All went black as he hit the ground. He was dead, that's for sure. The night swallowed his killer, enabling him to escape. The bobbys couldn't arrive soon enough. The tower exploded, along with the visionary killer.
-break-
"My dear Watson, what do you make of this?"
Watson looked at the parchment Sherlock Holmes held in his hand.
"It's the newspaper, which means, that someone stole paper… from a stand… in the-"
Holmes cut him off,
"No Watson, what's written on the paper."
"Ah!"
He exclaimed, reading the article about a man who fell a hundred feet to his death.
"I thought you were testing me again, Holmes."
"Well,"
Holmes encouraged a response from Watson.
"Well, I don't know, you really shouldn't try to solve this."
"Too late, I already have"
Sherlock explained taking the newspaper back. He walked to the door, grabbed his hat and his cane, and waited for Watson. Watson rolled his eyes and put on his bowler hat and followed Holmes outside.