I send Sherlock another text:

You're usually the one who texts for attention; what's up? Please text me!

Abby walks into our small kitchen area. She grabs my arm and pulls me out of the apartment. Once we are in her car she asks. "So, how is your brilliant detective?"

"The news said he went to court to face Jim Moriarty. From his texts I found out Jim is deadly—Sherlock's been trying grasp anything to put him behind bars. And Moriarty was acquitted." I lean back against the passenger seat. "He would usually text me about these things…but whenever I bring it up—he ignores it or texts "laterz"."

Abby smirked. "I can't believe you're waiting by the phone."

"No I'm not." I argued.

Abby grinned as she drove. "You so are."

I groan and stretched my arms. "I wonder what mysteries we have to solve today…If Tony cracks one more Probie joke about me I will go off."

Abby hummed. "Who knows."

I roll down the window and let the wind cool us down. "This June is too hot Abby…"

"Heat waves suck."

I see McGee was on the computer as usual—staring at the screen in both shock and confusion. I skip over to him to see what he was reading. "What's going on Tim? Lost another game—"

I stop when I see the article:

SHERLOCK'S A FAKE: THE SHOCKING TRUTH "He invented all the crimes" (Close Friend Richard Brook Tells All) - Exclusive From Kitty Riley

"What the hell?" I begin reading the article.

McGee tries to comfort me. "They're saying all the crimes he solved were fakes—staged. But we all that that's not true."

"Try telling Scotland Yard that." I kept reading as memories of Sherlock flashed through my head. I then walk away swiftly.

"Angel!" McGee calls after me as he tried to follow me.

I went into the girl's room before he could catch up. I called Sherlock's number. I wait, until I was sent to voicemail:

"Sherlock. Please call me. I just saw the article by Kitty Riley. Why didn't you tell me? I can help you—I know you would never stage any crimes. Please call me back—" I then sigh. "If you don't I am going to get a ticket, get on a plane, and fly to London whether you like it or not." I close the phone and rub my temple. "When did I become a stalker?"

The day was stressful to say the least. A Navel psychologist dead. Dr. Cranston and Ryan were on the case…and it was a nightmare. I was overjoyed when I didn't have to deal with my overly concerned psychologist being over my shoulder. Abby and I were about to go into our apartment when my phone started ringing. I quickly snatch my phone from my purse and saw it was Sherlock. I answer eagerly and nod for Abby to walk in.

"Sherlock?" I ask hopefully.

"Angelina." His voice answered tiredly.

My shoulders drop in relief as my old scars tingled from the movement. "How are you?"

I hear a snort. "Who showed you the article?" Of course he wouldn't dwell on emotions. "I know you're too impatient to try to research anything on me."

"McGee, do you remember him?"

"Yes…"

He sounded exhausted. I felt worry consume me again."Sherlock what's happening?"

"Do you think that article was true?"

"No. I told you on the voicemail I didn't believe any of it. If you need me to come down there and help—"

"No, I've already been arrested."

"What!" I lean against the wall.

"Obviously I got away…Moriarty is pretending to be Richard Brookes…everything is pointing to me being a fake…" There was silence.

"I'm sure John doesn't believe that." I told him.

"Of course he doesn't." Sherlock murmured. I could hear he was going up some stairs for a while now.

I wanted to help him…I wish I could do something. "Sherlock, tell me what you need. I can help you. I'm worried about you…"

"Don't waste your time worrying. There is something you can do."

"What is it?"

"Don't call me, don't text me, don't try search for me, don't go onto John's blog, and stay away from London."

I felt the disbelief buzz through me. "Sherlock—what the hell? I'm trying to help—if you shut me out—"

"Goodbye Angel." He ends the call.

I stare at my phone in shock. Did that just happen?

The next day I get up and walk into the kitchen groggily. Abby sees me—she was ready to go to work. She tosses me an orange. I catch it and peel it slowly.

Abby notices my mood. "What happened?"

"He shut me out—told me not to contact him anymore." I sigh. "He always manages to piss me off—but this is unbelievable."

Abby hugs me from behind. "It'll be okay. Do you want to see a movie tonight?"

"Can it be that new Tim Burton movie?"

"What else?" Abby asked cheerfully.

There was a knock on the door. Abby opens it. "Trent!" She embraces him.

I go up to my brother. "Abby and I want to catch a movie tonight—" I stop when I see the expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

Trent tells me. "Come on."

He leads me to a chair, but I tear away from him. "What. Is. Wrong?" I didn't like how familiar this was—different scenes play out in my memory.

Trent looks down at me sadly. "Angel. I'm sorry."

