It's Not the Fall

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of their respective copyright holders. No infringement intended. The original characters and places mentioned are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to those living, dead, or undead is completely coincidental.

Chapter 1

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them."

Sherlock kept his gaze fixed on Moriarty, engaged in one last desperate attempt to win the dangerous game the man had been playing with him for months.

Moriarty stared back. "No. You're not."

Sherlock never flinched, never wavered. After a few brief moments, Moriarty's eyes widened.

"I see. You're not ordinary. No." He grinned. "You're me. You're me. Thank you, Sherlock Holmes. Thank you. Bless you." He held out his hand and after hesitating a few seconds, Sherlock slowly reached out and grasped it. The grin vanished. "As long as I'm alive you can save your friends. You've got a way out. Well, good luck with that."

Moriarty opened his mouth wide and reached for his gun. Sherlock realized what he was about to do and immediately grabbed for it. He tried to wrench it from Moriarty's grasp but the smaller man was much stronger than he appeared and he fought Sherlock for control of the weapon. Their desperate struggle brought them to the edge of the roof and Sherlock registered the pressure of the wall against his legs as Moriarty wrenched his wrist to the right in an attempt to break Sherlock's grip on the gun. He heard a woman scream far below but ignored it, his focus on keeping the other man from gaining the upper hand. A moment later he heard another cry, and as he recognized the voice his concentration wavered for a split second.

"SHERLOCK!"

That brief moment of inattention was all Moriarty needed to twist the gun in Sherlock's hands, and as he tried to regain his grip he felt the barrel of the gun dig into his chest. Suddenly there was an explosion of sound...and pain.

He stumbled backward, his body twisting in agony as he heard the voice again.

"NO!"

He succumbed to the force of gravity but this time there was nothing behind him to stop his descent.

He felt the odd sensation of his body falling through space, the wind rushing past his ears with an eerie whistling sound as consciousness faded. His last sensation was another explosion of pain before the world went completely dark.

XXX

John paid the cabbie and marched towards the entrance to St. Bart's, intent on storming the mortuary and giving Sherlock a piece of his mind. John suspected it was Sherlock who had orchestrated the call about Mrs. Hudson as a means of getting John out of the way while he dealt with Moriarty. John shook his head. Sherlock could be so damn thick at times. Didn't he know that John was just as willing to tackle their current nemesis as Sherlock himself? The lone wolf routine was getting old, and John intended to enlighten the other man on the matter as soon as he saw him.

As John passed the ambulance station he heard a woman scream. He immediately stopped and searched the area for the source of the sound and quickly found a young woman standing a short distance away, her gaze fixed on something far above the street level.

John looked up towards the roof and froze in shock. Two men were struggling near the edge and it didn't take long for John to recognize the one who appeared to be on the losing side of the battle.

"SHERLOCK!"

Before John could take another step towards the building he heard the familiar retort of a gunshot and Sherlock staggered backward, swaying at the edge of the precipice. In an instant John knew what was going to happen, and his heart clenched in his chest when he realized there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"NO!"

Sherlock's body tumbled over the short wall and as John watched in horror his friend fell towards the street below, landing with a sickening thud a few seconds later.

John barely registered the woman's second scream as he rushed towards the spot where Sherlock had fallen. He glanced up at the roof and caught a brief glimpse of Moriarty's face, twisted and flushed with anger. John didn't spare him a thought as he reached Sherlock and desperately grabbed his wrist to search for a pulse.

Nothing.

"No, no, no, come on mate, don't do this. Please, Sherlock, don't be dead. Please…" He tried again to find evidence of life, moving his other hand to the man's neck, and in doing so got a devastating look at the injury that had surely caused his heart to stop beating, if the gunshot wound in his chest hadn't accomplished it first.

"No, please, God, no…"

Finally, as more people rushed in to help he sat back and allowed his friend's limp hand to fall from his grasp as he watched the blood pool beneath the man's body, staining the sidewalk a deep crimson. A feeling of profound loss washed over him as he came to the clear, yet horrible conclusion.

Sherlock Holmes was dead.

TBC…