It was the ledge that he truly understood. Moriarty dead behind him, leaking blood over cement with that twisted smile frozen forever on his face, he had cemented the deal. Sherlock stood at the edge of the roof, the phone to his ear and hand outstretched to John so far below him.
Before, he had never known fear. It was an emotion he hadn't quite cared to deal with and had counteracted it with logic. He had coasted through his extraordinary life being buffeted by the world, roaming around London and solving the crimes the police were obviously too helpless to solve themselves. Then he met John. Then Moriarty stepped in. Then he was standing on top of a hospital with three lives weighing on his shoulders.
Of course everything had been planned beforehand, Sherlock was not a fool. He knew that this jump wasn't going to be the end of him. It was however, the end of his legacy as a genius, as the consulting detective. Jim had made sure of that.
No more waiting, he thought to himself, finally working up the nerve to say the last two words to the one person who cared most.
"Goodbye, John."
He tossed the phone behind him and stretched out his arms to either side, feeling the soft wind catch the long fabric of his trademark coat. It was here, looking straight ahead over rooftops, that Sherlock finally gave in.
His body fell forward. His head bowed. He was soaring.
Somewhere in the back of his mind a thought came to him, an accident between friends. The circumstances were fuzzy, which was odd for him, but he must have not thought it important. Some friends tied up their buddy and put him in a helicopter blindfolded. They had the pilot hover a few feet off the ground for a while, long enough for their victim to think they were high up. Then they threw him out, thinking the prank would end in a laugh. He died from panic.
It's the fall that will kill you, not the landing. That was the saying that usually accompanied these sorts of stories. Then, in the middle of the fall, he understood. The ground was coming fast, too fast, and all he felt was terror, terror, terror. His arms were windmilling, his fingers clawing for handholds in the air but there was nothing. He was falling fast and far and all too soon it was over.
He lay and breathed. But it wasn't over. This was only the beginning.
