A/N: I wrote this for English Class, and my friends really liked it and told me to post it, so here it is. I really like it, but constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!

Disclaimer: Obviously not mine, or I would have found a way to marry Benedict and be best friends with Martin and Una by now.

Reichenbach Fall – Part One

Tom – "Maggie, I can't talk right now. I'm in a hurry." My wife just doesn't seem to understand this, and keeps talking anyway. Doesn't she know that I'm trying to go over my notes for a very important meeting that could make or break my career? I have to get off the phone. Oh dear, I've not been listening to her. Now she's angry. Wonderful. Oh, she's hung up on me. Well isn't that lovely; I can get my work done now.

"Here's my stop. I can walk the rest of the way." I pay the cabbie and exit the car. I see a crowd forming at the front of the hospital, and they're all staring at the roof. I look up and see a man with medium-length black hair and a long dark coat standing at the edge. Is he talking on a cell phone? All of a sudden he tosses the phone, and the entire crowd tenses in anticipation of what may happen. He jumps.

Sherlock – Moriarty is dead. Now there is no one who can tell the truth. Everyone will believe that I am a fake, and killed him to hide my secret. What will this do to Mrs. Hudson? Lestrade? Molly? Mycroft?

Oh God, what will this do to John? How can I tell him, ease his mind? He will be broken up and confused over what to believe. There he is! I know; I'll call him and attempt to explain myself. Please answer, John. Oh good, he picked up.

"Sherlock, are you okay?"
He is facing me; he's walking toward the hospital. I tell him to turn around and walk just far enough so he can see me.
"No, I'm coming in."

Why does he have to be so stubborn? Although, if he wasn't, he wouldn't be my John. "Just. Do as I ask. Please."
"Where?"

I tell him to stop where he is.
"Sherlock."

I wish he wouldn't say my name like that, with so much concern. It makes me feel so guilty. I know he cares for me so much, but I never show him one bit of the feeling he shows me. "Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."
"Oh god."
I can't stand to see him like this. He's just close enough that I can see his body language. His battle instincts are kicking in. He's ready to head into action. If he came up here, I don't think I'd be able to do it. "I— I can't come down so we'll just have to do it like this."
"What's going on?"
I can see him shrink back. He's still tensed, ready to spring at any moment, but he's confused. I have to try and convince him. "An apology. It's all true."
"What?"
He doesn't understand. Everything that's been in the press, he needs to believe it. "Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."
"Why are you saying this?"
He doesn't believe me. What can I say to persuade him? I have to say something so completely out of character that it will shock him into believing. "I'm a fake."
"Sherlock—"
No. "The newspapers were right all along." I have to say something else. I want everyone to think this, not just John. Oh, if only John didn't have to think of me this way. But he has to, it's better for him. "I want you to 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?"
I did, but he can't think that. What can I say? What can I say? "Nobody could be that clever."
"You could."
How else could I have known those things? I need some scenario other than deduction. "I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you." I did want to impress him; I always want to impress him; I just didn't research him. God, I didn't think this would hurt this much. "It's a trick. It's just a magic trick."
"No. Alright, stop it now."
Oh God, he's coming back towards the building. I can't have him doing that, he'll see. He may not be as smart as me, but he is amazing. And he will notice. "No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move."
"Alright."
Thank you, John. The only way he won't know is if he watches me fall. If he watches me fall, he won't realize. "Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?"
Now he needs to understand, but I don't think I can flat out say it. "This phone call, it's... it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."
"Leave a note when?"
What is wrong with me?! I am Sherlock Holmes. I don't care about other people's feelings; I don't feel remorse…Oh, who am I kidding? I do when it comes to him. "Goodbye, John."
"No. Don't—"

I toss the phone and then I'm free falling. I never thought this would be so painful, but I have to focus now. The only way to save John is for me to disappear and for everyone to think that I am dead. I only have one regret. Why couldn't I tell him?

