When John looked up and saw Sherlock standing on that roof, he knew what was coming. The tone of Sherlock's voice, sad with a hint of helplessness and regret, only confirmed it. No, no he can't, he won't. It's an experiment, it has to be. Oh God, for once, can it just be a stupid experiment.
But it wasn't.
John held his gaze up. He couldn't risk looking away from his friend. "SHERLOCK!" he yelled, wanting to run and stop the man from falling, but his legs felt too heavy to lift off the ground. He watched, unable to tear his gaze away from his falling friend.
He blinked and a bit of realization had sunken in. john began to walk up before jogging and finally running to Sherlock's body. He was slightly grateful for the biker that had run into him. He wasn't yet ready to see Sherlock yet.
Yet.
A bit dazed from his own fall, John walked to where his friend lay. A small crowd had gathered. He tried to push his way through them, protesting with "I'm his friend". He finally looked down and saw Sherlock's pale face streaked with a dark crimson liquid. He felt numb at first as he sank to his knees. He grabbed the man's wrist, desperately searching for a pulse. Nothing. Someone pulled John away. He stayed down on his knees, unable to move.
Sherlock was dead. Sherlock Holmes, his best friend, was dead
…
At least, that's what he thought