It was beautiful up here. He'd never seen so much sky.
He felt this was an appropriate physical representation of how he normally felt; elevated.
So much... higher... than everyone else.
He chuckled at the irony of the situation.
He glanced once over his shoulder at the corpse of his enemy- his equal.
They were the same.
Crimson was dripping steadily from the gaping, oozing cavity at the back of the younger man's skull. He felt no sorrow, no pity. He felt nothing.
Feeling nothing might make this easier.
He threw the phone aside and breathed in; taking in the scents carried on the London wind and the slight tang of Moriarty's spilt blood. He could feel his heart banging against his ribcage. Could feel his hands shaking- just a little.
He spread his arms and stretched his fingers as he exhaled.
Everything was out of focus.
He closed his eyes. Much better.
He let himself fall.