Holmes' breath is rasping; shallow and soft, the sounds becoming less and less frequent, hidden beneath the gypsy woman's insistent singing. His chest barely rises with every breath and half closed brown eyes focus on the man before him, tuning out the sounds of the singing and the steady noises of the train. He watches deft fingers maneuver the needle and thread that the doctor has in his muddied and bloodstained hands, stitching himself up without even a grimace. There's something most definitely loving in the way that he watches the elder, his eyelids slowly drifting shut.
The pain is hardly on his mind as he struggles to memorize the way his beloved friend's hands move. Alternating pulling and pushing the needle through tanned skin, blood beading with each puncture. Just watching is nearly enough to make Sherlock cringe, but instead he's hypnotized by the way Watson doesn't seem to care.
Slowly, his eyes finish closing and he slips away, Watson's face imprinted into his mind, whether his darling knows it or not.
Holmes does everything within his capabilities for Watson.
He let him go, despite the pain it caused him to watch him leave his life with Mary.
He tried to keep him from becoming involved in his and Moriarty's game (you know what happens when two unrelenting forces meet, Holmes...there is always collateral damage). He tried and he failed. So there's only one option.
The Professor's fist meets his shoulder and Holmes doubles over with a gasp of pain, stumbling back towards what he knows is the inevitable. The small of his back meets the cold snow covered granite of the railing and his eyes meet Watson's.
His unwaveringly faithful bishop looks back at him from the doorway, the gravity of the situation not lost upon him, but the surprise still plain in his eyes. He doesn't have to say anything for Holmes to know exactly what he's trying to say.
No.
Both men's eyes close and Holmes wraps his arms around his nemesis before pushing back from the building and into the empty air.
And again, Watson's face is burnt into his mind's eye. The disbelief and pain in Watson's gaze permanently etched into his thoughts and memories.
It's with a blissfully calm expression that the great Sherlock Holmes falls from the Reichenbach Falls.
This way...
This way, Watson is free.