"For what!" I step up to my brother. "Why are you sorry?"

Trent finally tells me in a low voice, like he was trying not to scare me. "McGee called me…he told me, and I thought it would be better if I told you in person…"

"Tell me what's going on now." I snapped—I was terrified.

"Sherlock is dead." Trent holds onto my shoulders like I was going to fall.

I stare up at him…I heard him wrong—I had to. "What?"

"Sherlock committed suicide. He—"

"What!" I grab onto his shirt and gave him a shake. "Tell me."

Trent looked down at me and sighed. "He jumped off St. Bart's hospital roof…" Trent continued to stare at me and so did Abby.

I could just imagine it…I move away from him and out the door. They followed me.

"Angel! Angel!" Trent and Abby grabbed me.

I shook them off. "Get off! I need to go."

"Go where?" Abby asked.

"To work." I glare at them—they didn't get it.

"No, there's no way you can go to work in this state." Trent told me

"I'm fine." I growled. I didn't want to stand around and remember…I needed to keep moving before I broke down.

"No, one of your friends just died—"

"What else is new!" I shout at him; I felt like I was falling over…no I was standing straight and tall. "I can't—I'm going to be late—"

I get into the car before they could stop me and drove away as fast as I could. I drove and drove until I turned into a parking lot of some bookstore. I park the car and sit there. The memories of the case, every conversation, every text raced through my mind. I kept on seeing his face and heard his voice echo through my head. I bit my lip as a tear escaped. I wipe it away violently. I couldn't help it. I opened my phone. I tried calling him…but I was told that the number no longer existed. I then searched about Sherlock Holmes and found so many things…until I found a Youtube video someone took…I watch it. After two tourists were laughing at the screen—they stopped and focused the camera on the roof of Bart's…Sherlock stood there…then he spread out his arms…

"No Sherlock." I whisper.

He fell forward waving his arms as if it would slow the fall…then I couldn't see him hit the ground…because of a truck…The camera shook as it approached the sidewalk…bits of Sherlock showed through the throng of people surrounding him…bloodied face…limp body. I saw John was there…holding his wrist…Sherlock was dead.

I drop the phone into my lap and squeezed my eyes shut. I panted and held onto the steering wheel. "This can't happen…dammit…" I felt like I was going to throw up…after a while the shock wore off—I felt numb.

"I can't believe how you're acting." My eyes ripped open in disbelief when I heard that all too familiar voice.

I turn around and saw Sherlock was sitting in the back seat…Face clean like I remembered it…

I stare at him and he raised his eyebrows at me. "Aren't you a bit old to believe in ghosts?"

I nod. "I need this though…ok…" A laugh burst out with a few tears as I stared at him. I could really see him as if he was alive. I finally ask. "Why?"

Sherlock sighed in frustration. "For God's sakes, I can't tell you—you could never understand."

"I…do…understand. You think I never thought about it…how easy it could be to jump off a building…" I shook my head in anger at him for leaving me behind—for ending his life so quickly. "Why did you take that damn step…did this happen right after we talked?"

He impatiently scolds me. "You already know—stop wasting your time asking."

I gaze at him. "What about John. You left your best friend…"

Sherlock leans forward placing his fingers together. "Stop stalling. You're hesitating in asking the real questions that bother you because you don't want to admit that you've been thinking of them for a while."

I gulped and then leaned over the seat so I was face-to-face with him. "What was I to you? A friend?…I heard you don't have friends…what am I, Sherlock?"

"That is simple; you're Angelina Garrio. Don't you remember?" He lifts an eyebrow at me saucily.

I snort a laugh. "Even as a figment…you're an ass…" I nod as I tried not to cry. "I'll miss that so much…"

His voice lowered into a whisper. "You're wondering if I cared about you."

I bit my lip. "You didn't…you did…we'll never know now…" I have flashbacks of my friends…how they went through this…like Ziva with Roy Sanders…Tony and Dana Hutton…Tim and Amanda…

Sherlock stares at me silently with those amazing eyes. "Move on Angelina. There's no point in mourning for me…we've only known each other in such a short time."

"You still mourned Irene…John told me about it…" I wish he was here…I wish this was real.

"Irrational isn't it?" He asked me with a dry smirk.

"Very…I'll miss you Sherlock." I blink and see he's gone. I swallow the lump in my throat as I start up the engine and drove to NCIS…

Author's Note:

I wanted to add this bit about Sherlock's apparent death...I was wondering if I should do this as a one-shot, but I thought putting this in a epilogue would be cooler. R&R please. Thanks for reading!