So I just had an idea for this scene. Essentially in the original story one could read it like Sherlock knew he was going to his death(he also says as much in The Empty House). So this is the night before and Sherlock knows but John doesn't. I am writing this more or less following along with events in The Final Problem
As soon as he had heard of Moriarty's escape he knew with utter certainty what was to come. It was just a matter of when. The consulting detective's mind worked furiously for some time thinking of options but the facts were clear. He had but one course of action.
Moriarty's trap was becoming clear to him as was the fact that he could not escape it. Once he knew what he had to do it just became a matter of keeping John safe when the time came.
He had a note from Moriarty. They were going to meet tomorrow. John fully intended on being present for this.
Now he stood in the lobby of the quaint little inn by the Reichenbach Falls. They were just making their way through Geneva like they had all the time in the world. He had told John they were here to hide until it was time. Now John was setting up their rooms for the night.
"Will you and your friend need separate rooms?" the little old woman at the desk asked. John sighed. He was always trying to explain their situation to people. Sherlock never understood why he felt the need but his quiet irritation made Sherlock smile a little.
He would miss that.
Correction. Dead people don't miss anything. His smile faded.
Finally John got it sorted out and told the woman they would find the rooms themselves. Normally Sherlock tuned this humdrum stuff out but now he found it as fascinating as any corpse. For the past week he had given John his full attention whenever the doctor spoke.
He had always known that for the man who listened so well when he spoke it mattered.
Now he was listening to every word.
He also had made it a point to give John every little analysis that had popped into his head this past week and cherished John's responses which ranged from disbelief, to sarcasm, to small praises of his intellect. Sherlock stored them all in that special part of his mind palace that was reserved for his flat mate.
Now as they walked up the stairs Sherlock asked
"So do you want to guess how many husbands that woman has had" John sighed and shook his head.
"No Sherlock. I will just be wrong and you'll call me an idiot," he sounded tired but not annoyed.
"Fine then…6…and your less of an idiot than most if that's any consolation." John stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to stare at him. Sherlock shrugged full of nonchalance as he walked past and spoke,
"I said less of an idiot that's all." John seemed to put it aside as they unlocked the first room and stepped inside.
"So Sherlock, this good for you or do you want to see the other?" It was a small room just enough space for a bed and a sink. The walls were wood paneling broken up by a small framed picture of a smiling family running through a field. The bathroom was a toilet and a small shower. On the other side of the bathroom was the door that went into the connecting room.
"This will do John" Sherlock said as he flopped onto the bed. John stepped over for a moment looking like he wanted to speak. He stood there for a moment pursing his lips and looking at the walls as he found the words.
"About Moriarty…" Sherlock tried not to twitch at the sound of his name. John looked down at him.
"We're going to get him Sherlock… Because that's what we do." He spoke quietly with a small frown crinkling on his forehead. He wasn't lying either. He believed every word. A soldier's optimism.
Sherlock didn't speak for a moment. He simply studied the other man. The short blond hair and pasty skin. The strong shoulders and that face built for laugh lines. But his eyes were always the thing that gave him away. He kept all his emotion there.
When Sherlock finally spoke it was quiet sarcasm.
"Another riveting entry in your blog?" John let the words sink in for a moment before taking another step towards the bed where Sherlock was still splayed out his feet hanging off the end of the bed.
"Yeah as a matter a fact," he sounded almost defiant
"And what will you call this one?"
"I was thinking I would call it The Dangerous IT Guy" they both stared at each other for a moment. John laughed first but as soon as he started Sherlock joined in. It was always so easy to laugh with John. Even when what was said wasn't that funny.
After the laughter died down they sat in silence. John kept shifting his weight. He was considering going into his room and leaving Sherlock. Maybe he sensed Sherlock's mood or maybe he didn't feel like being alone.
Either way he perched himself on the end of the bed and Sherlock moved his leg over to take up a little less space. They sat and talked for awhile. Some of it was bickering some of it was joking. Some of it was just talking. Sherlock filled the air with pointless deductions and John dug up anecdotes from his soldier days. A long time passed that way.
Sherlock was still mostly splayed out on the bed. One hand he moved just a little as they spoke.
He moved it slowly so John didn't notice as they talked. Or if he did he didn't mind. Eventually his hand lay half curled on the mattress just a fraction of a centimeter away from John's hand.
He liked the nearness. Maybe he could absorb a little of John's presence to keep with him through whatever happened tomorrow.
He was quite sure that his death would upset the doctor. He even liked to think he might grieve awhile. But he was certain John would move on soon enough. He wouldn't be missed for long and soon forgotten.
At that moment John continued talking about one time when a friend got in trouble for blowing up fireworks and scaring the crap out of their commanding officer.
As he spoke he moved his hand just a little so it touched Sherlock's. He didn't pause in his story or meet Sherlock's curious gaze. Sherlock was trying to deduce when John paused in his story and looked over at Sherlock. His gaze was perfectly innocuous.
"Sherlock are you listening?"
"Always" was his quiet reply. The exchange wasn't particularly serious or intense. It was just casual ease. The comfort of being with a friend. John finished his story and they sat in silence for awhile. Finally Sherlock pulled his hand away as he sat up and got off the bed.
It was time. He would leave before John woke up the next morning to face whatever was waiting for him. So now it was time to say good night.
He walked into the bathroom and opened the door to the adjoining room then went back into his own where John stood looking puzzled by his bed.
"We've got plenty to do tomorrow so best turn in now." He sounded casual enough but his abruptness had John watching him very closely. He needed this and he needed John to not suspect anything.
"Tomorrow we will get Moriarty…because…that's what we do." He spoke it flippantly with a little sarcasm on the last part. But John nodded in agreement. Then on some unknown impulse he wrapped his arms around the taller man in a tight bear hug.
