Title: Even Heroes Fall

Rating: T

Warnings: Spoilers for "The Reichenbach Fall"

A/N: So, I actually wrote this one without the need for fighting writer's block. What a miracle! :D Although, this is fairly angsty and kinda sad so there's that.

As always, this ties in with my other Sherlock/CM fics (the entire list of which is on my profile page) but can be read alone. I'm actually trying to think of a name for this series… Not sure what to call it yet though.

Anyway. This is set near the end of "The Reichenbach Fall" so 1) YAY for John! And 2) Yay for angst. :D

Please review!

London, England, UK

June 9, 2012

Spencer had been in London for almost a week. A week of what was supposed to be vacation time, a break from the usual routine of solving crimes and facing down murderers. Of course, he should've known, with all that was going on, a week with Sherlock Holmes would never be a "vacation". Not ever.

He'd heard about the arrest of James Moriarty. He'd even heard about Sherlock's behavior on the witness stand at the subsequent trial and the unbelievable "Not Guilty" verdict that Sherlock had insisted would happen. And because this universe just loves to prove Sherlock right, of course Moriarty walked despite impossible to explain away evidence of his guilt.

Spencer had actually expected a much more manic Sherlock to be waiting for him when he arrived for his alleged "vacation" at 221B. What greeted him had been something altogether more frightening. A worried Sherlock.

Of course, Sherlock didn't actually show his worry outwardly, not when anyone bothered looking at the consulting detective, but both Spencer and John felt it. John told Spencer he thought Moriarty was getting to Sherlock when that little girl screamed her head off in the interrogation room. The atmosphere in the flat that night had been nothing short of tense, especially when Lestrade had shown up asking Sherlock to come in.

Reid had just stood there in shock less than two hours later when Lestrade was back and with a warrant no less. He'd met the less than lovely Sergeant Donavan for the fourth time then and ended up very nearly hitting someone other than Sherlock for the first time in his entire life. He'd thought he and John would be able to find a way to get Sherlock out of the mess until John had managed to get himself arrested as well and then the two of them had run off like the pair of idiots they were and Reid was left alone with Mrs. Hudson.

"It's such a dreadful business," Mrs. Hudson murmured quietly, shaking her head in distaste. Reid smiled kindly at her as she puttered around her small kitchen. For such a small, kindly woman Mrs. Hudson certainly had a lot of will power tucked away. She'd shooed away the police who'd remained inside 221B with a few stern words, probably making a few of them ashamed of themselves in the process.

"All this shooting and shouting. Can you imagine, they really think Sherlock's this… kidnapper?"

Reid shook his head sadly, "People see what they want to see, Mrs. Hudson,"

"Well, it's not right. Sherlock's a decent boy, him and John. And you too, dear, of course," she smiled faintly at him, "But really, it's just not right. Coming here at this hour, accusing Sherlock of doing those things. He's been helping them for years! He'd never hurt a child! He hides it well, but that Sherlock, he's got a big heart."

Reid smiled a bit brighter then. Only Mrs. Hudson, and possibly Sherlock's mother, would say that about Sherlock and mean it. He supposed she had a point. Sherlock did care; he was just exceptionally skilled at pretending that he didn't.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson," he said, glancing down at his phone as it buzzed. Mycroft. "I'm sure it'll get sorted out soon."

She nodded, "You see that it does," she said sternly.

~/.\~

Early the next morning Spencer found himself in Mycroft's large and depressingly empty house. He always wondered why Mycroft even bothered living there. He couldn't ever make much use of the space and even when his mother or father visited – never at the same time unless Mycroft was deliberately trying to start an argument or wanted to speak with them about Sherlock - there were still so many empty rooms.

Mycroft had his hands at his side, staring down at the top of his desk. It stopped the FBI agent short as he stared at him. He'd never seen that look on Mycroft's face and it actually took him a second to place it.

Guilt.

"Mycroft?"

The older man looked up a faint, sad smile settled oddly on his face. He took a breath and tapped his fingers, appearing a bit restless. Odd, for Mycroft. "Spencer…" he frowned, "Do you remember when you and Sherlock were children? When I told you that no matter what happened… Sherlock would always be my brother? That I'd look after you both?"

Reid shifted a bit uncomfortably, nodding. He remembered that day very vividly because it was the first time he'd ever seen Mycroft really angry – at least, when Mycroft's anger had been directed at him. Him and Sherlock. Mostly Sherlock.

"…I think… I…" he swallowed roughly, an odd look twisting his features. Disgust? Something like that at least. "I've failed to live up to that promise.

"What do you mean?"

"That… is a rather complicated story,"

"Shouldn't be," Reid said, frowning at him. "You said you'd take care of Sherlock. Sherlock needs your help now and you won't help him. Now you're telling me you did something wrong. What did you do that was so wrong you can't even help him?"

Mycroft just shook his head and Reid realized that this was probably the first time in Mycroft's life that he'd ever felt regret before.

He sighed, "There has to be something you can do, Mycroft. This is Sherlock we're talking about!"

His shoulders sagged and he looked every bit a defeated man. Reid never thought he'd see the sight and for a moment he was angry enough to want to hit him. Now, of all times, he chose to give up. That was not the Mycroft he knew and he couldn't believe that when Sherlock needed him the most, Mycroft would just sit back and let Moriarty play his games.