John – Where is Sherlock? I walk towards the hospital and I don't see him anywhere. Suddenly, my phone rings. It's Sherlock, thank God. I answer without a moment's hesitation. "Sherlock, are you okay?"
"Turn around and walk back the way you came."
What is he talking about? I've got to go get him. He's been in there for who knows how long. I don't want to think about what could have happened. "No, I'm coming in."
"Just. Do as I ask. Please."
Is he off his rocker? Who am I kidding? Of course he is, but this is a bit much, even for him. Where could he be? "Where—"
"Stop there."
If this is seriously one of his stupid games again. But he really could be in trouble. "Sherlock."
"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."
I slowly look up, and I don't want to believe what I'm seeing. I can't believe it. "Oh god." He's standing at the edge of the roof, on his phone looking down at me. I'm ready to run straight to him when he says something that puzzles me.
"I— I can't come down so we'll just have to do it like this."
"What's going on?" Why is he doing this?
"An apology. It's all true."
What could he possibly be talking about? "What?"
"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."
No you didn't. Something must have happened up there to make him lie like this. "Why are you saying this?"
"I'm a fake."
He's quite obviously trying his best to convince me. Normally, he would never say something like that, something actually putting himself down. "Sherlock—"
"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to 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."
No you didn't. I'm not going to spread that crap around to anyone. And if he thinks I am, or that I believe a word of this, he's got another thing coming. I've got to prove him wrong…to himself. I've got to get him off that ledge. I've got to. I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't come down. All right, here goes nothing. "Okay, shut up, Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met—the first time we met—you knew all about my sister, right?"
"Nobody could be that clever."
He is so frustrating. "You could."
"I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick. It's just a magic trick."
That's a funny joke: the great 'Sherlock Holmes' trying to impress me. Ha. Does he really think I'm buying this? He really isn't okay. I just wish he would step back from the edge. "No. Alright, stop it now."
"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move."
Best not to argue with him at a time like this, I suppose. Not sure though. I've never dealt with someone trying to jump off a building before. God Sherlock, step back from the edge. "Alright."
"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"
I am so confused. "Do what?"
"This phone call, it's... it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."
What could he possibly be talking about? Since when did Sherlock Holmes do idiotic things like stand at the edge of roofs. "Leave a note when?"
"Goodbye, John."
Oh God. "No. Don't—"

And then he tosses his phone and jumps. I felt like I screamed, screamed his name, but I'm not actually sure if any sound came out. All I can think: this can't be happening. How could he do this to himself, to me? I am running to his side, and shoving all the people who have gathered around. Who are they to watch? They don't know him, not the real him, at least. They only know the Sherlock Holmes they've seen in the papers. They probably all hate him. I could never hate him. I am at his side in an instant telling people that I am a doctor, that he is my friend, anything I can to just get them to go away. I can feel someone trying to pull me away. I don't let them. Someone tries to tell me he's gone. I don't listen. Because he can't be. He is Sherlock Holmes, the madman who shares my flat, and keeps science experiments next to the food in my refrigerator. Who I had to force to sleep when he didn't feel well because he was too stubborn to rest. The man who tries so hard to act like he didn't care, but I know he did, does, because of that look in his eye. The look he gets when he sees Mrs. Hudson, or when he accidentally hurt Molly's feelings, or whenever he looks at me. Wait…does he really do that? Am I sure he looks at me that way? I know how I feel, but could he feel the same? Yes, he does look at me like that. Sherlock! Why did you have to go and jump off a roof before I could tell you? All I can do is go limp and let the doctors sit me down.

Reichenbach Fall – Part 2

Tom – "Thanks, dear." I take the newspaper from my wife's hands as I sit down for breakfast, and I see the headline. 'Great fake genius Sherlock Holmes jumps off hospital roof, dies.' I still can't believe that I saw it happen. Maggie was scolding me afterward about not staying to find out what was going on, but I had to get to my meeting. I am still bewildered over the fact that the bloke I saw jump was Sherlock Holmes. No wonder he jumped; that man was crazy. His funeral is today. Who would go to the funeral of a psychopath like that?

