This was a slightly angsty one-shot I wrote because I was bored, watching Reichenbach Fall, and getting the feels. Let me know what you thought, and also be sure to let me know if you would like to read more of this story (i.e. John returning the next day, Sherlock's eventual return two years later). Thanks for reading!

The Goodbye Before The Fall

"Can he do that? Completely change his identity, make you the criminal?"

"He's got my whole life story. That's what you do, you sell a big lie," Sherlock spat, throwing his arms in the air. "Then wrap it up in a truth to make it more palatable."

"It's your word against his."

"He's been sowing doubt into people's minds for the last twenty-four hours! There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game and that's to—" Suddenly coming to a blinding, vivid, horrendous realization, Sherlock halted his frantic pacing.

"Sherlock?"

"There's something I need to do."

"What, can I help?"

"No, on my own." Abandoning his faithful partner and friend, Sherlock stepped off in the opposite direction of John, knowing there was something he desperately needed to do, given what he was about to do the next day.

Hailing a cab, and glancing behind him to make sure John had not followed him, Sherlock crawled in to the cab and then mumbled, "Baker Street." First home, then to Molly.

As he sat, nestled into the back of the cab, Sherlock suddenly recalled the first time John had mentioned wanting a child. It was just after a supposedly "emotional" case where they had reunited a couple with their kidnapped children. (Sherlock usually didn't pick up on such emotions or feelings.) He remembered scoffing at John's proposition.

"What?" the doctor had asked with a frown.

"You can't possibly be serious?" Sherlock had drawled with a smile of disbelief.

"Of course I'm serious, Sherlock. Not everyone can live their lives like you, like a robot."

An eye roll. "I'm hardly a robot." Shedding himself of his coat, Sherlock had taken a seat and brushed away John's request.

But then, a few weeks later, the doctor toyed with the idea again. "You've seriously never had that paternal yearning? Never seen a young child and thought to yourself: I want one?"

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Sherlock had ignored his friend and instead directed his attention towards the bloody body laying before him. "Trivial."

"The case or children?"

With a frustrated huff of breath, Sherlock had yanked his small magnifying glass out of his coat pocket and continued his examination. "Yes."

With a sad sigh, erring on the side of defeat, John had closed his eyes and considered the matter closed; this was a battle he was not going to win.

With his friend's melancholy expression still burning in his mind, Sherlock suddenly realized the cabbie had arrived at the flat. Throwing the driver enough money for his troubles, the detective slipped from the car and then slid inside the welcoming flat. As it was the dead of night, and knowing Mrs. Hudson would be sound asleep, Sherlock paused in the entryway, taking in the familiar walls and furnishings around him, knowing it would be the last time he would see them in a very long while.

Heart beating soundly in his chest, Sherlock turned his gaze to the stairs leading up to the flat he and John now shared with their two children. Though he was not sure his legs would carry him all the way up, the detective began to ascend the stairs, well aware of the heartbreak that awaited him once he reached the top. Trailing a hand along the familiar and chipped wallpaper, Sherlock climbed each stair, reminding himself with each step of the necessity of his sacrifice.

Stepping onto the landing, Sherlock pulled his hand from the wall, instead opting to tuck it into his long coat. In the darkness, the detective could barely make out the familiar shapes of the furniture around him. He glanced at his watch. I don't have much time.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sherlock turned his back on the familiarities of the flat and then ascended the stairs to the bedroom his children shared. With each step heavy beneath the soles of his shoes, the detective tried to ignore the fact that he and John were contemplating a move so as to allow the children to each have their own bedroom.

Knowing time was of the essence, Sherlock ignored the barbs of sadness aching in his chest and then gently pushed open the door to the kids' bedroom. The detective couldn't help but smile when he found a small set of green eyes gazing back at him. "Addie, love, what are you still doing up?" Mindful of his son's still-slumbering form, Sherlock padded past the young boy's bed and over to Addie's cot. "Hmm, Daddy," the little girl cooed, reaching her arms towards her father's tall form.

"Shh, Addie," Sherlock whispered as he pulled the toddler from her crib. "We've got to be quiet now, remember? It's still very late." The detective pointed towards a slumbering Hamish and then pressed a finger to his lips, signaling it was to be quiet.

"Oh. Sowee, Daddy."

"That's quite all right." Swaying gently back and forth, Sherlock's gaze raked over his daughter's small form, nestled so closely against his own. The detective hurried to memorize the waves of her golden-blonde hair, the way her nose curled up just slightly on the end, and the single dimple that formed every time she smiled. "Addie?" he whispered, brushing a few stray curls out of her eyes.

"'Es, Daddy?" the tiny girl responded, her green eyes wide and earnest.

"I love you."

"Oh." Breathing a sigh of relief, Addie smiled contently to herself. "I knows that, Daddy. Is 'tat all?"