He glanced down at his phone as it buzzed, reading the text from John.

Found Sherlock. St. Bart's. Might need you.

~/.\~

Reid stood in the lab, staring at Sherlock in shock as John left in a huff. He'd known Sherlock for most of his life. He knew better than anyone that Sherlock Holmes was not the monstrous, emotionless robot that most people seemed to be believe he was. He couldn't believe, even with the impending threat of Moriarty, that Sherlock would be so flippant about Mrs. Hudson being hurt.

After a moment, Sherlock's eyes, void of any and all emotion, flicked back to his face.

"Aren't you going too?"

He took a breath and shook his head, "No,"

Sherlock raised a brow, "Not bothered by Mrs. Hudson's injury? Or do you believe you can somehow be of assistance to me?"

"I don't believe anything's wrong with Mrs. Hudson," Spencer said, ignoring the way Sherlock's lips pursed into an annoyed frown.

"I didn't spend all that time studying to be a profiler for nothing, Sherlock."

"Oh? Are you profiling me now? Care to share?"

There was something so cold in Sherlock's voice, so superior, that it almost made Reid want to turn and leave. But he wouldn't. He knew Sherlock better than that.

"You knew John was going to get that call. You probably set the whole thing up, hoping to get rid of us,"

Sherlock leaned forward, looking on vaguely interested, but there was something in his eyes, something that made Reid wonder what could possibly be going through his mind at that moment. It didn't look like it was anything good at any rate.

"Do go on,"

Reid stared at him, "You're scared. Sherlock, - don't!" he scowled when his friend sat back and rolled his eyes. "I know you. And I know you're scared. Pushing John away, or me, isn't going to help you. Being alone doesn't make anything easier, Sherlock. Let us help you –"

"You can't help me and you're wrong. I'm not scared; there's nothing for me to be scared of. I prefer to think without the presence of annoying distractions."

"Sherlock –"

"No," Sherlock cut him off, shaking his head. "Spencer, just don't. Doesn't it ever get wearying? Believing the best of people? Believing that most everyone has good intentions? Are you really that blind? That idiotically naïve?"

"It isn't naïve to want to think the best of people, Sherlock."

"Oh, don't be stupid, of course it is! People are selfish, careless, thoughtless beings and I am better off alone,"

"No one is better off alone, Sherlock! And you're wrong. Deep down, most people are decent. They don't hurt others because they want to, they do it because they get scared, they panic, they don't know what to do or how to react,"

"Really?" an odd look passed over Sherlock's face, eyes going a little distant as he stared at Spencer, taking a breath like he was preparing himself for something important.

"You only believe that because it's less painful than thinking all those people who hurt you did it because they didn't like you,"

"Sherlock, d-"

"All those bullies in school, you imagine, what? That they were scared of your intellect? That they were jealous of you and reacted violently because they had no other way of dealing with it? Childish. They bullied you because you were a freak. You were different and they were cruel, it's that simple."

Reid scowled, "Sherlock st-"

"Or perhaps you think the same about your fellow cadets when you were in the FBI Academy? They laughed at you and made you the butt of jokes because they didn't know how else to respond? It couldn't possibly have been because they hated you and didn't like you being there, outshining them, could it?"

"Sherlock, I'm warning you –"

"And let's not forget your father," Sherlock's voice had gone cold and sharp, causing Reid to physically flinch. "You blamed yourself when you were younger, but now you realize it was just stress. You might not have forgiven him, but you understand he never really meant to hurt you. Did it not occur to you that he didn't leave because of your mother, but because he hated having you for a son? Because you weren't the son he wanted at all? Because he couldn't look at you without being disgusted and disappointed at having a freak for a son?"

There were tears blurring Reid's vision now and he wasn't entirely sure if they were from the anger or the hurt. His fists were clenched tight, hands shaking.

"Go to Hell," he snapped, slamming the door behind him as he left, not caring at that moment if Sherlock lost this stupid fucking game or not.

~/.\~

He was in a cab, on the way back to Saint Bart's twenty minutes later. He was still shaken by Sherlock's words, but there was a nagging feeling that something was wrong. He didn't know what or why, but he knew Sherlock had purposefully forced him and John to leave.

He was still five minutes away when he got the text and his heart felt like lead in his chest.

I'm sorry, Spencer. Forgive me. Goodbye. –SH

~/.\~

It was too late when he got to the hospital. There was already a crowd gathered around the body while the paramedics tried to usher them all away. Right in the middle of it was John, crying and yelling and fighting to get to Sherlock.

Reid only caught a glimpse of the pale, bloodied corpse before they zipped the body back up.

It didn't feel real. It was like it all happened in slow motion and he was only watching it, not experiencing.

He didn't really comprehend what had happened until he felt a hand gripping his shoulder and his eyes met the frantic, horrified eyes of John Watson. His words were slurred and shaken, but they cut Reid like a knife.

"He jumped… He… they said… they said he's dead…"

-end-

A/N: Ok, I admit it. I cried writing those last couple of scene. *sniffles*

And anyway, I thought I'd mention… June 10th is the day Sherlock died in this version. The story started on June 9 and the next day, Sherlock jumped. John's last blog entry is 6 days later, June 16th, when he first realized that Sherlock was gone.

Depressing thought, isn't it?

Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are loved! Let me know what you think!