That one glance. That one powerful, heart-melting, piercing glance.
His cold but stunning brown-grey eyes widened in incredulous shock. He was not expecting this as he opened the door to the balcony. The air not only sent discomforting chills down his spine, but also focused his eyes on the sight of two men jumping off into the Reichenbach.
It was Moriarty and Holmes.
Over the years, Watson had come to admire Sherlock as not only a bloke with extraordinary talent, but also as the brother he never had. Well, watching the eccentric man he had accompanied all these years jump to his death was…well, something.
As the shock finally registered, and the disbelief left his eyes, all that was left was a shell of memories and his first palpable thought.
You selfish bastard.
He knows it does not make sense, but it was bloody Sherlock. His "mentor", his best man, his brother. In the split second, perceiving the horrific sight of such a fall, he thought of nothing but a life void of the adventures Sherlock has allowed him to take part in over the years.
The ominous dark sky was as if an omen. All he could hear was his sporadic heartbeat pulsing in his ears over the deafening crash of mammoth waves tumbling over the cliff. Into the unknown.
Along with Sherlock's body. Oh great. He thought sardonically.
Holmes was a brave, admirable, outlandish, brilliant, crazy man with a humorous heart. He took him under his wing, and together conquered case after case in style. Sherlock changed him. Sherlock taught him purpose in life. Sherlock deserved to die knowing he had saved the world.
I am certain he loves the fact that his death, along with Moriarty's, saved Europe from a war. Watson thought to himself, inwardly shaking his head. And, of course, jumping into the Reichenbach is quite a feat itself.
So this was it. Sherlock sacrificed himself for Europe. That selfish bastard. That selfless hero. Watson strode over the edge and let go of a breath he did not know he was holding, as the wonderful idiot of a man disappeared into the sea of foam.
Your eulogy for me has to be brilliant. I will be listening. Watson could almost hear the smug Holmes in his mind, or perhaps it was just an echo.
The End.
The End?