John had a brother now would he? Harriet was very active online.

He was sure that Sherlock knew that he knew, however. Why else would he be talking about magic tricks right before his 'death'? And surely he wouldn't call John to be a deliberate witness at what John was supposed to believe was Sherlock's suicide. He wouldn't. Well…he had also drugged John and placed him in a nightmare situation to test a theory not that long ago so…But no. He wouldn't. End of story.

And once his head cleared he realized just how ridiculous it was that so much had impeded him from seeing the body. But then, Sherlock could never just do anything simply so why would faking his own death be any exception?

He just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that he could tell them. But no, it wasn't yet time.

Mycroft Holmes was the only one who knew the truth Sherlock's 'death'.

Oh, others may know bits and pieces here and there (Mrs. Hudson had apparently seen him and Miss Hooper and been instrumental in covering up what really happened) but he was the only one who knew the full story. Not, alas, because his brother had seen fit to tell him but there relationship issues were a problem for another time. And of course a pleasant and compliant Sherlock would scare him far more than an angry and resentful – or even drugged out of his mind – Sherlock ever had.

But Sherlock had come to him after his 'death.' He needed resources to take down Moriarty's people while supposedly being dead, of course, and it wasn't like he hadn't already known. Sherlock would never do something as plebian as commit suicide. And if he did it never would have been in such a common way. Sherlock never would have let him know if he hadn't been absolutely sure that he had already realized the truth and if he hadn't desperately needed the need a little help. Not that he would begrudge his little brother the chance to fully destroy that which had tried so diligently to destroy him.

It would be nice if Sherlock could check in every now and again but Sherlock wouldn't be Sherlock if he weren't being difficult and that was what the security people were for.

He just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that he could tell them. But no, if he did then Sherlock would pitch a fit and that really wasn't worth the headache.

Irene Adler was the only one who knew the truth Sherlock's 'death'.

She had believed the news for maybe half a second before common sense returned. She had faked her death perfectly (so perfect as to full the great Sherlock Holmes) once and Sherlock had figured out how she had done it and helped her do it again a second time. After that, well, she'd never believe that Sherlock was dead any more than he would ever believe that she was dead. Even had she been in John's place and watched his body hit the concrete she wouldn't have been convinced. Should she outlive Sherlock she'd probably never realize it.

She let him know that she knew (after all, it wouldn't do to let him think that he was the only one capable of being clever) by texting him another invitation to have dinner. Predictably, there was no response. Men were so rude that way, sometimes.

She'd decided to head back to London one day, mostly to see if she could get away with it. Apparently either no one noticed or they truly were done with her as long as she wasn't there to stir up trouble. And she wasn't. At the moment. That could all change at any second and if they had learned anything of all of her then they would be expecting that. It might be amusing later.

But all thoughts of pleasant diversions fled when she got an answering text from Sherlock. Well…she said answering but it really ignored her question in favor of instructing her to be at a certain place on a certain date. Maybe they could have dinner their after all? If she was right – and she usually was – then she'd enjoy getting to ask him again in person.

Note: Don't worry, the humor's coming next chapter when Sherlock returns.

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