Sherlock looked over the edge of the rooftop – looking down at all the people living their boring lives below, unaware of the situation going on above them. Next to him, the body of James Moriarty lay on the ground, a pool of scarlet collecting around his head. Below, a black taxi pulled up outside the hospital. John Watson stepped out, clutching his mobile to his ear and rushing to the door. Oh, John.
Sherlock had already deduced that he loved John. Everything from the way his heart increased to the way that – for some bizarre reason – the ex-army doctor seemed to make the world a better place. He is aware that John is still loyal to him. Still believes that Sherlock is the only man who could save the world from all the criminals, even in the face of lies. That brings Jim's words ringing in his ears and the choice is made.
He says his goodbyes and hangs up, tossing the phone aside. The shorter man is screaming his name, and their eyes meet. The wind carried off his last words. The last thing he said to his best friend, his colleague and his love. As he fell forwards, his mind remarked a last quirky comment. 'This is the second time I've fallen for John.'
The wind whipped past his ears as he watched John stare at the marble tombstone. Urgh, marble. Couldn't Mycroft have picked something better? He observed the army doctor, trying to deduce him. Nothing. Only one thought came to mind, Sherlock's 'final words'.
"I love you."