((This piece was inspired by SACD's 'The Empty House.' I have taken this story and merged it with BBC's Sherlock to create my own version of how things might unfold in the third series.))
((I do not own any of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's fantastic creations.))
The beginning of the strangest day of my life started with a phone call from Lestrade. It had been over two years since we'd stopped the phone calls. Without Sherlock... well we didn't have much to say to each other. So I was pleasantly surprised to find his name flashing on my caller ID.
"John." His voice was hard and clear like it used to be when he was hot on a scent.
"Greg! It's been too long. How are things-"
"I need you to come down to the station right away," he told me quickly. "Will you come?"
My brows climbed in surprise and I glanced around my modest apartment, taking a second or two to process the sudden request. Even though Mrs. Hudson and I remained in talks, I couldn't force myself to remain in 221B Baker Street alone. Too many fond memories and stolen adventures haunted those walls.
"I'm not busy but this is rather sudden," I told him lightly.
"Trust me," he assured me, "you'll want to see this. Will you come?"
I grunted as I grabbed my cane and hoisted myself from my couch. "I'm on my way."
Sargent Sally Donovan was waiting for me in the lobby. She hadn't changed much. She still held herself like a woman who knows how to get her way and she jutted her chin at me as I approached. But something in her expression made me pause. While the rest of her face was set rigidly, her eyes danced in the florescent lights. They were red and raw. She greeted me briskly and led me to Lestrade's office where the Detective Inspector was fiddling with a roll-in TV as Anderson watched him silently. At my entrance he jerked upright and rung my hand firmly.
"What's this all about?" I asked him curiously.
"Thought you'd want to see this," he said holding a silver DVD in his raised hand. I examined it and a chill ran through me. Somebody wrote across the reflective surface: Keep your eyes fixed on me. I stared at him wildly and his gaze appraised my reaction.
"It means something to you, doesn't it?" he asked.
I nodded hesitantly. "Sherlock said that to me. Just before he jumped. What's on that disc?"
"It's a video from the security camera on the rooftop of Saint Bartholomew's Hospital on the day it happened," he told me.
"There was no security camera," I said certainly. "We checked, remember?"
"Yeah I know."
"So then how-"
"Just watch it," he cut me off. "'Cause frankly I don't have any more answers than you do."
Anderson turned off the lights and leaned against the door frame next to the unusually silent Donovan. The first few frames that rolled on the tape was just a shot of the empty rooftop but after five minutes and thirty-six seconds, according to the time stamp, James Moriarty appeared with his cellphone in hand. He perched himself on the ledge and stared off into the distance, checking his watch occasionally, until the phone rang.
"Hello?" he asked calmly. "Is it done? … Has John Watson left the building? … In a taxi? … Excellent. Tisk tisk, you really can't rely on ordinary people, can you? ... Very well. He should be on his way up here now. Keep your guns at the ready Sebastian. Remember- not unless he hits the ground."
A moment after he hung up, the door to the roof opened slowly and my heart sank as the dark figure I knew so well stepped out onto the sunlit roof. We all watched as the two exchanged cryptic banter at one another. Then Moriarty began to taunt him about how easy it was to convince the world that he was the fraud. I rose from my chair, chest heaving and teeth grinding. I slapped the metal chair to the ground in a fit of anger. Lestrade paused the DVD and grasped my shoulders firmly. I knocked his hand away and stuck my finger into his chest.
"After all the times he saved your ass, you were the first to turn your back on him. After that woman," I snarled in Donovan's direction, "that woman who never once called him anything but 'freak'- planted that bit of doubt in your head. You should be ashamed of yourself."
Donovan sank further against the wall while Anderson patted her shoulder comfortingly.
"I am ashamed John," he told me quietly. "I'll never forgive myself for it. But there's more."
"I don't need to see the rest," I snarled bitterly. "I was there, remember? I know how this fairytale ends. Burned to a crisp."
"No John. There's something else at the end of the video. As hard as this is going to be, you have to promise to watch till the end or I'll handcuff you to that chair," he warned.
"That's illegal," I told him.
At this he chuckled. "Who are you going to tell? The police?"
It took all of my military training to keep myself together as the film continued. Nothing could have prepared me for the terrible truth. The words that came from Moriarty's lips would undoubtedly haunt me for the rest of my life. "Your friends will die if you don't." It felt as if the world had stopped revolving under my feet. Time seemed to freeze as Sherlock did until he whispered my name. I began to rise from my chair but Lestrade pushed me back down.
"Until the end," he said as Sherlock's voice murmured Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade's names.
"Greg, I can't. Please-" I begged him. But he held me down firmly.
Then we watched as the villain put the pistol to his mouth and pulled the trigger. I blinked in sheer incredulity and confusion.
"To answer your next question- no. We didn't find his body," he told me.
"But... how?"
I listened as Sherlock dialed my phone for the last time. I marveled at him as I listened to him lie to me. He had as much skill in lying as he did in observing. Then I watched my friend disappear over the ledge. The room was still and deadly quiet as the camera continued filming the rooftop. The only movement was the slow trickle of Moriarty's blood across the cement.
Just as I raised my head to Lestrade, he pointed back at the screen. A group of men dressed from head to toe in black flooded the rooftop. We could see them swiftly removing the corpse while another walked to the camera. The last image was the black figure's hand covering the lens and then it went dark. After a moment an image flashed across the screen. It read: Pick my skull.
