Fall
The earth crumbled underneath my feet, the sound of waves crashing below. Rays of warmth reached my face. The scent of the sea engulfed me.
I inched myself towards the edge. This was it. There was no turning back once I took that next step. He was gone. I had tried to live without him, but I couldn't. Life was too dull without him.
My arms were outstretched, like how a bird might be poised for flight.
This was how he fell on that day three years ago; and soon, I would join him.
I almost felt . . . happy. It was more of a content feeling, a moment of freedom.
I stepped forward, but as I was about to put all my weight forward, something interrupted my daze; feet pounding against rocks, distant cries.
For one fleeting moment, I hesitated. I recognised that voice. That deep baritone voice. But it couldn't be him. He was dead, wasn't he?
I wanted to stop so badly, to see if it was really him; but it was too late. I was already falling.
As my death awaited on the rocks below, a single word echoed out among the Cliffside.
"John!"
It was his voice.
It was Sherlock's voice.
