Sherlock explains how he faked his death to John one year after he returned. John has moved back to 221B recently and works as a part-time doctor. In the next chapter, you will find an unexpected person who helped the detective to fake his death. Thank you for reading. Please, review:)


Holding two bags of instant coffee in one hand, Sherlock peeked at John sitting on the sofa in the sitting room. They just got back from the Yard, chasing after a killer on the loose. After the case was closed, Lestrade had sent them rather early without finishing up reporting because John had to go to work. Trying to keep his eyes open, the doctor rubbed his bleary red eyes and opened morning newspapers.

"You don't have surgery today, right? Otherwise, I'd strongly recommend you call in sick."

"No surgery today. Just afternoon shift at the outpatient clinic."

Sherlock waved the coffee bags at the doctor.

"Still fancy a coffee?"

"Definitely. Thanks. Two sugars, please."

Sherlock's hand stopped while he was pouring hot water into the mugs.

"You don't take sugar in your coffee."

"A sweet fairy must've changed me. Well, I see you take no sugar…"

All of a sudden, Sherlock stumbled, while handing out a mug to the doctor.

"Uh… Bitterness seems to suit me perfectly, I guess."

John grinned at Sherlock's stuttering. Glancing back at the newspaper, John found a small article that a three-year-old toddler luckily survived a 5-story fall with a broken leg in Lancaster. His professional curiosity kicked in, giving him the courage to ask. He cleared his throat, and waited for his flatmate to come back with his mug. Taking a sip, the doctor put down his coffee and said rather sternly after taking a deep breath.

"Okay, Sherlock. I've got only half an hour before I need to get ready. Perfect. You've been evading the topic forever, but today I need to hear it. It's been one year after you returned. As a medical professional, your flatmate, and the only friend of yours, I believe I'm entitled to an explanation."

A look of boredom fleeted across the detective's face. Stifling a yawn, he put the mug down on a table near the fireplace.

"I've done it hundred times already. A boring subject. Can't you think of anything more interesting?"

"You've done it to Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and the others, not me."

"You did tell me you didn't want to know."

"Yes, but I changed my mind."

With an annoyed look on his face, the sleuth took off his coat, sat on his favorite armchair, and picked up his coffee mug.

"You had never been fickle-minded, John. That's one of the "few" good things about you… Seriously what changed you? It's the sugar. Switch back to unsweetened coffee."

He took a sip from the steamy mug.

"By the way you saw it happen with your own eyes."

"Yes, Sherlock, I saw you jump. That's all that I saw before I found a body on the pavement."

After a few more sips, the detective slowly stated because John's glare felt a little uncomfortable.

"Every clue is hidden in my last call to you, John. I had thought you could've figured it out before I came back... A normal Sherlock would've texted you. That was the first clue. Second one, you should've noticed that something was off because Mrs. Hudson was fine. The call from a paramedic was a fake. Third, you didn't see me land - you saw me jump from the edge. I had instructed you to stand at a specific point behind a building so you couldn't see the impact. Forth, focus on the words that I had chosen in the last phone call -a magic trick, a fake... Use your brain, if you're lucky to have one."

John protested, half-annoyed and half-resigned at the honesty of his friend.

"If I remember correctly, we were fugitives on the run. Rather, you were, because you had taken me as hostage with a gun. There were a lot to deal with on top of the fake call. Not everyone has a brain of your brilliance, Sherlock."

"Ah, you're much better than Anderson. In the report of Miss. Hunter case, Anderson had written…."

Sherlock's eyes twinkled at the name Anderson. John ignored Sherlock's futile attempt to change the subject.

"At that time, I was already upset, and the bloody biker who appeared out of thin air, had hit me hard. He even didn't apologize. It took me at least a couple of minutes before I was able to stagger up. Wait, come to think of it, no one was there to help me."

Sherlock shrugged before putting his mug down on the table. In a nonchalant voice, he replied.

"Well, there was a fall from a great height: Everybody is supposed to pay more attention to a dead body."

John could picture what he had seen that day. Instantly he was at the Bart's perimeter, staring at the rooftop of the building and the billowing dark coat of his friend. He could hear the disturbed teary voice of his friend. John's story became a graphic narration.

"I could see you throw away your mobile. You were flailing your arms. Your coat flapped in the air. The three seconds felt like a minute…"

He took a sudden breath in.

"The position of the body didn't coincide with your fall. It was parallel to the building. It should've been almost perpendicular to the building if I had seen it right."