John – I cannot comprehend the fact that today is the day. It is Sherlock's funeral. Mrs. Hudson and I are the last ones standing at his grave, and she leaves to give me a moment alone. I feel like I should say something, but I don't know what. "Um. Hm." Oh, I know. "You... you told me once that you weren't a hero. Um." I don't want to say anything bad, but I need to get my point across. "There were times that I didn't even think you were human. But let me tell you this, you were the best man" but that's not enough. "and the most human... human being that I have ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. And so... there." I'm not sure what else to add until I start thinking about how empty and left behind I felt when I got home, and how Sherlock changed all of that. "I was so alone and I owe you so much." Now here it goes, convince Sherlock Holmes to do something for another person, even though I know he doesn't want to. "Please, there's just one more thing. One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be... dead. Would you do that, just for me? Just stop it, stop this..." I limp away, but I can't shake the feeling that there was someone watching me. It's the only feeling I think I can feel anymore.

Sherlock – Today is the day. It is my funeral. There aren't many people. Not surprising. Who would want to go to the funeral of a high functioning sociopath like me? Mrs. Hudson and John are the last ones standing at my grave, and she leaves to give him a moment alone. I wonder if he'll say something, but what on Earth could he say? He doesn't owe me anything. If my plan worked he will think I was a fraud and a liar anyway. "Um. Hm." Always the eloquent one. "You... you told me once that you weren't a hero. Um." I most certainly am not. "There were times that I didn't even think you were human." You're not the only one John; at times I felt that way myself. I can see it now; he's going to chew me out for being inconsiderate and rude, because I am. "But let me tell you this, you were the best man" That's funny. Me, a good man. Where was this sense of humor when we were living together? "and the most human... human being that I have ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie." He still doesn't believe me? Does that mean he doesn't hate me? Honestly, that's all I ever really cared about: whether he hated me or not. I don't think I could have survived if he hated me. "And so... there. I was so alone and I owe you so much." You don't owe me anything. It's me who owes you everything. I miss you so much, and it's my fault we're separated, and you think I'm dead. "Please, there's just one more thing. One more thing." Anything. "One more miracle, Sherlock, for me." Of course. "Don't be... dead." His voice breaks on the last word and it's all I can do not to cry out to him, show him that I'm alright. "Would you do that, just for me?" If I would do it for anyone it would be you. "Just stop it, stop this..." It takes all the willpower I have ever had not to run after him as he walks away. I know I have to get out of here before someone sees me, but all I want to do is curl up and stay here until I waste away. It's what I deserve to do. The way I've hurt all my friends. Despicable. Sherlock: But when I think about it. The only one I feel any true remorse for is John. Just imagining him all alone in the flat, sitting in his chair staring across at my empty one, I can almost feel my heart break.

I have to find a way to get back to him, if it's the last thing I do.

I wrote Sherlock as very calculating, but with emotions breaking through his façade. I wrote it this way because the whole time he is very calculating, intelligent, and blunt to the point of rudeness, without remorse. But he is in distress. This makes him begin to break down, and he starts to feel things he didn't even know he could feel.

John: I wrote John as very sarcastic and short. He always behaves in this manner. He even tries to act this way with Sherlock until he realizes the seriousness of the situation, and that tactic isn't going to work, so he begins pleading instead. He acts this way as a defense mechanism. He doesn't want to show others his pain, especially Sherlock. But, by the end, John just doesn't care anymore; all he wants is Sherlock back.

Tom: Tom, a random bystander paying witness to all of this is the image for the general public who just go on about their lives, believing whatever the press tell them. They don't give a moment's thought to the people that might have been hurt; all they can think about is the fact that it was 'Sherlock Holmes,' this person they read about in the newspaper. They found him amazing, and as soon as someone called him a liar, they deserted him.

A/N: So? Loved it? Hated it? Was it as sad as all my friends complained it was? Let me know!