Last

They say people die twice.

Once when they stop breathing.

Then again when their name is spoken for the last time.

Part 1: The Reichenbach Fall

John stepped out of the cab right as it reached St. Bart's Hospital. He was worried, to say the least. After running back to Baker Street, he found Mrs. Hudson well and alive. One only had to connect the dots to see what was really going on. He hailed a taxi with haste and prompted the driver to go with full speed towards the hospital. Just as he was making his way to the doors of St. Bart's, his phone started ringing. It was Sherlock.

"Hello?" John said, looking around for his friend.

Sherlock answered cool and casual. "John."

"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?" It was all John could do to keep the worry out of his voice.

"Turn around, and walk back the way you came, now." His voice was demanding.

"No, I'm coming in." John wasn't going to leave Sherlock now.

"Just do as I ask," Sherlock persisted.

Bewildered, John asked, "Where?" as he continued walking down the road.

Then, Sherlock urgently said, "Stop there."

"Sherlock?" John replied.

"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."

John looked up, his face filling with horror as he saw Sherlock on top of the hospital. "Oh, God."

"I... I... I can't come down, so we'll... we'll just have to do it like this." Sherlock tried his best to keep his voice calm. For John.

John anxiously asked, "What's going on?" His eyes never moving off of Sherlock.

"An apology. It's all true."

"Wh-what?" John couldn't understand. What could Sherlock possibly have to apologize for?

Sherlock took a deep breath and said, "Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty." He turned around to look at the lifeless body of the villain.

John was completely and utterly confused by this statement. "Why are you saying this?"

Sherlock turned back to look at John, his voice breaking, "I'm a fake." He spat the words out, as if they were poison in his mouth.

"Sherlock... " John began.

Sherlock's voice started to become tearful, yet he tried to stay strong for John.

"The newspapers were right all along. I want you tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly... In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?" There was a hint of desperation in his voice, desperation to get Sherlock back down next to John, where he belonged.

"Nobody could be the clever," Sherlock stated, in almost a mocking tone.

"You could." John wasn't giving up on Sherlock. Not now.

Sherlock gave a nervous laugh and gazed at his friend, a single tear trailing down his face. "I researched you," he began. "Before we met, I discovered everything I could to impress you."

There was a pause, then he started again.

"It's a trick. Just a magic trick."

John closed his eyes and shook his head repeatedly. "No. All right, stop it now." He started to walk closer towards the hospital.

"No, stay exactly where you are," Sherlock commanded, with a sense of urgency in his voice.

John stopped and went back to where he was standing. "All right." He held his hands up to show his surrender.

Sherlock's breathing had sped up by now, and he stretched his hand out toward his friend. "Keep your eyes fixed on me," he said, his voice frantic. "Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?"

"This phone call - it's, er... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they - leave a note?"

John shook his head, stressed, then the realization hit him, and he asked, "Leave a note when?" he asked, with a shaky voice.

"Goodbye, John."

"No. Don't."

Sherlock looked at John for several seconds, glanced forward, then dropped the phone onto the roof.

"No. SHERLOCK!"

But it's too late. Sherlock raised his arms and fell, plummeting toward the ground. Time stood still as John stood horror struck, watching his only friend greet Death with open arms.

Then the body hit the ground. John couldn't hear anything, couldn't see anything; the only thing that was on his mind was getting to Sherlock as fast as he could. He hurried to the building, but a cyclist ran into him, ramming John into the concrete. Grimacing with pain, John slowly forced himself to stand up and hauled himself over to where Sherlock was laying.

"Sherlock, Sherlock..." John pleaded, his voice barely a whisper.

As he reached the crowd, he pushed through saying, "I'm a doctor, let me come through. Let me come through, please. No, he's my friend. He's my friend, please."

John reached Sherlock and frantically began to search for a pulse. Two people tried to pry him away, but he clung onto Sherlock as if it depended on his life. Once they finally pulled him off, more medics arrived with a stretcher.

"Please, let me just..." John began, but the words stuck in his mouth.

The impact of his run in with the concrete started to take it's toll on John. His knees gave out, and his head was pounding. The medics placed Sherlock onto the stretcher, revealing his bloodied face and wide eyes. "Jesus, no... Oh, God, no."

John tried to stand up, to follow Sherlock, but he fell back down. As the onlookers supported John, Sherlock was wheeled away on the stretcher, leaving a dazed and uncomprehensive John behind him. John stared blindly in the direction his friend's body was taken, his face blank.

Sherlock had stopped breathing. He had died for the first time.