"U-huh… At last you mastered Observation Skills 101."

"Sherlock, was it you who took the fall?"

Sherlock shook his head incredulously.

"No doubt about it as far as I remember. I was spending the last few minutes of my life with Jim Moriarty."

"But, you survived the fall... barely scratched. It's rare. You did break the fall with something."

"There was something else in front of the building that I jumped."

"The lorry?"

"Exactly. Mycroft's help. A trash lorry doesn't look suspicious anytime anywhere. Do you remember my hand had reached out for you? That was the signal. From the side of the lorry, a small narrow net was unfolded and fixed to the bench, a blind spot from you and the sniper. A guy from the Homeless Network fastened the net."

"It's hard to believe that you were able to land exactly on top of the net."

"I had to factor in everything. I had chosen where to stand very carefully. To my luck, Moriarty had committed a suicide. Otherwise, I might not been able to fool him. The width of the net was just 6 feet, completely hidden behind the lorry. The sniper would've been able to notice it if the net had been wider. When I fell, I almost missed the net; broke my left arm; but managed to stand up immediately."

"Then you positioned on the pavement with some of the homeless people splattering you with blood?"

"That wasn't me. I got the net back and hurled it into the truck, and got into the lorry next to the driver. Molly -bless her efficiency- had hurled the prepared body from a window before the lorry took off. The sniper was focusing on you after spotting you getting off a cab so it was rather easy."

Sherlock added in exasperated voice.

"I forgot again. Mycroft had been telling me to treat Molly lunch for the troubles of that day. John, remind me when we go to the Lab next time."

The doctor took no heed of Sherlock's words. He adamantly insisted.

"It was you! I saw his face when people rolled the body around…"

"Ah, the power of implication. We've experienced it at Baskerville, remember? You just got a death note from me; witnessed my jumping from a building; and found a dead body on the ground. It had to be me; you believed it even before you got a closer look at the body."

Sherlock glanced at his flatmate and sensed John's temper rising fast. His voice changed to a lower and more assuring one.

"John, you're an experienced ex-army doctor. You've witnessed so many brutal deaths at war. It was almost impossible to deceive you. So I had to arrange the guy on a bike. A mild concussion should do the trick."

"All the people who stopped me from examining the body were also your Homeless Network?"

"Of course. Specifically, one guy had to keep his fingers on the carotid artery of my John Doe. You could touch only one outstretched arm of the body. Think! Suppose the fall didn't kill me. There had to be some vital signs in that case like pulse or spasm or movement of eyeballs."

The doctor realized that he had been completely fooled. It wasn't a fresh body. However, he still tried to convince himself.

"But… but… it was you. I saw your empty eyes and the blood trickling from the side of your head. There was no pulse, when I…checked… Hold on. The body was already cold. Algor Mortis. You got the body from Molly?"

"She had spent a couple of hours, making a body look like me. The body on the gurney wasn't me."

In annoyance, the doctor complained.

"And Mycroft had identified your body as the closest kin. Mycroft, Molly, and you… I don't know what to say. That was a reckless, foolish, and dangerous plan, Sherlock, on top of the fact that I was excluded totally. Couldn't you at least allow me to play a part of it?"

With a surprised look, Sherlock stared at his friend for a minute. The doctor had to explain.

"I would've faced a death with you rather than to remain in darkness, Sherlock."

All of a sudden, the detective's look changed to a vague look of realization.

"You already played a part of it, John. As a friend in grieving, you did fool all the people including the sniper. My brother had complimented your act - so real. You could've won a BAFTA. From Mycroft, that's a rare..."

Glancing at the defiant look of his friend, the detective stretched out and rubbed his eyes.

"Well, I think we've covered all the important points. Let's move onto Anderson's stupid report. In the murder case of Miss. Hunter, Anderson wrote down in the forensics report that..."

John stood up before Sherlock finished the sentence.

"Well, I guess I need to get ready. Thanks for the coffee, Sherlock. Have some rest and eat something. I'll ask Mrs. Hudson to check on you."

Sherlock sat down on a sofa, feeling as if he had just finished the mandatory school project that he kept delaying: He had to talk about it with the doctor. Leaning back comfortably, the detective yawned and closed his eyes. Apparently the coffee didn't work: he was too tired. When John ran downstairs in a hurry, he found the detective fast asleep. Smiling, the doctor picked up the dark coat and covered his friend with it before he left.