I feel my throat contract painfully as I leave my note for John.

My only friend in this entire world.

That is what people do they not? Leave a note when they die.

Simple words do not seem enough. But I have to lie to him too. Tell him I am a fraud. That the past two years he has known me has been a lie.

It breaks my heart.

A heart that I did not realise that I had is breaking right now, splitting in two and shattering into a million broken pieces that fall into the pit of my stomach like the shards of Moriarty's skull had fallen to the ground.

I can see John from my vantage point, looking up at me in complete and utter horror. He is panicking, which makes this twice as hard to do. I can hear him talking to me down the phone, his voice sounding tinny through the poorly constructed speaker pressed to my ear. The words he speaks to me do not matter, just the sound of his voice. I memorize it, fold it into me and store it to never be forgotten.

I thank him for everything, for the first time in my life I mean it.

"Goodbye, John."

Then I fall.

Sherlock is upset, I can hear it as I jump out of the cab and begin to run. He's making no sense whatsoever, which makes this all the more terrifying. I'm confused and scared.

Sherlock Holmes just doesn't get upset. Something must be desperately wrong. He tells me to look up and my eyes grow large with shock. He's stood right on the edge of the building, coat flapping in the wind.

I beg him.

Don't do this. Please. You can't do this to me.

He still falls.

I go numb, my heart seems to stop in my chest and everything happens in slow motion. I freeze, something hits me and I fall to the ground. I'm not sure what it was but I'm so numb I didn't feel it. I'm on my feet again, moving forward through the crowd, pushing my way forward.

The sight that greats me is horrific. My Sherlock, covered in blood.

I can hear John telling people to get out of his way in a terrified voice. I feel his fingers lift my arm, check my pulse. He won't find one. I have pre-empted him, placing a squash ball under my arm to dull the heartbeat in my wrist.

I can see his face now. He is crying. I do not like it. I want it all to stop, I want to sit up and hold him even though I abhor physical affection. Tell him this was all a trick to save his life.

But I cannot. Its too dangerous.

I am lifted from the ground and I feel John's warm fingers slip from my skin for the last time as I'm pushed away from him on a hospital gurney. I can still feel his fingers on my skin. Like its branded me with its heat.

I wait until I have been brought to Molly before I move. She has been waiting for me like my own personal Angel of Death. She looks at me softly like she always does, but there is something more behind it this time. Sorrow.

I sit up slowly, rising like a monster coming back to life. My limbs feel heavy as does my heart which is threatening to drop right out of my chest in into my toes. I know its an impossibility but I never knew that carrying this most vital of organs could be such a burden.

I cover my eyes, fingers becoming sticky with my own blood that I had drawn earlier for this exact purpose, to fool the world.

I do not want Molly to see me cry.

She turns her back.

My tears feel hot against my skin.

I cry for a few minutes, feeling vulnerable and weak for a moment, then there are soft warm arms around me. Molly holds me, unable to hear me go through this alone. If I could find my words I would thank her, but I am lost in my own misery.

My mind ghosts over a memory which makes a tight knot appear in my stomach.

I am a machine.

I am heartless.

I am cold.

Even the heartless weep for the one they miss. And I already miss John. I can only imagine how hard this is for him.