Sherlock looked down from the roof of St. Bart's at John Watson, who appeared so small and fragile, being so far away. Sherlock reached out towards him. "Goodbye, John."
Sherlock Holmes felt little resistance as he fell forward. His mind, for the first time, was silent. His muscles and organs knew what to do even though his brain had halted proper function. His motions became insentient. Sherlock saw the things around him blur into running color, the sounds morph into white noise. He felt the air resist his velocity as he plummeted, his eyes tearing and his cheeks smarting. He felt the air rush out of his lungs and a contraction of his heart- emotion. The emotion was guilt, for hurting John; it was anger, for hurting John; it was sorrow, for hurting John.
"SHERLOCK!" he heard John cry. Sherlock was never one to be sentimental, he despised being so. As Mycroft had once said, "All lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage." Yet Sherlock's mind was flooded by a wave of thoughts of John. John's face, his expressions, his smell, his presence, his words, and the way he moved.
I hope you can move on. I hope you believe in me. I hope you know find a girlfriend, now that I'm not going to be around. I hope you remember me. I hope you don't ever forget me. I hope you know that, even though I don't have friends, I had you. I hope you move on. I hope we meet again. I hope you can keep living in the flat. I hope you don't get another flat-mate. I hope your psychosomatic limp does not return. I hope you know that even though I was incapable of love, I think of you. I hope you deduce the truth. I hope you figure out why I did this. I hope you know why I decided to call you, for my "note". I hope you know I lo-
The world was shattered, and oblivion welcomed Sherlock Holmes with open arms.