Sherlock smiled, though the motion was not enough to clear away the sadness residing deep in his eyes. "That's all, darling. I just wanted to make sure you knew."

"Well, I knows, Daddy. I can go to seep now?"

"Absolutely. Thank you for waiting up for me, Addie. It was very thoughtful of you."

"Oo'r welcome, Daddy."

Feeling his resolve quickly wearing away, Sherlock tucked Addie's head to his chest and quickly brushed away a tear that had fallen free. "Mmm," he hummed in an over-exaggerated manner, squeezing the tiny girl close before lowering her back into the crib. "Want me to tuck you in?"

"'Es 'ease, Daddy," Addie agreed with a tired smile. The little girl grabbed a blanket with chubby fingers and then offered it to Sherlock. "Here goes."

"Thank you." Running his thumb and forefinger along the familiar pattern of the fabric, Sherlock gingerly wrapped the blanket around Addie's tiny form, taking care to tuck it around her toes.

"Tat is good, Daddy."

Sherlock crouched down and peered through the slats in the crib. Slotting a hand between them, the detective wrapped his daughter's small hand in his own. "You go to sleep now. And remember... I love you very much, Addie. No matter what, hmm?"

"'Es, Daddy. Dood night."

Sherlock watched, eyes brimming with tears as his daughter's eyes slid closed and she fell asleep. Giving the tiny girl's hand a squeeze, the detective brushed away the sadness that was threatening to spill over. "Goodbye."

Suddenly, there came a small and frightened, "Dad? What's going on? Where's Papa?"

Releasing Addie's tiny fingers from his grasp, Sherlock turned around to find Hamish, wide awake and out of bed, staring at him from the other side of the room.

"Why did you say 'goodbye'? What's going on?"

Sherlock stood, letting his hands hang loosely at his sides as he gazed with sad eyes at his small son. "Hamish," he began, taking a step towards the frightened little boy.

"No! Tell me what's going on."

Taking a knee, and gazing at his son from across the room, Sherlock breathed a sigh. "I have to go away for a while."

Bottom lip quivering at the confirmation, Hamish replied, "Why? Where?"

"I'm afraid I can't explain why right now, love. And I'm afraid I don't know where I'll be going," Sherlock replied honestly, his deep voice filling the otherwise silent room.

"But... but, you can't leave," Hamish replied bravely, desperately trying to fend off tears.

"I'm afraid I have to." The detective inched closer. "It's for you and Addie and Papa."

Bottom lip stilling, Hamish gazed at his father with wide eyes. "You're going away... for us?"

A nod.

"But... why? Why do you need to go away for us?"

Closer still. "Because, Hamish... You see, there's a very bad man out there who... Well, he wants to hurt you and Addie and Papa. And the only way I can stop him doing that is to go away for a while."

"Oh. You're going away to get the baddie?"

Sherlock smiled. "Exactly," he whispered, now just inches away from his small son. "This is the only way I can keep you all safe, you see."

"Oh..." Pondering the situation, Hamish gazed down at his feet, as if examining his toes. "Does Papa know you're going away?"

Lips twitching sadly to the side, Sherlock shook his head. "Not yet. But he'll know soon... Hamish?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"Can you promise me something?" A nod. "Good..." Gaze falling to the ground as he searched for the proper words, Sherlock linked his fingers together and draped them over his knee. "Hamish, I need you to promise me that you'll always be there for Papa... and for Addie, as well. And... I need you to promise me that you'll never forget how much I love you."

Tears quickly returning to his eyes, Hamish suddenly surged forward, wrapping his small arms around his father's kneeling form. Swallowing away the urge to cry out himself, Sherlock pressed his small son close, enveloping him in the warmth of his coat.

"Are you ever going to come back, Daddy?" Hamish whispered into his father's chest.

Running several fingers through his son's dark hair, Sherlock nodded. "Yes, Hamish. I am going to come back."

"Do you promise?"

A nod. "I promise." Sniffling and clearing his own cheeks of a few tears that had fallen free, Sherlock leaned back and held Hamish at arm's length. "I promise, Hamish."

Tears still streaming freely down the expanse of his pale cheeks, Hamish shook his head. "Will you stay with me?" The little boy glanced towards his bed. Sherlock's gaze followed. "Of course," he murmured, pulling the young boy into his arms.

After laying Hamish in bed and pulling the sheets up around his small form, Sherlock took a seat at the edge of the small boy's bed. "You sleep now." The detective slowly ran his thumb back and forth across Hamish's forehead. "I'm right here."

After several minutes together like that, Hamish's eyelids suddenly began to flutter open and closed. "I love you, Dad."

Stilling his soothing stroking, Sherlock smiled. "I know... And I love you."

A yawn. "I know... Goodbye, Dad."

After watching his son's eyes slip to a close, Sherlock planted a tender kiss to Hamish's forehead. "Goodbye, love." And then, just as quickly as he slipped into 221B, Sherlock Holmes escaped it.