AN: Experimenting with a new style of writing. This takes place in the order of present, past, and future, in case you didn't notice.

Sherlock stood at the bottom of the stairs. I smiled grimly and walked forwards, making him spin around to see me. I put a finger to my lips in a silent 'quiet', and showed him a message. He read it over once and nodded, confirming our deal.

Moriarty spoke and Sherlock fell. Down, down, down he went.

Sherlock was never there.

"You are to become him." I remember that voice well. They trained me to mimic him, to act as similar as him as possible. I asked them why once, but all I got in return was a "You'll see when the moment comes". And so it came, and I replaced him.

I vaguely remember the sensation of falling, my- Sherlock's coat whipping up around me. The adrenaline flew through my body, making me light-headed. But that all ended. I hit the pavement, raw agony coursing through my veins as my bones shattered and my skin tore against gravel. And I died.

When he came back, no one ever noticed that the grave was still full, and that they had actually seen the body in the casket.

No one ever noticed the small picture of an angel resting on the so-called empty grave.

No one noticed and no one would.

The grave is full.