"We will get him Sherlock, just you wait and see." Sherlock stood stiff for a moment before placing his arms around the other man in return.
The one man he deemed a friend deserved no less from him and a small part of him enjoyed the contact. They stood that way for moments before John pulled away nodding and smiling a little awkwardly.
"Right, Yeah…Good night then." He turned and walked into his room.
Now came the part that he knew the doctor would hate him so much for. But it was necessary. Pulling a simple roofie from his pocket he went over to small cup and pitcher by his bedside and filled the cup with water.
John was rummaging in the other room and he hadn't shut his door.
Waiting until the drug had innocently dissolved into the water Sherlock stepped over into the other room.
He didn't say anything at first he just stood in the doorway cup in hand watching John go through his suitcase. His brother had been right a few months ago when he had told Sherlock 'Caring is not an advantage'. But he cared now despite himself and it couldn't be helped. This had to be done.
"John, the air is very dry here, after all that talking you probably need some fluids." Sherlock spoke casually and John looked at him, then the cup in his hand, then the cup and pitcher on his own bedside table. He smiled a little and shook his head.
"This isn't going to be like that dodgy bit with the coffee yeah?" he asked with a chuckle.
His muscles were molasses which he dragged into a messy smile and forced out a laugh.
"Yeah that was pretty dodgy"
"Quite" was John response looking once more at his face with that tiny crooked smile. Taking the cup from Sherlock he held it up in a silent toast and downed the liquid.
"Thanks for that" and he went back to bnding over to fold his clothes for tomorrow. After a moment he spoke again his final words containing the slightest slur.
"Don't worry about tomorrow. I'll be there to help…and it will all work out…" he trailed off as he stood straight rocking unsteadily on his heels. Sherlock stepped forward and put a hand on his arm.
"Mm fine Sherlock, just a bit dizzy." Sherlock nodded
"It must be the high altitude here. Sit down." He told the other man. John was getting more unsteady. He blinked his eyes repeatedly as though trying to clear his vision.
"No…no…somethng's wrong…" his words were growing more slurred and Sherlock saw the realization seep through the drugs. His reaction was sluggish as he slowly looked up at the detective. His expression unguarded, was full of hurt and accusations.
Even through the haze he knew what Sherlock was doing.
"No." his knees buckled and Sherlock caught the man as his muscles melted. He struggled weakly in Sherlock's arms. He could only manage another "No" before the drug did it's work and he was unconscious.
Sherlock would never admit how long he sat there holding John in his arms. He would deny it if anyone ever asked. But who would get the chance to ask?
Carefully he tucked John into his bed. He spent almost a full minute fluffing the pillow. Then he made sure John's pitcher was full of water and the cup was clean. Digging through Johns travel kit he found two aspirin which he placed beside the cup. John might not want it but he would have a wicked headache when he woke.
With that settled he perched on edge of the bed and pulled his notebook and pen from his pocket. He scrawled the following note.
John,
I write these few words while I still have time. Courtesy of Moriarty. Tomorrow we will address any final questions between us. He will probably give me a sketch of his methods in evading the police. It will be a brilliant talk I'm sure. I am pleased to be the one that rids the earth of him. I know my actions will hurt you John and I am sorry but there is no other way. I am sorry for the methods I used to keep you safe. I hope one day you will forgive me for it and know there was nothing you could do.
Tell Lestrade the papers he needs to convict Moriarty's gang are in the pigeonhole marked M in a blue envelope. The evelope is marked Moriarty.
I have made arrangements with Mycroft for this, he will know what to do. And take care of Mrs. Hudson when you get back.
I have enjoyed being your flat mate.
Sherlock frowned at that last sentence but found he had no better words. He would have to settle for this.
Your friend,
Sherlock Holmes
He ripped out the three small pages it took to write all that down and folded them into a neat square which he placed on John's bedside. Then he went and checked that the windows and the door were locked. He pulled the blinds and the shades over the glass so nothing illuminated the room but the dull yellow of the fluorescent lamp on John's bedside table.
In his own room he pulled out the small security camera he had picked up. It was linked to an app on his phone so he could check in at any time. He placed in the far corner of the room just under the window. Full view of the bed and the door. He pressed a few buttons so his phone would remain on this app and he could simply pull it out of his pocket to consult.
With all that business done he sat on the floor next to Johns bed. He leaned against the night stand and looked over at the sleeping man's face. His eyes took in every detail. This information was precious and would be stored with care.
He sat that way staring at the other man for hours until he could see light bleeding through the blinds on the window. Standing up he could see the way one of Johns hands rested on the pillow. Fingers half curled from sleep. He wrapped his own slender fingers around that warm hand for a moment before stepping into his room and locking the doors that joined them.
He would soon make his way downstairs and explain his friend was ill and needed rest and should not be bothered for the duration of the day. He would send Mycroft a text with the location of this place telling him to come tonight. It would be best if John didn't go through that part on his own.
For right now he considered the sleeping man in the other room and realized his earlier theory needed to be amended
Correction: John would miss him. Possibly for a very long time.
But Sherlock was saving his life. John, and Mycroft, and Mrs Hudson, and even Lestrade and Molly would be safer after today and that was what mattered.
Facing the door he wiped liquid from his eyes lettting out a small breath. He squared his shoulders.
He was ready now.
It was time for the Falls.
I really depressed myself writing that. For those who noticed or just like knowing stuff that note is an altered version of the note Sherlock wrote in The Final Problem. Some parts of it are almost word for word. I changed some stuff from the original story(if you've read it you know what).
But I had this idea and I needed to write it.
If there is any big typos or screwy things let me know and I will fix it.
Otherwise R&R please. This story made me sad and I could use the cheering up.